Fic: dream a dream (and what you see will be) - mizzy2k - PART 7
dream a dream (and what you see will be)
mizzy2k
He doesn't wait for her. Ariadne wonders if Bastian's ever learned chivalry. Why would he, in a world of his own creation? It'll have been Seb who was taught the rules of society, and Arthur who took them to heart and followed them by rote.
"We could do with a luckdragon right about now," Amelia calls out, as they thunder along the new range of landscape. This is the land of the Dead Mountains, and it's all grey, grey, grey as far as the eye can see, like cracked sidewalk slabs.
Step on a crack and break your mother's back, Ariadne thinks, arbitrarily.
"...isn't Falcor supposed to show up when we're most in need?" Ariadne asks Bastian as she matches her pace to his.
He's a little slow. Then again, he is running on his toes, just as oddly as both he and Seb walk. Like a dancer, Eames said - but there's nothing graceful about it when applied to a run. There's no spring in the step at all.
"No," Bastian says. "Unless I wish for him specifically, Falcor's a luckdragon. It's completely random. I-" He makes a show and tell of hauling in a breath, obviously thinking of the best way to phrase what he's thinking. "-I guess I don't want to see him. We said goodbye a long time ago. I think he knew."
"Bastian-" Ariadne starts, still overwhelmed by it all. He throws her a rueful smile as Amelia shouts, shattering the quiet, intimate moment.
"Ahead, ahead, come on," Amelia yells.
"I regret forming all of Fantasia in my head when we're just going the book route," Ariadne mutters. "My poor brain."
"I wouldn't have been able to call the creatures in without the full layout," Bastian tells her kindly, keeping his gaze focussed on the slabs. The farther they get into the Land of the Dead Mountains, the more rugged and uneven the cracked sidewalk slabs become, and the land on either side of them is starting to rise higher and higher. It's like the mountains are growing either side of them as they run, but it's just an optical illusion due to the slow graduation. "Besides, Amelia might not have taken to Cairon's suggestion."
"She's... oddly suggestible."
"I'd noticed that too," Bastian says, looking troubled. Then he looks at her, and maybe he's not that ungraceful because he manages to navigate over the cracks while still running while looking at her. It's pretty impressive, actually. "Maybe because she's so young."
"But she thinks she's an adult," Ariadne says.
Bastian looks forward again. "Who are we to say otherwise?"
It's philosophical. Ariadne makes a murmuring sound, because she doesn't have space for philosophy in her head past this whole killing Seb to save Arthur dilemma.
"Besides," Bastian adds, thoughtfully, "Dom's an adult and look at his life choices."
Ariadne laughs. The sound feels like sandpaper in her lungs, and it feels a little too sad, but considering how sad and torn she's felt over the whole situation, the fact that she can laugh is a considerable one.
And then Ygramul rises up from the depths of the chasm a little way ahead of them and Ariadne's too busy swallowing down an instant mouthful of bile to do anything else.
She wants to skid to a halt. Horror of horrors is what Bastian said and it's not an underestimation of any kind. Ygramul still hasn't pulled her full bulk out of the chasm yet and Ariadne feels violently ill, like her stomach's contracted and her skin is too tight and her legs are suddenly unable to move.
Amelia keeps running, right up to the spider as Ygramul's final last two legs waver out of the chasm and onto the ground, and it's an instinct to follow her that's deep in Ariadne, stronger than her revulsion at the eight-legged monster in front of her, its distended rippling belly and its head, larger than Morla's, and a thousand miles away from Morla's beauty. There's a subtle siren call about Ygramul, a compelling attraction to move closer. Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly.
"Please, Ygramul, we require your assistance," Amelia shouts, undaunted as she looks up into the terrifying face of the giant spider, its numerous fangs bundled in its slightly gaping mouth, crowded like wiggling stalactites in its dark face.
"She's also called the many," Bastian says, and his voice is quiet. Ariadne startles. She hadn't realized she'd slowed to a stop, or that Bastian was still alongside her.
"Why-" Ariadne starts, and then she sees why, and she shuts her mouth. Pushes it in a tight line like she could stop Ygramul from getting inside her, from crawling inside her-
Because Ygramul, the Many, isn't actually a giant spider. She - as Bastian defines her - is a hundred, a thousand little hornet-like insects, all bundled together and moving in perfect synchronicity to give the illusion of a giant spider.
"They share a single hive-mind," Bastian explains, and he moves forwards, rolling his sleeve up, showing one pale wrist. "If you would be so kind, Ygramul. We have need of your poison."
"Kill you it will, master Bastian," Ygramul - the many - hisses, and her voice is a chorus of a thousand small, buzzing voices. She sounds pleased at the concept. "If you are so eager to succumb to my cold death, perhaps we could wrap you up. You'd live longer, my darling."
"I'm not your darling," Bastian shouts, and then shakes himself, hissing under his breath a little. "If you could just oblige me this once, Ygramul-"
"We oblige you all the time," the many hisses, sounding angry, and Ygramul loses her shape for a little as the hornet-like insects buzz in fury for a moment. "We shall this time."
"Appreciated," Bastian calls up. "Just hold out your wrist," he explains to the others, pushing his pale wrist out even more. Three of the insects detach from Ygramul and fly over to them.
It's not as terrifying as being bitten by a ginormous spider, but it's pretty damn close. Ariadne swallows as the many allotted to her drifts over. Far behind it, Ygramul, in her spider form, curls her shifting, silver head into an even more gruesome smile. She trembles a little, allowing herself a little fear, but she tilts her head and glares the insect in the eye.
"When it bites you," Bastian says, "wish really hard for the Riddle Gate. It's guarded by the giant golden sphinx. We'll all appear there together."
"Shouldn't one of us stay?" Ariadne says, feeling like a complete coward, but the single many is drifting towards her, looking even more lethal the closer it gets to her. "In case Eames catches up with her?"
Bastian throws her a sceptical look. "Do you honestly believe he will?" He swallows, looks away from Ariadne to where Ygramul looks inordinately pleased with herself. "He's gone."
"You say that like you know."
"I do," Bastian says, like it hurts him to say. "I can't feel him anywhere." He looks a little sick, and Ariadne can understand, because that's Arthur. That's Arthur hijacking Bastian's connection with Fantasia. So it's not just Seb that's leaked through a little, she thinks.
Ariadne feels sick too - that's because she's a decent aim with a crossbow, but she's no Cobb or Arthur. And without Eames to back her up, she's really hoping they don't run into Gmork or the clowns any time soon. Or the Nothing. Although even an incredible crossbow-aim couldn't do a thing to that all-encompassing ravenous cloud. "Really hope you did get that map down," he says, sharply changing topic. "If you got it wrong-" He hisses out loud in pain as his many just speeds into his wrist, colliding with the soft exposed skin unkindly.
"Then?" Ariadne manages, as her own many does the same, speeding into her wrist. It's like getting twenty injections all at once; tears come to her eyes for the first time in the last week for purely physical pain.
"We might appear in the middle of nowhere," Bastian says, looking a bit moist-eyed himself. "How many chasms exactly are you holding in your head right now?"
"I appreciate your vote of confidence," Ariadne says sourly, and then her stomach growls, embarrassingly loud. She frowns. It's not often that hunger's a problem in the dreamscape.
Then she pauses, because she's not hungry.
It's not her stomach.
She turns in horror to see a familiar figure at the horizon.
"Gmork," Ariadne breathes, and the dark wolf starts to run towards them, baring his shiny white teeth as he runs at them, full speed. She feels the urge to unleash a crossbow, but that's not her best escape tool at the moment.
"Close your eyes and wish!" Bastian yells. "The Riddle Gates!"
The last thing Ariadne wants to do is close her eyes. Gmork's getting closer, his dark coat glinting, and as he comes closer, she can see blood on his muzzle. Cobb's blood, she thinks, dizzily. She wants to keep her eyes open so she can see her death coming. Her head's buzzing. Her wrist burns.
"Ariadne, Amelia, now," Bastian screams, and he sounds so much older than his years, than Arthur's years, than Morla's years and Ariadne automatically does what he says. She screws her eyes shut and thinks, Riddle Gates, Riddle Gates, Riddle Gates-
But it's not going to work. She can hear Gmork's claws scraping against the cracked grey slabs of the Land of the Dead Mountains. She can hear the low, growling hurtling from the depths of his throat. She can smell his sour breath, and feel the ghosting touch of his paw heading for her exposed throat and-
-the world disappears beneath her feet.
Ariadne opens her mouth to scream, to yell, to say something, to do anything, but she can't. There's nothing but wind forcing itself down through her throat, pushing into her, filling her up and hollowing her out, and all she wants to do is scream and scream but she can't, she can't, and it hurts, it hurts, when is this going to be over, please, please-
-and the world reconstitutes itself around her at exactly the moment Ariadne's thinking it's too much, stop, stop, stop.
Somewhere in the howling Ariadne must have been thinking the right thing, because she's standing in a desert, a bright light in her eyes. She blinks, her eyes hurting, residual pain from the teleportation, and then she focuses and her breath catches in her throat for an entirely different reason than being unable to breathe.
