What Dreams May Come [Aurin]

[Rune]

The Torin that stood before him pouted briefly, opening his mouth, face already more seductive than the real man had ever yet to achieve. When Aurin bolted the strong arms shot out, reaching for him hands trying to grasp him, the expression twisting from loving desire to desperate and angry.

"Stay!" Came the call after him as the redhead slipped through the attempt to hold onto him. It might have been heart rending if it hadn't already been rejected.

At the top of the stairs the door to the master bedroom was not the door to the master bedroom stood open. Within there was a man that looked like Torin, if Torin had lived a dozen more years and they had been good to him. He was filled out in all the places his body had yet to finish growing and there was a well trimmed golden beard on his face. He looked up when Aurin stopped at the top of the stairs and smiled, tiny wrinkles that somehow made him more attractive barely showed at the sides of his eyes and love poured off him that was less childlike adoration and more a depth of knowing that would have been terrifying if it hadn't been just as adoring.

"Aurin." The deeper voice rumbled, "Come here, love."

A hand, calloused and scarred with work but still agile was held out towards him with all confidence that it would be taken. The sturdy sureness of this man offered to hold Aurin inside it, to see all of him and proclaim his value to be beyond all else. The smile softened, an offer that was also a little bit of a command,

"I know, love, it's alright. I'll give you what you need and hold you after. You don't need to say anything. I know." The second assurance of knowing was accompanied by a gentle nod and the tugging sensation returned, as though the whole world were trying to encourage Aurin to give in and let go of his pain for a little while.

Without having moved suddenly he was inside the room, the aged Torin was moving around the bed, making little preparations that made it obvious what might happen, if they both allowed it to. The door was closed to offer them privacy... Except, no, it wasn't. It was cracked open ever so slightly and it wasn't the bedroom door he knew so well, it was the door to The Menagerie.

[Aurin]

It was like a fucking hall of mirrors and for all his efforts, it was nigh impossible to find the edges, the mistakes, the threads to pull to unravel things and make progress. He hoped he was making progress. Eshar was depending upon him.

Fuck, he thought. If I had known...

But he had wanted the power of the covens for his own, and so he had brokered his deals. Sweet-talking, some jobs, some tests. The Sunsingers were still a touch wary of him; he wouldn't submit to their rigid hierarchy. He feared the Grymalka if he was honest. There were too many ghosts he didn't want to meet, too many people who might be ghosts but he didn't want to know.

Here he was. And here was a Torin like he had dreamed of once, though without the weight of sadness upon him. This wasn't the Torin with a brokeback lover; this was the Torin he hoped his boy would grow into eventually, proof that the bad man was capable of good when he wanted to be. A part of him felt a sort of gravity between them, like he could fall into those burly arms if he let himself. Resistance was growing more difficult as the Menagerie or what had become of it wore him down.

"Fuck you," he mumbled angrily at that beautiful face, feeling betrayed, feeling torn up even though he knew it was a heart's desire being used to turn the screws. His body was responding—traitor that it was—but he turned for the door. It just had to feel like he was leaving Torin forever, denying him once, twice... They said third time was the charm. Or perhaps through this door that didn't lead into the hallway of Torin's house, he would finally find Eshar or whatever had them captive.

[Rune]

Oddly, the older version of Torin didn't look upset, didn't call after the redhead as he stepped through the door, in fact, the only expression on his more wrinkled but infinitely familiar face was one of disappointment.

As soon as the redhead was through the door he was back in The Menagerie, at the top of the stairs he'd begun ascending last. This was the top floor of the building, and the wide hallway held only one door. It looked ordinary enough but there was magic within strong enough to overpower whatever had been mostly repressing the seeking of his Semblance rune up to that point. Magic, stronger than any Aurin had ever encountered in a single place before; if it had been something his eyes could see it would have been blinding, if he could have heard it, deafening. What he could actually see was light pouring outward from the cracks all around the door, what he could actually hear was a voice speaking. It was a single voice, and yet, it spoke over itself in a chorus of hundreds speaking at once. Each iteration of the voice was saying something different so that only snatches could be discerned a word here, a phrase there, but mostly a tumult of rising and falling emotions. Every kind of emotion, from utter terror to catastrophic joy and everything between.

But he knew the voice. It had been calling to him all day, reaching out to him inside his mind, but even so, it was distinct enough that he would know it even in such a chaotic form. It was Eshar.