The Southern Oracles, also known as the Riddle Gate, are glorious. Not exactly beautiful, just achingly, terrifyingly glorious. A pair of golden women, with the haunches of a lion and giant wings like an eagle, the Sphinges stand over two hundred feet high.
"In Fantasia tradition," Bastian says, in a reverent voice which echoes in this large open space. There's nothing but desert for miles behind them, and there's a gentle wind that whips Ariadne's hair in front of her face. Amelia looks nervously between Bastian and the Oracles, fear her only expression. He swallows, looking up at the faces of the Sphinges, and starts again. "In Fantasia tradition, they say the Southern Oracles are blind. That when you walk through between them, they throw all the riddles of the world at you, and you have to keep answering them and answering them until you've answered them all. Or until you die, whichever comes first." His eyes move slowly to something in between the Oracles, on the ground beneath their clawed feet. "Usually you die."
"So we go around them?" Ariadne says.
"No," Amelia says, "I've read the book. A million times. You have to go through them to get to the Mirror Gate."
"The Gate where you can see only truth," Ariadne says, recalling that much at least.
"Cobb - Atreyu," Bastian quickly amends, "he was lucky when he got through. He was nearly blind with fear..."
"There's three of us," Amelia says bravely, "chances are one of us might get through."
"That's not how it works," Bastian says philosophically, rocking on his heels and looking up at the Oracles. The light reflected from the Oracles make his face shine faintly, a gold hue that makes him look as old as Seb told Ariadne he mentally is. "Of course, it's not how it worked for Atreyu, either. I just let him think it did."
"Huh?" Ariadne says, blinking.
"I let Cobb think he was special," Bastian says, shrugging. "I liked Dame Eyola. She liked him. She liked him to be happy. It seemed to make sense at the time."
"It bloody makes sense now," Ariadne snits, even though it's not the place and time. "You might have incepted him in a dream. Not even a dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream, a regular, level one dreamscape. It might explain his whole God complex."
Bastian barks in laughter.
Amelia's soft, vulnerable voice breaks the moment. "I... don't know what either of you mean."
They both turn to look at Amelia. Ariadne tries to look apologetic, even though she doesn't feel sorry at all for her outburst.
"You just get one riddle," Bastian says. "You get it right? Bingo. You get it wrong? You're toast." He smiles a rueful smile. "We should go together. Three brains are better than one. And we can burn up together if we're wrong."
"Charming," Ariadne says, and Amelia nods earnestly at Ariadne, agreeing with her. It's the first time Amelia hasn't looked at Ariadne like she wants to hurt her, so it's a definitely improvement. "Let's go," she says, reluctantly. The sky's darkening. There's no way to tell how long they've been in Fantasia, or how long before the somnacin stops working and they wake up in the terror carnival again.
"Good idea," Amelia says, backing up a little, her eyes wide.
Ariadne whips around. In the distance, far off in the distance but definitely still there, are two pale figures. She doesn't need the glint of something shiny in their hands to know the clowns have found them.
"The Oracle takes a while to charge up between riddles," Bastian says. "If we get there first and solve it before they get here, the gate will hold them off."
"And if we don't solve it in time?" Ariadne asks.
"Then the clowns can come into the light and will slit our throats before the Sphinxes can burn us," Bastian says, too promptly. Ariadne's stomach falls.
"You heard him," Amelia says. "Let's go!"
They exchange a brief nod, and then walk forward. Bastian and Ariadne hold back, letting Amelia take the point.
"We have to let her solve it," Bastian says, keeping sotto voce so only Ariadne can hear. "These obstacles only make her hero if she solves them. She needs to pass this Gate by her own merit for the Mirror Gate to mean anything."
Ariadne nods.
The three of them pass by the feet of the right Sphinx, heading into the space between them. There are various corpses in various stages of decomposition littering the paths, framing a way through the sand. They walk in silence, strangely matching measured footsteps, even though the clowns are gaining on them.
The space between the Oracles demands nothing less than this odd reverence.
Ariadne's thinking maybe they're broken when light floods the space, and they all still. She risks a look up, and the Oracles have opened their eyes, just a little; slits of burning, golden light fall down on them. Ariadne's face feels warm. She feels like the Oracles are going to open their eyes wider, wider, and they're just going to burn down to their bones like the skeletons half buried in the sand.
And then the Oracles start speaking, and it's like they're speaking directly into her mind. They sound like two young girls, speaking almost simultaneously. Some of the syllables overlap each other, but the riddle is clear:
"You saw me where I never was and where I could not be. And yet within that very place, my face you often see. What am I?"
Amelia turns to them. In the bathing golden light she looks even older still, her pale hair absorbing the color of the light, glowing with it. "I don't know," she says, her thin, vulnerable voice echoing around them. Her words cause a reaction in the Oracles - their terrible, bright eyes open a slither more. The light and the heat of their gaze intensifies.
"You know," Bastian says, his voice as steady as possible. "Think, Amelia. Think."
"You can do this," Ariadne says. She risks a look back. The clowns have covered half the distance to the Oracles. If Amelia takes too long, then they could burn up and with that, their whole chance. Amelia won't believe a dream like this again. They might be able to find her again, but she won't believe a quest like this could make a difference. "Think."
"You saw me where I never was," Amelia says, as if to herself. "You saw me where I never was-" Her eyes trail the sand beneath their feet, and the light intensifies again. Ariadne would be sweating in the real world. As it is, her lungs feel a little tight. The heat is beginning to be uncomfortable. Amelia's eyes pause as she reaches a broken skull, and she swallows visibly. The light intensifies again, and Amelia's head whips up. "In the carnival," she says, fast, delighted, "in the carnival I was in the Hall of Mirrors. I went in there because it looked safe, but there weren't any mirrors, I couldn't see myself-"
"So what's the answer?" Bastian asks. He's yelling. Ariadne doesn't understand why, until she realizes the Oracles are making a sound of their own, like a dull, pressured whistling that makes her bones rattle a little now she's aware of it. "Amelia!"
"My reflection," Amelia shouts up to the two Oracles. "It's my reflection!"
There's a moment where the eyes open just a slit more, and Ariadne thinks this is it and she reaches out, grasping, and finds Amelia's hand in her own. They clench onto each other, and the light's so bright it hurts, and Ariadne can just about see Bastian taking Amelia's other hand.
And then the light drops.
The answer's right and the Oracles are letting them through.
"Let's go," Bastian barks, and Ariadne nods, and they jog out of there. It's not until they're on the other side, and Ariadne risks a look back to see the clowns reach the feet of the Oracles and jolt, like some invisible force is holding them back, that Ariadne releases the breath she's been holding and realizes that she's still clinging onto Amelia's hand.
They don't run this next part of desert, even though they all know the clowns are only delayed a little by the Oracles.
Ariadne feels rather than knows that it can't make much difference. There's poison pulsing in their veins that will kill them in a short space of time anyway; Ygramul's price for the power of teleportation.
From the almost serene looks on Bastian's and Amelia's faces, they can feel it too.
Ariadne knows what it is the instant she sees it, looking ahead of them in the distance, looking like nothing but a pile of rocks from the distance they're at. Bastian explains what it is regardless.
"The Magic Mirror Gate. It shows you who you truly are." Bastian's voice is hushed. The whole space feels like it requires softness and reverence. It feels like they're walking through a cathedral, arching ceilings and amazing stained glass windows and serenity permeating every motion and every shadow, but they're outside. There's nothing but sand, and darkening blue sky, and stars, and a short distance away, the Magic Mirror Gate.
"I should be scared right now," Ariadne says. "Being scared's the default emotion here. No one likes seeing who they really are." She means it as a question but it comes out as a statement, reassuring them all of this essential fact, that they are all really should be scared of this innocuous mirror gate.
A gate which truly could show them their true selves, as pure as their subconscious sees it, because this is a dream and after all...
Ariadne's dreamed it to have that power.
They should be scared, but no one is.
They pause a small distance away from it.
"I should... go first," Amelia says. "I don't know why, I just think... I should go first." She smiles at each of them in turn, and lets go of their hands. Ariadne sidles closer to Bastian, not wanting to be alone, and they watch as Amelia walks over to the gate.
The surface of the mirror is like still, clear water. Her reflection as she approaches is a perfect reversed image of her dream self, but as she gets closer, her reflection grows younger. Her roughly cropped golden hair grows, and grows, and her height lowers. Her face fills out a little, remnants of baby fat curving her cheeks. Her nightgown morphs into the soft green of a hospital gown.
Amelia, still looking like an adult outside of the mirror, makes this strangled sound in the back of her throat. Amelia in the mirror stares at her, tears tracking down her face, and young Amelia's head is shaking, and shaking. Ariadne's gaze is focused on the image of the young girl, and when she looks just a little to the left, Amelia in Fantasia looks identical to the mirror's reflection too.
She turns from the mirror, color in her face where in real life, on the bed, there is none. She looks healthy and alive, and a little sad. "I remember," Amelia says, her voice a little dull. "I remember." She turns fully away from the mirror. As she does, her reflection grows again into older Amelia, who gives her retreating, younger self a sad, soft wave goodbye before disappearing.
Amelia runs up to them, her golden hair flying behind her, her face twisted in an odd shape like she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I remember everything," she says. "I got sick. Really sick. I should have gotten better."
"We came to wake you up," Bastian says, her strained smile mirrored on his face.
Amelia's face falls. "You can't."
Bastian frowns, and then realizes what Ariadne's noticed too. That Amelia's looking behind him. To the two clowns, that have caught up with them. Ariadne swallows a sour sound of surprise and raises the crossbow, but Amelia, wise for her short years, puts her hand on the top of it and forces it down.
"I'm sorry I didn't like you at first," Amelia says. "I thought you were her."
"Her?" Ariadne asks, confused.
"Mom," Amelia says, like she's answering her question, but the clowns falter. Like Amelia's calling to them. As Ariadne watches, the clowns almost ripple, and combine into one. Two twin cleavers drop soundlessly to the sand. The sad expression on the remaining clown's face seems familiar. "Mom didn't want me to wake up. She liked the attention."
The clown tilts its head. Her head, Ariadne thinks in horror, and the clown reaches up to its neck. The makeup's a mask, Ariadne realizes, wondering why she didn't see that before.
"You can't wake me up until you stop her giving me the medicine," Amelia says. "The medicine that's stopping me from waking up."
"What is it?" Bastian asks, urgent.
"I don't know," Amelia says. "But she gives it to me. Just stop her, and you'll save me." Amelia moves away from Ariadne and Bastian and towards the clown. All her fear for the clowns from before is just replaced by pure sadness. "Mom, why did you do that to me? How could you, Mom?"
The clown pulls the mask away, and it's Amelia's mother, looking just as sad as her daughter. Amelia remembers then. Remembers Amelia's mother coming to talk to Ariadne, when any other mother would want to hear the full explanation of what Cobb was planning to do.
Remembers the expression on Amelia's mother's face when quizzing Ariadne about their chance of completing this. Ariadne had taken her question at face value at the time, but in hindsight, the nervousness in her tone was transparent.
She didn't want them to succeed. She wanted them to fail.
"I-" Amelia's mother starts. "I-"
"That's what I thought," Amelia says, and resolutely turns her back on her. Behind her, Amelia's mother collapses to her knee, and then slowly turns to white and red dust which spills away on a slow gust of wind. Amelia lifts her face, and looks at Ariadne and Bastian. "Can I go home now?"
Bastian nods, tersely. "Of course. All you have to do is walk through that mirror. Find Mr. Eames and Mr. Cobb. They'll get you back to your bed."
Amelia nods. "When you get there, wake me up, please," she says, nods at them, and then turns back to the mirror. She pauses for a second, and then runs at the mirror full-tilt. No fear.
"Wish for where you want to go," Bastian calls after her.
Amelia doesn't turn back to let him know she's heard him, but she yells, "Daddy!" before she hits the glass and then she does hit the glass, except she doesn't shatter it - it remains like an odd, vertical water and swallows her whole.
"Well," Ariadne says, into the silence. "Wow."
"Wow indeed," Bastian repeats. He can't meet her eyes when he says, "Some parents are complete shits."
Ariadne can't say anything to that. Bastian's mom, and now Amelia's mom... Mal was a mom too, she thinks, and resolve tightens in her spine. She looks across at Bastian, and keeps her face as neutral as possible.
And she hopes like hell that Arthur's holding back the knowledge that this is her faking face.
"Come on," Ariadne says, with false cheerfulness. "Let's look."
"We don't have to," Bastian says, rolling his eyes. "We'll go back to the carnival in a short time without doing anything."
"Gmork's still back there," Ariadne says. "I want to go forward." She steps forward, and holds his gaze. "I want to see. Come with me?"
"You do realize Amelia went on her own, and she's nine years old?" Bastian teases, but offers her his arm regardless. Ariadne takes it, and raises her eyebrows.
"What can you do," she says with a shrug, philosophically.
She keeps her eyes on the mirror as they walk up to it. This part of Fantasia is silent, too on the edge of the landscape for any of the other creatures to live. The nearest ones are the gnomics, Engywook and Urgl. But if Ariadne was in the mood to talk to Fantasians, she's not in the mood to try and pass the Oracle again, and she hated the teleportation with Ygramul's poison.
No, going forward is best. Besides, Ariadne has one last mission.
"Did Arthur let you know," Ariadne says, as they walk up to the mirror. For a moment it looks like she's Bastian in the mirror, but it's just the way they've approached the mirror. In the mirror, Ariadne doesn't look any different. Not a little older, or a little wiser, or anything else experience is supposed to do to you. Her reflection is her reflection, and Ariadne hopes that means she's just fully aware of who she is.
And what she's capable of.
"Know what?" Bastian asks, his eyes looking at his own reflection with a little worry. Ariadne can understand. The surface of the mirror is exactly like water, and Amelia's exit has left ripples still echoing across the crystal surface; Bastian's reflection is broken, and that's completely apt.
"That Eames puts backdoors in every landscape we build," Ariadne says, in as conversational a tone as she can.
She's been waiting for this. Silently clocking the backdoors which Eames insisted were put in all over the place. Knowing one of them was going to have to try this when they could.
"Oh," Bastian says, blinking. "Yes. Of course. He keeps thinking about the Inception job and... Mal." His voice hitches a little. "I suppose Ygramul's a backdoor on her own."
"Yes," Ariadne says, her tongue feeling too large for her throat. She swallows and continues. "In the Inception job it was ventilation tunnels."
"You're saying you put tunnels through Fantasia?" Bastian adds, jokingly.
"No," Ariadne says, deceptively casual. "I'm saying I put back doors."
Bastian's eyes widen a little but it's too late. Ariadne thinks the door into the Mirror gate, a plain, wooden door like the door to the warehouse. She twists, launches herself at Bastian, and grabs him by his upper arms. She takes him by surprise, and spins him to the door frame before he can even react.
His eyes fly to hers, but she's too quick. She's already pushing him through by the time he realizes what's going on.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Ariadne says, emphasising Arthur, and hurls Bastian through the door.
Behind the door's pure utter black. Ariadne stares in horror, takes a breath and hurries through the door to the other side.
It slams behind her. She whirls, seeing the Mirror Gate reform behind her, its rippling surface showing her with a frown even though Ariadne can't feel a frown on her own forehead.
She is worried, though. And there's maybe every good reason to be worried, as she finds out when she turns around.
Because in front of her is Arthur, standing in one of his trademark outfits; one of his favorite suits but without the jacket. His hair's slicked back and there's a stunned expression on his face.
And to his right is Seb, standing in his hoodie and casual pants, his hands in his pockets and a surly expression on his face. His hair's hanging loosely in his face, and he doesn't look too pleased to see her at all, which he emphasis by making a low growl that sounds like a higher pitched version of Gmork's growling.
Ariadne doesn't know what to say. "Huh," is what makes it out of her mouth.
It's probably accurate enough.
Then she realizes something else. She doesn't want to say his name, in case it undoes what she's done and it brings him back. But that's definitely Arthur and Seb in front of her. Her eyes fly to Arthur's, and he nods behind her. Ariadne turns, expecting to see her own reflection, but it's not.
It's Bastian.
He's stood like he's trapped in the mirror, and he looks sad, but resigned. Ariadne's heart is in her mouth, but she swallows it down. He's said he would give himself up for Arthur, and he intimated before he would give Seb a chance, and this must be it.
Bastian lifts his chin and then he smiles at Ariadne, a brilliant, genuine smile. His cheeks crease into dimples. It's infectious. Ariadne can't help but return it.
"Thank you," he mouths at her, still smiling. "Goodbye."
It's instinct for Ariadne to move forward, but on this side of the Mirror gate, the surface is hard, like glass. She puts her hand out, flat against it. Bastian pushes his palm against hers on the other side, nods once, and disappears.
Tears bite into her eyes almost immediately, and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut for a moment, mourning him. "Goodbye," she says out loud, even though it's too late.
Bastian's already gone.
"He's right," Seb calls out, his voice sharp like a gun-shot. "To say thank you."
Ariadne whirls back on her feet. Arthur's face is as confused as Ariadne's feeling.
"You promised me you'd speak my corner," Seb says. "And you've erased Bastian and given me a good chance to rid Arthur from the equation too. Thanks is probably less than the situation really deserves."
Ariadne opens her mouth. "Wha-" is all she manages to get out, because Seb yanks something out of his pocket and charges directly at Arthur.
"Guess you should have kept all that martial arts training in your head," Seb bites out, and throws himself at Arthur.
Fantasia's surreal enough, Sphinges and shifting landscapes and strange creatures aside. This moment beats them all.
"I didn't give you it all," Arthur bites back, and that's pure Arthur, danger and determination, and then... they're fighting. Seb versus Arthur. Rage versus perfect, exact talent. Ariadne watches, a little baffled by it. She feels like she should step in, but then she remembers Bastian disappearing, and feels like she's done more than enough.
Besides, this isn't really her fight. This has to be Arthur fighting for himself. He has to realize how much more he wants it than Seb. If Ariadne lets it be anything else, if she swoops in to save the day, it'll be just like Mal. Coming in with what she thought was right, and splintering Arthur into three regardless.
Splitting Bastian into three, her brain reminds her.