It was also something else. Not the voice, but what was on the other side of the door was not a human, or any other race of mortal. If he took his time, concentrated, his Rune would tell him a tale of tho. Eshar was there, and something, or someone, else, locked into a struggle together that balanced too perfectly to come to an end.

Except... there was something else as well, not quite there, but a presence, faint and not interfering. Watching, perhaps?

[Aurin]

Aurin almost looked back, though he knew it would have been a mistake. There was an older version of Torin in his memory, and if he allowed himself to reminisce, he would have shuddered. He might have wept. Instead, he was back in the Menagerie—the top floor. It was just him, the hallway, and a door. Eshar was there and not alone. He wasn't a religious man; in fact, he had challenged a newly reborn god to prove himself worth of his mantle. Already today he had considered invoking the Stitchmother, but no. He had made it this far. With how poorly his magic was doing in these environs, he didn't even trust himself to vault to safety.

This was a bad idea. This whole thing had been a bad idea.

This was all Torin's fault. Aurin didn't put himself in harm's way, not for a shred of hope that he might save what was left of someone who had been good to him.

"Fuck it," he muttered. "In for a penny, in for a pound."

The time for thinking was over. He strode purposefully toward and, with practiced ease, kicked the door in.

There was so much light...

[Rune]

It was deliberate, this last step, a last chance for The Menagerie, a final intent of resolve for Aurin, and it would cost him.

When the bright flash of white light resolved he was standing inside his own cottage, holding open the door, looking out. On the threshold there stood a half-elven man. He was older than he had been the first time he'd come to Aurin's doorway, but still young, and looking, unexpectedly, in that moment, as vulnerable as he had that first time. His clothing was fine but travel-worn, telling a tale of a rough time between where he'd started his journey and where he now stood.

When he looked up and their eyes met his expression was tremulous, not shy but as one who arrives somewhere they might finally feel safe and isn't sure if it's real.

"Look," He said, one corner of his mouth tugging up as he pulled from his head a concoction of fabric and gemstones that gave the impression of being a crown without actually being one, "I got a new hat."

Ashen blond hair and blade-like ears were so familiar, for a moment Aurin was pushed five years back, a sensation that was only emphasized when the same voice rasped in almost the same tone, if a little more world-weary,

"I made it." As he said it he looked as though he were collapsing but one as well trained in acting as Aurin could see that it was intentional as Arvælyn landed, solid and warm, in his arms. He smelled of dust and sweat and clothes that hadn't been washed, but also, utterly of himself as he came to rest with his head tucked up under Aurin's chin. While he may have pretended to trip, the way he clung was real, as though while he might not have been physically collapsing as he had on the first night he'd spent in Aurin's home, he was emotionally too spent to stay on his own feet when there was someone he knew could support him there to catch him.

After a moment the redhead's armful began to cry, through which words could sometimes be understood,

"I couldn't take it anymore" and, " I ran," and, "Can I come home?" and, mixed in repeatedly, "I missed you". There were other things, about the riggers of what was expected of him, how they didn't really want him, just a figurehead, how he was just a pawn for his mother. This went on for a little while but, at last, the boy snuffled and looked up, red and a little puffy but still heartbreakingly lovely. Without glancing backward he pushed the door shut with his foot then leaned up until their lips met. The taste of salt-wet tears and Arry burst into Aurin's mouth, and in that split second of surprise while his eyes stayed open he saw the door that had just closed, and it wasn't his own door, it was The Menagerie door.

[Aurin]

Hazel eyes drifted closed. He shouldn't have let them. Whatever was doing this could read him like an open book no matter what defenses he threw up. It wasn't fair—magic had been thrust upon him, and he had wrestled it to the ground, pinned it, and held on until he was its master. He could read a person's soul and then spin illusions around them like a comforting cocoon, but the tricks oughtn't to work on him. With his eyes closed, he was transported years back, before so many mistakes. If he let go, he could change things, make the right decisions or—knowing Aurin—different mistakes. Aurin was the sort of man to tell you, 'I don't cry.' He would say it with a smirk, and then suck on a cigarette like he was feeding upon it.

Tears scalded his cheeks. Arry had teetered over his threshold, a boy teetering over into manhood, and Aurin had caught him. Aurin offered him a place to rest with no expectations, and then helped him onto a path of his own choosing, even if agency cost him.