Their fight is vicious. Arthur manages to disarm Seb, which earns him a full-force punch in the face in return, but it's better than being stabbed-
Except, both of them seem to have a thought at the same time. Which makes sense, them inhabiting the same brain. The thought hits Ariadne somewhat at the same time too:
Like maybe it's dying first that will win them the body back.
They both dive for the knife that's lying in the sand at the same time, but Ariadne's closer to it. She throws herself at it, covering it with her body, her hand scrabbling in the dust until her fingers close around the metal.
She pushes herself up to her feet and holds out the knife, blade first, as both of them advance on her.
"Ariadne," Arthur says, quietly.
"Do it, Ariadne," Seb goads, mimicking Arthur's firm tone. "Killing one of us might kill us forever. Or it might choose who wins. Who knows?" He steps closer, and Arthur follows, matching him.
The difference is, Arthur's hands are more stretched out towards Seb, casually. Like he's even now prioritising Ariadne over himself.
Ariadne looks at Arthur, trying to will him to understand, and then she turns and throws the knife as far into the desert as she can.
"No," Seb breathes, and moves to go for it.
Arthur side-tackles him. They land in the sand at Ariadne's feet. She shrieks and shuffles back, away from the flailing elbows and knees as they start pummelling each other.
"You don't deserve to live," Seb howls, thrusting the heel of his hand into Arthur's nose. "You have no imagination-" His howl degenerates into a loud whine of pain when Arthur repays the hit to his nose to Seb's groin. "You're ridiculous and boring and I would live the life a million times better than you would! What do you have going for you?"
One of Arthur's hands clenches around Seb's throat. Coolly, Arthur looks at him, dispassionately. After a moment he says, quietly, simply, "Eames."
Ariadne's heart lodges in her throat. Because she's wrong. This isn't just Arthur and Seb in this fight. It's Eames too. But if Arthur isn't a part of his own survival, he'll never think himself good enough.
Arthur pushes down on Seb's throat harder. Seb struggles beneath him. Ariadne clutches at the material of her sleeves, crushing the fabric.
Arthur's won.
"Do it," Seb manages. "Do it."
For a moment, it looks like Arthur is going to kill him, right then and there in the sand. Ariadne's heart is hammering in her chest, loud and off-beat.
Arthur's eyes are flint-cold, and his jaw tenses, and Ariadne's seen that expression on his face a thousand times before he takes down projections. Except his expression softens, and his grip does too. "I can't," he says, his voice tight and small. "I can't do it."
He looks completely stunned, and thoroughly vulnerable.
Seb's eyes flutter shut in utter relief. And then open, burning hard, as he throws his entire weight at Arthur, who's not expecting it. Winded, Arthur's thrown to one side, and Seb pushes into the ground to lever himself up and over. He pushes his elbow into the softest part of Arthur's neck and pushes down with no mercy.
Arthur's hands flail out, grasping uselessly into the sand, and he kicks out, but it's not going to be enough. The light in Seb's eyes is harsh, and his eyes are blacker than Ariadne's ever seen them, and she throws herself forward, but it's not going to be in time.
Ariadne wants to shout out stop, but terror closes her throat, and she skids through the sand, but she's too slow, there's no way she can fight Seb off now.
But there's no way she's going to not try.
She hurls herself onto him, hooking one elbow around his neck, and he loosens the pressure on Arthur's neck, but not enough. She throws her weight to the side as best as she can, but she really does sometimes forget to eat when they're working so hard and as a result she's a good twenty pounds less at least than even Arthur's small frame. They tumble in a heap, Seb sandwiched between them, Arthur still gasping for air like he's not getting enough oxygen. Ariadne thinks they're going to be stuck this way forever.
And then a voice they all know so well cuts through the rage pounding in their eardrums, and they all freeze, simultaneously.
"Stop that immediately."
Ariadne doesn't even need the wrong syllable stressed in immediately to recognize the tone, and neither Arthur nor Seb need it either.
They all know Mal's voice.
You're not real, Ariadne thinks, but it doesn't stop her from climbing to her feet. It doesn't stop her from watching detachedly as Seb and Arthur get to their feet and dust themselves down.
She was lovely, Arthur said, during the Fischer job. Her voice is a siren spell for all of them.
"Mal-" Seb starts, jerking forwards.
Ariadne shakes her head desperately. This can't be Mal. Cobb's gone out of the dream. It doesn't make sense.
"You shouldn't be fighting." Mal's voice is chiding. She's as beautiful as Ariadne remembers her being, from inside the dreams Ariadne's met her in. Beautiful and almost otherworldly, with her pale green eyes and enticing voice. "Seb, my boy. Why are you fighting?"
Seb blinks. Stutters. "M-me?"
He looks from Mal to Arthur. Arthur's expression is hard. He's looking at Mal like he's been completely betrayed. Like he can't believe Mal's here.
Like he can't believe Mal's here and she's choosing Seb over him.
"Of course you," Mal says, looking directly at Seb. She walks forwards, moving past Arthur without even giving him a side glance. "Arthur was only ever a creation to keep you safe, my love. You have to know that."
"But you-" A sob splits Seb's sentence in half. He's struggling to stay upright. He's looking at Mal like she's the whole world, his eyes wet. It's like Bastian looked at Falcor, when he flew ahead of them in the trial run.
It's like Arthur looks at Eames sometimes.
"You left me," Seb says, hurling it out, bitter and angry. He steps back, jerking himself away from her as she steps towards him, calmly, her arms outstretched like a mother reaching for a hug.
They've all seen how much damage mothers can do today, though. Seb stares at her in disbelief.
"You died," Seb breathes.
"Oh, my boy. Of course, of course, that's what Arthur let you think. Dominic too, I think. Both so narrow-minded. No imagination." Mal's hands tilt a little, consideringly. "Of course that is the memory Arthur pushed through to you. He didn't want you to know the truth."
"The truth?" Seb glances over at Arthur, an expression that looks a little like hope filtering into his eyes. He looks back at Mal, like he can still scarcely believe she's there.
The same expression is on Arthur's face.
Ariadne wonders over it all. The magnitude of Mallorie Cobb. The awe she elicited from everyone who knew her. Except, sometimes, that's what happened to people who died. Ariadne's got this uncle, who was a real lech when he was alive, a gambler like Eames. She remembers vividly hearing her own mother talk of Uncle Bryan with a handful of negative names and scurrilous vocabulary. Yet even last Christmas, her mom was talking fondly about him, like nothing was wrong with him. Like he was a saint.
Maybe dying didn't erase your sins. It just faded other's memories of them.
"The truth," Mal says. She looks over at Arthur, her expression flint-hard, like she doesn't know him at all. "Let him have it."
"No," Arthur breathes, shifting on the spot. "No-"
"He's let enough of it through," Seb says, squinting at Arthur for a moment. His eyes fly back to Mal. "He's thinking you're dead. That you thought real life was a dream and you had to die to get back to reality."
"He's almost right," Mal says, and she steps forwards. Seb doesn't jerk backwards this time, and he lets her slide her hands around his elbows. She looks at him with a soft smile, directly in the eyes. "Arthur's got it wrong, though. He thinks I was wrong. But I was right, Seb. We're in a dream."
"I know that," Seb says, "we're in a dream-within-a-dream right this moment."
Mal laughs, and the sound is like tinkling bells. Her eyes never leave his. "We're in a dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream, my chéri. We must die, and die, and die." Her hands tighten around his elbows. "Come with me. Die with me." Her voice lowers. "Wake with me. I have come for you, Seb. You're my favorite. No one else will listen and I'm so alone."
Seb stares at her, stares and stares. Ariadne's completely frozen by his indecision, by the fear of this moment, because it's not the first time she's considered the truth of it all.
It's not the first time she's wondered if Mal was right.
"I'll come with you," Seb breathes, and he's crying, and he looks so, so happy that Ariadne's heart trembles with it. "Of course I'll come with you."
Mal's smile lights up Fantasia more than Bastian's wishes ever could. She lets go of his arms, and wraps one of his hands in hers, and they move towards the Mirror gate, Seb's eyes on her. "We must go to the mirror. Travelling in reverse will do as kindly as travelling through it forward, as Amelia did."
They pause before it. Ariadne moves, but she's stopped by something - Arthur's arm across her shoulders. That's one of Eames' moves, she thinks, and glares at Arthur, expecting him to be readying to do something, to stop this, because this might mean Seb winning-
He isn't doing anything but staring, and there are tears in his eyes.
"Do you trust me, Seb?" Mal says, loud and high and free. "I'll be with you. On the other side. Leap and wish to die, and we'll be together forever."
"I'm ready," Seb says, smiling right into her face, "Oh, Mal, I'm ready." He turns back to the Mirror, and that's when Ariadne remembers.
A thought she'd had only this week.
When Eames is really rampant into a lie, he's all body and eye contact. He takes you by the elbows and looks deeply into your eyes and is so very, very earnest.
It's not Mal guiding Seb. It's Eames.
It's Eames.
"I love you," Eames-as-Mal says, and now Ariadne can see him, in the ripple of the Mirror Gate's surface, part-Mal, part-Eames.
Seb doesn't notice. "I love you too," he says, turns into the Mirror and jumps.
On to part 8
Masterpost
mizzy2k
He doesn't wait for her. Ariadne wonders if Bastian's ever learned chivalry. Why would he, in a world of his own creation? It'll have been Seb who was taught the rules of society, and Arthur who took them to heart and followed them by rote.
"We could do with a luckdragon right about now," Amelia calls out, as they thunder along the new range of landscape. This is the land of the Dead Mountains, and it's all grey, grey, grey as far as the eye can see, like cracked sidewalk slabs.
Step on a crack and break your mother's back, Ariadne thinks, arbitrarily.
"...isn't Falcor supposed to show up when we're most in need?" Ariadne asks Bastian as she matches her pace to his.
He's a little slow. Then again, he is running on his toes, just as oddly as both he and Seb walk. Like a dancer, Eames said - but there's nothing graceful about it when applied to a run. There's no spring in the step at all.
"No," Bastian says. "Unless I wish for him specifically, Falcor's a luckdragon. It's completely random. I-" He makes a show and tell of hauling in a breath, obviously thinking of the best way to phrase what he's thinking. "-I guess I don't want to see him. We said goodbye a long time ago. I think he knew."
"Bastian-" Ariadne starts, still overwhelmed by it all. He throws her a rueful smile as Amelia shouts, shattering the quiet, intimate moment.
"Ahead, ahead, come on," Amelia yells.
"I regret forming all of Fantasia in my head when we're just going the book route," Ariadne mutters. "My poor brain."
"I wouldn't have been able to call the creatures in without the full layout," Bastian tells her kindly, keeping his gaze focussed on the slabs. The farther they get into the Land of the Dead Mountains, the more rugged and uneven the cracked sidewalk slabs become, and the land on either side of them is starting to rise higher and higher. It's like the mountains are growing either side of them as they run, but it's just an optical illusion due to the slow graduation. "Besides, Amelia might not have taken to Cairon's suggestion."
"She's... oddly suggestible."
"I'd noticed that too," Bastian says, looking troubled. Then he looks at her, and maybe he's not that ungraceful because he manages to navigate over the cracks while still running while looking at her. It's pretty impressive, actually. "Maybe because she's so young."
"But she thinks she's an adult," Ariadne says.
Bastian looks forward again. "Who are we to say otherwise?"
It's philosophical. Ariadne makes a murmuring sound, because she doesn't have space for philosophy in her head past this whole killing Seb to save Arthur dilemma.
"Besides," Bastian adds, thoughtfully, "Dom's an adult and look at his life choices."
Ariadne laughs. The sound feels like sandpaper in her lungs, and it feels a little too sad, but considering how sad and torn she's felt over the whole situation, the fact that she can laugh is a considerable one.
And then Ygramul rises up from the depths of the chasm a little way ahead of them and Ariadne's too busy swallowing down an instant mouthful of bile to do anything else.
She wants to skid to a halt. Horror of horrors is what Bastian said and it's not an underestimation of any kind. Ygramul still hasn't pulled her full bulk out of the chasm yet and Ariadne feels violently ill, like her stomach's contracted and her skin is too tight and her legs are suddenly unable to move.
Amelia keeps running, right up to the spider as Ygramul's final last two legs waver out of the chasm and onto the ground, and it's an instinct to follow her that's deep in Ariadne, stronger than her revulsion at the eight-legged monster in front of her, its distended rippling belly and its head, larger than Morla's, and a thousand miles away from Morla's beauty. There's a subtle siren call about Ygramul, a compelling attraction to move closer. Come into my lair, said the spider to the fly.
"Please, Ygramul, we require your assistance," Amelia shouts, undaunted as she looks up into the terrifying face of the giant spider, its numerous fangs bundled in its slightly gaping mouth, crowded like wiggling stalactites in its dark face.
"She's also called the many," Bastian says, and his voice is quiet. Ariadne startles. She hadn't realized she'd slowed to a stop, or that Bastian was still alongside her.
"Why-" Ariadne starts, and then she sees why, and she shuts her mouth. Pushes it in a tight line like she could stop Ygramul from getting inside her, from crawling inside her-
Because Ygramul, the Many, isn't actually a giant spider. She - as Bastian defines her - is a hundred, a thousand little hornet-like insects, all bundled together and moving in perfect synchronicity to give the illusion of a giant spider.
"They share a single hive-mind," Bastian explains, and he moves forwards, rolling his sleeve up, showing one pale wrist. "If you would be so kind, Ygramul. We have need of your poison."
"Kill you it will, master Bastian," Ygramul - the many - hisses, and her voice is a chorus of a thousand small, buzzing voices. She sounds pleased at the concept. "If you are so eager to succumb to my cold death, perhaps we could wrap you up. You'd live longer, my darling."
"I'm not your darling," Bastian shouts, and then shakes himself, hissing under his breath a little. "If you could just oblige me this once, Ygramul-"
"We oblige you all the time," the many hisses, sounding angry, and Ygramul loses her shape for a little as the hornet-like insects buzz in fury for a moment. "We shall this time."
"Appreciated," Bastian calls up. "Just hold out your wrist," he explains to the others, pushing his pale wrist out even more. Three of the insects detach from Ygramul and fly over to them.
It's not as terrifying as being bitten by a ginormous spider, but it's pretty damn close. Ariadne swallows as the many allotted to her drifts over. Far behind it, Ygramul, in her spider form, curls her shifting, silver head into an even more gruesome smile. She trembles a little, allowing herself a little fear, but she tilts her head and glares the insect in the eye.
"When it bites you," Bastian says, "wish really hard for the Riddle Gate. It's guarded by the giant golden sphinx. We'll all appear there together."
"Shouldn't one of us stay?" Ariadne says, feeling like a complete coward, but the single many is drifting towards her, looking even more lethal the closer it gets to her. "In case Eames catches up with her?"
Bastian throws her a sceptical look. "Do you honestly believe he will?" He swallows, looks away from Ariadne to where Ygramul looks inordinately pleased with herself. "He's gone."
"You say that like you know."
"I do," Bastian says, like it hurts him to say. "I can't feel him anywhere." He looks a little sick, and Ariadne can understand, because that's Arthur. That's Arthur hijacking Bastian's connection with Fantasia. So it's not just Seb that's leaked through a little, she thinks.
Ariadne feels sick too - that's because she's a decent aim with a crossbow, but she's no Cobb or Arthur. And without Eames to back her up, she's really hoping they don't run into Gmork or the clowns any time soon. Or the Nothing. Although even an incredible crossbow-aim couldn't do a thing to that all-encompassing ravenous cloud. "Really hope you did get that map down," he says, sharply changing topic. "If you got it wrong-" He hisses out loud in pain as his many just speeds into his wrist, colliding with the soft exposed skin unkindly.
"Then?" Ariadne manages, as her own many does the same, speeding into her wrist. It's like getting twenty injections all at once; tears come to her eyes for the first time in the last week for purely physical pain.
"We might appear in the middle of nowhere," Bastian says, looking a bit moist-eyed himself. "How many chasms exactly are you holding in your head right now?"
"I appreciate your vote of confidence," Ariadne says sourly, and then her stomach growls, embarrassingly loud. She frowns. It's not often that hunger's a problem in the dreamscape.
Then she pauses, because she's not hungry.
It's not her stomach.
She turns in horror to see a familiar figure at the horizon.
"Gmork," Ariadne breathes, and the dark wolf starts to run towards them, baring his shiny white teeth as he runs at them, full speed. She feels the urge to unleash a crossbow, but that's not her best escape tool at the moment.
"Close your eyes and wish!" Bastian yells. "The Riddle Gates!"
The last thing Ariadne wants to do is close her eyes. Gmork's getting closer, his dark coat glinting, and as he comes closer, she can see blood on his muzzle. Cobb's blood, she thinks, dizzily. She wants to keep her eyes open so she can see her death coming. Her head's buzzing. Her wrist burns.
"Ariadne, Amelia, now," Bastian screams, and he sounds so much older than his years, than Arthur's years, than Morla's years and Ariadne automatically does what he says. She screws her eyes shut and thinks, Riddle Gates, Riddle Gates, Riddle Gates-
But it's not going to work. She can hear Gmork's claws scraping against the cracked grey slabs of the Land of the Dead Mountains. She can hear the low, growling hurtling from the depths of his throat. She can smell his sour breath, and feel the ghosting touch of his paw heading for her exposed throat and-
-the world disappears beneath her feet.
Ariadne opens her mouth to scream, to yell, to say something, to do anything, but she can't. There's nothing but wind forcing itself down through her throat, pushing into her, filling her up and hollowing her out, and all she wants to do is scream and scream but she can't, she can't, and it hurts, it hurts, when is this going to be over, please, please-
-and the world reconstitutes itself around her at exactly the moment Ariadne's thinking it's too much, stop, stop, stop.
Somewhere in the howling Ariadne must have been thinking the right thing, because she's standing in a desert, a bright light in her eyes. She blinks, her eyes hurting, residual pain from the teleportation, and then she focuses and her breath catches in her throat for an entirely different reason than being unable to breathe.
The Southern Oracles, also known as the Riddle Gate, are glorious. Not exactly beautiful, just achingly, terrifyingly glorious. A pair of golden women, with the haunches of a lion and giant wings like an eagle, the Sphinges stand over two hundred feet high.
"In Fantasia tradition," Bastian says, in a reverent voice which echoes in this large open space. There's nothing but desert for miles behind them, and there's a gentle wind that whips Ariadne's hair in front of her face. Amelia looks nervously between Bastian and the Oracles, fear her only expression. He swallows, looking up at the faces of the Sphinges, and starts again. "In Fantasia tradition, they say the Southern Oracles are blind. That when you walk through between them, they throw all the riddles of the world at you, and you have to keep answering them and answering them until you've answered them all. Or until you die, whichever comes first." His eyes move slowly to something in between the Oracles, on the ground beneath their clawed feet. "Usually you die."
"So we go around them?" Ariadne says.
"No," Amelia says, "I've read the book. A million times. You have to go through them to get to the Mirror Gate."
"The Gate where you can see only truth," Ariadne says, recalling that much at least.
"Cobb - Atreyu," Bastian quickly amends, "he was lucky when he got through. He was nearly blind with fear..."
"There's three of us," Amelia says bravely, "chances are one of us might get through."
"That's not how it works," Bastian says philosophically, rocking on his heels and looking up at the Oracles. The light reflected from the Oracles make his face shine faintly, a gold hue that makes him look as old as Seb told Ariadne he mentally is. "Of course, it's not how it worked for Atreyu, either. I just let him think it did."
"Huh?" Ariadne says, blinking.
"I let Cobb think he was special," Bastian says, shrugging. "I liked Dame Eyola. She liked him. She liked him to be happy. It seemed to make sense at the time."
"It bloody makes sense now," Ariadne snits, even though it's not the place and time. "You might have incepted him in a dream. Not even a dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream, a regular, level one dreamscape. It might explain his whole God complex."
Bastian barks in laughter.
Amelia's soft, vulnerable voice breaks the moment. "I... don't know what either of you mean."
They both turn to look at Amelia. Ariadne tries to look apologetic, even though she doesn't feel sorry at all for her outburst.
"You just get one riddle," Bastian says. "You get it right? Bingo. You get it wrong? You're toast." He smiles a rueful smile. "We should go together. Three brains are better than one. And we can burn up together if we're wrong."
"Charming," Ariadne says, and Amelia nods earnestly at Ariadne, agreeing with her. It's the first time Amelia hasn't looked at Ariadne like she wants to hurt her, so it's a definitely improvement. "Let's go," she says, reluctantly. The sky's darkening. There's no way to tell how long they've been in Fantasia, or how long before the somnacin stops working and they wake up in the terror carnival again.
"Good idea," Amelia says, backing up a little, her eyes wide.
Ariadne whips around. In the distance, far off in the distance but definitely still there, are two pale figures. She doesn't need the glint of something shiny in their hands to know the clowns have found them.
"The Oracle takes a while to charge up between riddles," Bastian says. "If we get there first and solve it before they get here, the gate will hold them off."
"And if we don't solve it in time?" Ariadne asks.
"Then the clowns can come into the light and will slit our throats before the Sphinxes can burn us," Bastian says, too promptly. Ariadne's stomach falls.
"You heard him," Amelia says. "Let's go!"
They exchange a brief nod, and then walk forward. Bastian and Ariadne hold back, letting Amelia take the point.
"We have to let her solve it," Bastian says, keeping sotto voce so only Ariadne can hear. "These obstacles only make her hero if she solves them. She needs to pass this Gate by her own merit for the Mirror Gate to mean anything."
Ariadne nods.
The three of them pass by the feet of the right Sphinx, heading into the space between them. There are various corpses in various stages of decomposition littering the paths, framing a way through the sand. They walk in silence, strangely matching measured footsteps, even though the clowns are gaining on them.
The space between the Oracles demands nothing less than this odd reverence.
Ariadne's thinking maybe they're broken when light floods the space, and they all still. She risks a look up, and the Oracles have opened their eyes, just a little; slits of burning, golden light fall down on them. Ariadne's face feels warm. She feels like the Oracles are going to open their eyes wider, wider, and they're just going to burn down to their bones like the skeletons half buried in the sand.
And then the Oracles start speaking, and it's like they're speaking directly into her mind. They sound like two young girls, speaking almost simultaneously. Some of the syllables overlap each other, but the riddle is clear:
"You saw me where I never was and where I could not be. And yet within that very place, my face you often see. What am I?"
Amelia turns to them. In the bathing golden light she looks even older still, her pale hair absorbing the color of the light, glowing with it. "I don't know," she says, her thin, vulnerable voice echoing around them. Her words cause a reaction in the Oracles - their terrible, bright eyes open a slither more. The light and the heat of their gaze intensifies.
"You know," Bastian says, his voice as steady as possible. "Think, Amelia. Think."
"You can do this," Ariadne says. She risks a look back. The clowns have covered half the distance to the Oracles. If Amelia takes too long, then they could burn up and with that, their whole chance. Amelia won't believe a dream like this again. They might be able to find her again, but she won't believe a quest like this could make a difference. "Think."
"You saw me where I never was," Amelia says, as if to herself. "You saw me where I never was-" Her eyes trail the sand beneath their feet, and the light intensifies again. Ariadne would be sweating in the real world. As it is, her lungs feel a little tight. The heat is beginning to be uncomfortable. Amelia's eyes pause as she reaches a broken skull, and she swallows visibly. The light intensifies again, and Amelia's head whips up. "In the carnival," she says, fast, delighted, "in the carnival I was in the Hall of Mirrors. I went in there because it looked safe, but there weren't any mirrors, I couldn't see myself-"
"So what's the answer?" Bastian asks. He's yelling. Ariadne doesn't understand why, until she realizes the Oracles are making a sound of their own, like a dull, pressured whistling that makes her bones rattle a little now she's aware of it. "Amelia!"
"My reflection," Amelia shouts up to the two Oracles. "It's my reflection!"
There's a moment where the eyes open just a slit more, and Ariadne thinks this is it and she reaches out, grasping, and finds Amelia's hand in her own. They clench onto each other, and the light's so bright it hurts, and Ariadne can just about see Bastian taking Amelia's other hand.
And then the light drops.
The answer's right and the Oracles are letting them through.
"Let's go," Bastian barks, and Ariadne nods, and they jog out of there. It's not until they're on the other side, and Ariadne risks a look back to see the clowns reach the feet of the Oracles and jolt, like some invisible force is holding them back, that Ariadne releases the breath she's been holding and realizes that she's still clinging onto Amelia's hand.
They don't run this next part of desert, even though they all know the clowns are only delayed a little by the Oracles.
Ariadne feels rather than knows that it can't make much difference. There's poison pulsing in their veins that will kill them in a short space of time anyway; Ygramul's price for the power of teleportation.
From the almost serene looks on Bastian's and Amelia's faces, they can feel it too.
Ariadne knows what it is the instant she sees it, looking ahead of them in the distance, looking like nothing but a pile of rocks from the distance they're at. Bastian explains what it is regardless.
"The Magic Mirror Gate. It shows you who you truly are." Bastian's voice is hushed. The whole space feels like it requires softness and reverence. It feels like they're walking through a cathedral, arching ceilings and amazing stained glass windows and serenity permeating every motion and every shadow, but they're outside. There's nothing but sand, and darkening blue sky, and stars, and a short distance away, the Magic Mirror Gate.
"I should be scared right now," Ariadne says. "Being scared's the default emotion here. No one likes seeing who they really are." She means it as a question but it comes out as a statement, reassuring them all of this essential fact, that they are all really should be scared of this innocuous mirror gate.
A gate which truly could show them their true selves, as pure as their subconscious sees it, because this is a dream and after all...
Ariadne's dreamed it to have that power.
They should be scared, but no one is.
They pause a small distance away from it.
"I should... go first," Amelia says. "I don't know why, I just think... I should go first." She smiles at each of them in turn, and lets go of their hands. Ariadne sidles closer to Bastian, not wanting to be alone, and they watch as Amelia walks over to the gate.
The surface of the mirror is like still, clear water. Her reflection as she approaches is a perfect reversed image of her dream self, but as she gets closer, her reflection grows younger. Her roughly cropped golden hair grows, and grows, and her height lowers. Her face fills out a little, remnants of baby fat curving her cheeks. Her nightgown morphs into the soft green of a hospital gown.
Amelia, still looking like an adult outside of the mirror, makes this strangled sound in the back of her throat. Amelia in the mirror stares at her, tears tracking down her face, and young Amelia's head is shaking, and shaking. Ariadne's gaze is focused on the image of the young girl, and when she looks just a little to the left, Amelia in Fantasia looks identical to the mirror's reflection too.
She turns from the mirror, color in her face where in real life, on the bed, there is none. She looks healthy and alive, and a little sad. "I remember," Amelia says, her voice a little dull. "I remember." She turns fully away from the mirror. As she does, her reflection grows again into older Amelia, who gives her retreating, younger self a sad, soft wave goodbye before disappearing.
Amelia runs up to them, her golden hair flying behind her, her face twisted in an odd shape like she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I remember everything," she says. "I got sick. Really sick. I should have gotten better."
"We came to wake you up," Bastian says, her strained smile mirrored on his face.
Amelia's face falls. "You can't."
Bastian frowns, and then realizes what Ariadne's noticed too. That Amelia's looking behind him. To the two clowns, that have caught up with them. Ariadne swallows a sour sound of surprise and raises the crossbow, but Amelia, wise for her short years, puts her hand on the top of it and forces it down.
"I'm sorry I didn't like you at first," Amelia says. "I thought you were her."
"Her?" Ariadne asks, confused.
"Mom," Amelia says, like she's answering her question, but the clowns falter. Like Amelia's calling to them. As Ariadne watches, the clowns almost ripple, and combine into one. Two twin cleavers drop soundlessly to the sand. The sad expression on the remaining clown's face seems familiar. "Mom didn't want me to wake up. She liked the attention."
The clown tilts its head. Her head, Ariadne thinks in horror, and the clown reaches up to its neck. The makeup's a mask, Ariadne realizes, wondering why she didn't see that before.
"You can't wake me up until you stop her giving me the medicine," Amelia says. "The medicine that's stopping me from waking up."
"What is it?" Bastian asks, urgent.
"I don't know," Amelia says. "But she gives it to me. Just stop her, and you'll save me." Amelia moves away from Ariadne and Bastian and towards the clown. All her fear for the clowns from before is just replaced by pure sadness. "Mom, why did you do that to me? How could you, Mom?"
The clown pulls the mask away, and it's Amelia's mother, looking just as sad as her daughter. Amelia remembers then. Remembers Amelia's mother coming to talk to Ariadne, when any other mother would want to hear the full explanation of what Cobb was planning to do.
Remembers the expression on Amelia's mother's face when quizzing Ariadne about their chance of completing this. Ariadne had taken her question at face value at the time, but in hindsight, the nervousness in her tone was transparent.
She didn't want them to succeed. She wanted them to fail.
"I-" Amelia's mother starts. "I-"
"That's what I thought," Amelia says, and resolutely turns her back on her. Behind her, Amelia's mother collapses to her knee, and then slowly turns to white and red dust which spills away on a slow gust of wind. Amelia lifts her face, and looks at Ariadne and Bastian. "Can I go home now?"
Bastian nods, tersely. "Of course. All you have to do is walk through that mirror. Find Mr. Eames and Mr. Cobb. They'll get you back to your bed."
Amelia nods. "When you get there, wake me up, please," she says, nods at them, and then turns back to the mirror. She pauses for a second, and then runs at the mirror full-tilt. No fear.
"Wish for where you want to go," Bastian calls after her.
Amelia doesn't turn back to let him know she's heard him, but she yells, "Daddy!" before she hits the glass and then she does hit the glass, except she doesn't shatter it - it remains like an odd, vertical water and swallows her whole.
"Well," Ariadne says, into the silence. "Wow."
"Wow indeed," Bastian repeats. He can't meet her eyes when he says, "Some parents are complete shits."
Ariadne can't say anything to that. Bastian's mom, and now Amelia's mom... Mal was a mom too, she thinks, and resolve tightens in her spine. She looks across at Bastian, and keeps her face as neutral as possible.
And she hopes like hell that Arthur's holding back the knowledge that this is her faking face.
"Come on," Ariadne says, with false cheerfulness. "Let's look."
"We don't have to," Bastian says, rolling his eyes. "We'll go back to the carnival in a short time without doing anything."
"Gmork's still back there," Ariadne says. "I want to go forward." She steps forward, and holds his gaze. "I want to see. Come with me?"
"You do realize Amelia went on her own, and she's nine years old?" Bastian teases, but offers her his arm regardless. Ariadne takes it, and raises her eyebrows.
"What can you do," she says with a shrug, philosophically.
She keeps her eyes on the mirror as they walk up to it. This part of Fantasia is silent, too on the edge of the landscape for any of the other creatures to live. The nearest ones are the gnomics, Engywook and Urgl. But if Ariadne was in the mood to talk to Fantasians, she's not in the mood to try and pass the Oracle again, and she hated the teleportation with Ygramul's poison.
No, going forward is best. Besides, Ariadne has one last mission.
"Did Arthur let you know," Ariadne says, as they walk up to the mirror. For a moment it looks like she's Bastian in the mirror, but it's just the way they've approached the mirror. In the mirror, Ariadne doesn't look any different. Not a little older, or a little wiser, or anything else experience is supposed to do to you. Her reflection is her reflection, and Ariadne hopes that means she's just fully aware of who she is.
And what she's capable of.
"Know what?" Bastian asks, his eyes looking at his own reflection with a little worry. Ariadne can understand. The surface of the mirror is exactly like water, and Amelia's exit has left ripples still echoing across the crystal surface; Bastian's reflection is broken, and that's completely apt.
"That Eames puts backdoors in every landscape we build," Ariadne says, in as conversational a tone as she can.
She's been waiting for this. Silently clocking the backdoors which Eames insisted were put in all over the place. Knowing one of them was going to have to try this when they could.
"Oh," Bastian says, blinking. "Yes. Of course. He keeps thinking about the Inception job and... Mal." His voice hitches a little. "I suppose Ygramul's a backdoor on her own."
"Yes," Ariadne says, her tongue feeling too large for her throat. She swallows and continues. "In the Inception job it was ventilation tunnels."
"You're saying you put tunnels through Fantasia?" Bastian adds, jokingly.
"No," Ariadne says, deceptively casual. "I'm saying I put back doors."
Bastian's eyes widen a little but it's too late. Ariadne thinks the door into the Mirror gate, a plain, wooden door like the door to the warehouse. She twists, launches herself at Bastian, and grabs him by his upper arms. She takes him by surprise, and spins him to the door frame before he can even react.
His eyes fly to hers, but she's too quick. She's already pushing him through by the time he realizes what's going on.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Ariadne says, emphasising Arthur, and hurls Bastian through the door.
Behind the door's pure utter black. Ariadne stares in horror, takes a breath and hurries through the door to the other side.
It slams behind her. She whirls, seeing the Mirror Gate reform behind her, its rippling surface showing her with a frown even though Ariadne can't feel a frown on her own forehead.
She is worried, though. And there's maybe every good reason to be worried, as she finds out when she turns around.
Because in front of her is Arthur, standing in one of his trademark outfits; one of his favorite suits but without the jacket. His hair's slicked back and there's a stunned expression on his face.
And to his right is Seb, standing in his hoodie and casual pants, his hands in his pockets and a surly expression on his face. His hair's hanging loosely in his face, and he doesn't look too pleased to see her at all, which he emphasis by making a low growl that sounds like a higher pitched version of Gmork's growling.
Ariadne doesn't know what to say. "Huh," is what makes it out of her mouth.
It's probably accurate enough.
Then she realizes something else. She doesn't want to say his name, in case it undoes what she's done and it brings him back. But that's definitely Arthur and Seb in front of her. Her eyes fly to Arthur's, and he nods behind her. Ariadne turns, expecting to see her own reflection, but it's not.
It's Bastian.
He's stood like he's trapped in the mirror, and he looks sad, but resigned. Ariadne's heart is in her mouth, but she swallows it down. He's said he would give himself up for Arthur, and he intimated before he would give Seb a chance, and this must be it.
Bastian lifts his chin and then he smiles at Ariadne, a brilliant, genuine smile. His cheeks crease into dimples. It's infectious. Ariadne can't help but return it.
"Thank you," he mouths at her, still smiling. "Goodbye."
It's instinct for Ariadne to move forward, but on this side of the Mirror gate, the surface is hard, like glass. She puts her hand out, flat against it. Bastian pushes his palm against hers on the other side, nods once, and disappears.
Tears bite into her eyes almost immediately, and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut for a moment, mourning him. "Goodbye," she says out loud, even though it's too late.
Bastian's already gone.
"He's right," Seb calls out, his voice sharp like a gun-shot. "To say thank you."
Ariadne whirls back on her feet. Arthur's face is as confused as Ariadne's feeling.
"You promised me you'd speak my corner," Seb says. "And you've erased Bastian and given me a good chance to rid Arthur from the equation too. Thanks is probably less than the situation really deserves."
Ariadne opens her mouth. "Wha-" is all she manages to get out, because Seb yanks something out of his pocket and charges directly at Arthur.
"Guess you should have kept all that martial arts training in your head," Seb bites out, and throws himself at Arthur.
Fantasia's surreal enough, Sphinges and shifting landscapes and strange creatures aside. This moment beats them all.
"I didn't give you it all," Arthur bites back, and that's pure Arthur, danger and determination, and then... they're fighting. Seb versus Arthur. Rage versus perfect, exact talent. Ariadne watches, a little baffled by it. She feels like she should step in, but then she remembers Bastian disappearing, and feels like she's done more than enough.
Besides, this isn't really her fight. This has to be Arthur fighting for himself. He has to realize how much more he wants it than Seb. If Ariadne lets it be anything else, if she swoops in to save the day, it'll be just like Mal. Coming in with what she thought was right, and splintering Arthur into three regardless.
Splitting Bastian into three, her brain reminds her.
Their fight is vicious. Arthur manages to disarm Seb, which earns him a full-force punch in the face in return, but it's better than being stabbed-
Except, both of them seem to have a thought at the same time. Which makes sense, them inhabiting the same brain. The thought hits Ariadne somewhat at the same time too:
Like maybe it's dying first that will win them the body back.
They both dive for the knife that's lying in the sand at the same time, but Ariadne's closer to it. She throws herself at it, covering it with her body, her hand scrabbling in the dust until her fingers close around the metal.
She pushes herself up to her feet and holds out the knife, blade first, as both of them advance on her.
"Ariadne," Arthur says, quietly.
"Do it, Ariadne," Seb goads, mimicking Arthur's firm tone. "Killing one of us might kill us forever. Or it might choose who wins. Who knows?" He steps closer, and Arthur follows, matching him.
The difference is, Arthur's hands are more stretched out towards Seb, casually. Like he's even now prioritising Ariadne over himself.
Ariadne looks at Arthur, trying to will him to understand, and then she turns and throws the knife as far into the desert as she can.
"No," Seb breathes, and moves to go for it.
Arthur side-tackles him. They land in the sand at Ariadne's feet. She shrieks and shuffles back, away from the flailing elbows and knees as they start pummelling each other.
"You don't deserve to live," Seb howls, thrusting the heel of his hand into Arthur's nose. "You have no imagination-" His howl degenerates into a loud whine of pain when Arthur repays the hit to his nose to Seb's groin. "You're ridiculous and boring and I would live the life a million times better than you would! What do you have going for you?"
One of Arthur's hands clenches around Seb's throat. Coolly, Arthur looks at him, dispassionately. After a moment he says, quietly, simply, "Eames."
Ariadne's heart lodges in her throat. Because she's wrong. This isn't just Arthur and Seb in this fight. It's Eames too. But if Arthur isn't a part of his own survival, he'll never think himself good enough.
Arthur pushes down on Seb's throat harder. Seb struggles beneath him. Ariadne clutches at the material of her sleeves, crushing the fabric.
Arthur's won.
"Do it," Seb manages. "Do it."
For a moment, it looks like Arthur is going to kill him, right then and there in the sand. Ariadne's heart is hammering in her chest, loud and off-beat.
Arthur's eyes are flint-cold, and his jaw tenses, and Ariadne's seen that expression on his face a thousand times before he takes down projections. Except his expression softens, and his grip does too. "I can't," he says, his voice tight and small. "I can't do it."
He looks completely stunned, and thoroughly vulnerable.
Seb's eyes flutter shut in utter relief. And then open, burning hard, as he throws his entire weight at Arthur, who's not expecting it. Winded, Arthur's thrown to one side, and Seb pushes into the ground to lever himself up and over. He pushes his elbow into the softest part of Arthur's neck and pushes down with no mercy.
Arthur's hands flail out, grasping uselessly into the sand, and he kicks out, but it's not going to be enough. The light in Seb's eyes is harsh, and his eyes are blacker than Ariadne's ever seen them, and she throws herself forward, but it's not going to be in time.
Ariadne wants to shout out stop, but terror closes her throat, and she skids through the sand, but she's too slow, there's no way she can fight Seb off now.
But there's no way she's going to not try.
She hurls herself onto him, hooking one elbow around his neck, and he loosens the pressure on Arthur's neck, but not enough. She throws her weight to the side as best as she can, but she really does sometimes forget to eat when they're working so hard and as a result she's a good twenty pounds less at least than even Arthur's small frame. They tumble in a heap, Seb sandwiched between them, Arthur still gasping for air like he's not getting enough oxygen. Ariadne thinks they're going to be stuck this way forever.
And then a voice they all know so well cuts through the rage pounding in their eardrums, and they all freeze, simultaneously.
"Stop that immediately."
Ariadne doesn't even need the wrong syllable stressed in immediately to recognize the tone, and neither Arthur nor Seb need it either.
They all know Mal's voice.
You're not real, Ariadne thinks, but it doesn't stop her from climbing to her feet. It doesn't stop her from watching detachedly as Seb and Arthur get to their feet and dust themselves down.
She was lovely, Arthur said, during the Fischer job. Her voice is a siren spell for all of them.
"Mal-" Seb starts, jerking forwards.
Ariadne shakes her head desperately. This can't be Mal. Cobb's gone out of the dream. It doesn't make sense.
"You shouldn't be fighting." Mal's voice is chiding. She's as beautiful as Ariadne remembers her being, from inside the dreams Ariadne's met her in. Beautiful and almost otherworldly, with her pale green eyes and enticing voice. "Seb, my boy. Why are you fighting?"
Seb blinks. Stutters. "M-me?"
He looks from Mal to Arthur. Arthur's expression is hard. He's looking at Mal like he's been completely betrayed. Like he can't believe Mal's here.
Like he can't believe Mal's here and she's choosing Seb over him.
"Of course you," Mal says, looking directly at Seb. She walks forwards, moving past Arthur without even giving him a side glance. "Arthur was only ever a creation to keep you safe, my love. You have to know that."
"But you-" A sob splits Seb's sentence in half. He's struggling to stay upright. He's looking at Mal like she's the whole world, his eyes wet. It's like Bastian looked at Falcor, when he flew ahead of them in the trial run.
It's like Arthur looks at Eames sometimes.
"You left me," Seb says, hurling it out, bitter and angry. He steps back, jerking himself away from her as she steps towards him, calmly, her arms outstretched like a mother reaching for a hug.
They've all seen how much damage mothers can do today, though. Seb stares at her in disbelief.
"You died," Seb breathes.
"Oh, my boy. Of course, of course, that's what Arthur let you think. Dominic too, I think. Both so narrow-minded. No imagination." Mal's hands tilt a little, consideringly. "Of course that is the memory Arthur pushed through to you. He didn't want you to know the truth."
"The truth?" Seb glances over at Arthur, an expression that looks a little like hope filtering into his eyes. He looks back at Mal, like he can still scarcely believe she's there.
The same expression is on Arthur's face.
Ariadne wonders over it all. The magnitude of Mallorie Cobb. The awe she elicited from everyone who knew her. Except, sometimes, that's what happened to people who died. Ariadne's got this uncle, who was a real lech when he was alive, a gambler like Eames. She remembers vividly hearing her own mother talk of Uncle Bryan with a handful of negative names and scurrilous vocabulary. Yet even last Christmas, her mom was talking fondly about him, like nothing was wrong with him. Like he was a saint.
Maybe dying didn't erase your sins. It just faded other's memories of them.
"The truth," Mal says. She looks over at Arthur, her expression flint-hard, like she doesn't know him at all. "Let him have it."
"No," Arthur breathes, shifting on the spot. "No-"
"He's let enough of it through," Seb says, squinting at Arthur for a moment. His eyes fly back to Mal. "He's thinking you're dead. That you thought real life was a dream and you had to die to get back to reality."
"He's almost right," Mal says, and she steps forwards. Seb doesn't jerk backwards this time, and he lets her slide her hands around his elbows. She looks at him with a soft smile, directly in the eyes. "Arthur's got it wrong, though. He thinks I was wrong. But I was right, Seb. We're in a dream."
"I know that," Seb says, "we're in a dream-within-a-dream right this moment."
Mal laughs, and the sound is like tinkling bells. Her eyes never leave his. "We're in a dream-within-a-dream-within-a-dream, my chéri. We must die, and die, and die." Her hands tighten around his elbows. "Come with me. Die with me." Her voice lowers. "Wake with me. I have come for you, Seb. You're my favorite. No one else will listen and I'm so alone."
Seb stares at her, stares and stares. Ariadne's completely frozen by his indecision, by the fear of this moment, because it's not the first time she's considered the truth of it all.
It's not the first time she's wondered if Mal was right.
"I'll come with you," Seb breathes, and he's crying, and he looks so, so happy that Ariadne's heart trembles with it. "Of course I'll come with you."
Mal's smile lights up Fantasia more than Bastian's wishes ever could. She lets go of his arms, and wraps one of his hands in hers, and they move towards the Mirror gate, Seb's eyes on her. "We must go to the mirror. Travelling in reverse will do as kindly as travelling through it forward, as Amelia did."
They pause before it. Ariadne moves, but she's stopped by something - Arthur's arm across her shoulders. That's one of Eames' moves, she thinks, and glares at Arthur, expecting him to be readying to do something, to stop this, because this might mean Seb winning-
He isn't doing anything but staring, and there are tears in his eyes.
"Do you trust me, Seb?" Mal says, loud and high and free. "I'll be with you. On the other side. Leap and wish to die, and we'll be together forever."
"I'm ready," Seb says, smiling right into her face, "Oh, Mal, I'm ready." He turns back to the Mirror, and that's when Ariadne remembers.
A thought she'd had only this week.
When Eames is really rampant into a lie, he's all body and eye contact. He takes you by the elbows and looks deeply into your eyes and is so very, very earnest.
It's not Mal guiding Seb. It's Eames.
It's Eames.
"I love you," Eames-as-Mal says, and now Ariadne can see him, in the ripple of the Mirror Gate's surface, part-Mal, part-Eames.
Seb doesn't notice. "I love you too," he says, turns into the Mirror and jumps.
On to part 8
Masterpost