A rough hand came up to cup Arry's cheek, gentler, more loving than he had ever done before.

"What's next?" he asked those golden eyes. "Galeas and Ava? Jamila...? Are you going to resurrect the dead for me? Rewrite my errant childhood?"

His thumb caressed those lips that had taken him inside, had spoken sweet words of real longing.

"The Myshalarai are my people now," he said to whatever was using this person as a puppet. "This building is my home. Give me Eshar. Release the rest of them. Eventually, you will starve of the ZADC will cover this place in napalm and the Order will destroy you or seal you up and experiment upon you."

A cocky smirk twisted his face, a face still damnably handsome for it, a face still streaked with tears.

"I'm your only chance."

Aurin didn't let go of whichever one of his brethren was wearing a glamour of Arry, but he reached for the door again.

[Rune]

The Arry, illusion, or mind-controlled coven member, half memory and half desire spun into reality, only looked confused when Aurin spoke.

"I thought you'd be happy that I came back. You said I could always come home." There was a little hurt on the pretty half-elven face but he was too good, too well trained at covering his pain to show much of it, even to one who knew him so well. "If you'd rather I go..."

Drawing himself up straighter out of the embrace a mask of haughtiness that he had learned later, when his career began to take off slid into place.

"I could have had anything, you know. I could have ordered them to make the world kneel to me and they would have. I don't have to be here."

He held the majesty expression for a long moment before he cracked a little and he swallowed.

"Aurin, you promised."

When it was still obvious that the human intended to leave the haughtiness did its best to come back, almost succeeding for a moment before something in the younger man broke. Something made of long endurance that has reached its bitterest of ends, having fought with all its strength for as long as it could and still found failure. Crumpling like a puppet with cut strings Arry clutched at Aurin's shins as one broken; without hope but who is so used to trying they don't know how to stop.

"I can't..." He choked, oddly, the lordly accent he'd learned with Aurin coming out to take over in the moment of despair "I can't... don't leave me, not you..."

[Aurin]

Illusions were funny. They could be so real, though they required belief for that finality. Aurin didn't know exactly what was going on, just the edges, the shape of whatever had taken over the Menagerie, slowly fed upon his people, made them feed upon others, each other. It was monstrous, and he was hardly the man to call anything evil. He was weeping and he was angry when he grabbed this iteration of his beloved brat by the neck of his shirt and hauled him up.

To Arry, to whomever wore Arry's face, to whomever pulled this puppet's strings, he snarled, "You can always come home."

The words were slow like a judge's sentence, complicated as a magic spell. He slid his arm under Arry's arm, around his back. He turned toward the door and he opened it. He carried Arry through with him into the unknown beyond. It wasn't Arry, but Arry would never come back to him. Perhaps this was what Arry had felt like on stage, though, being Divine Aværys while the play lasted. This day would never come, but Aurin could live it. He could drag Arry out of danger, or into danger, but at least with him.

If the next room was a lie where Torin and Arry got along, happy to share him, happy to live in the world he created for them, then he would burn the place down and whatever it was tormenting him and everyone else here present.

Perhaps the next room would be Myshala's realm. Perhaps She was calling the coven devoted to Her to account. These were strange times they were living in, after all.

The Spider would continue to toy with him, then. No mortal man could escape Her web. Anyone less than Her, he would fight. Mists, even Her, he would fight. He had been fucked since the day he was born. Today was just another day he happened to survive. But he was damned if he wasn't going to give it his all to survive so he could take care of Torin, so he could be there on the splinter of a chance that Arry would come home, needing him. He was damned if he was going to let the covens die because, whether or not it was a bid for power and influence, he had sworn to these people and while he was a liar, he wasn't an oathbreaker.

"C'mon," he said as they crossed the threshold, "let's see how far this goes."

[Rune]

The look of surprise and frank affront on the half-elven face would have been comical under other circumstances, a combination of 'wha..?' and 'How Very Dare You?' that could only come from one used to royal treatment. The eyes grew huge as he was lifted and carried out and then...

Aurin was standing in a doorway again, this, however, was the one at the top of the stairs leading to the highest level of the Menagerie, and unlike all the other parts he had walked through, this one was not sheathed in illusion. The wall and floors were dusty, part of the roof was caved in, and there was no Arry under his arm.

All of these things were only noticed on the most basic of levels however, as the source of the light that had been shining out from the door even before it had been opened filled the human's eyes. The room had once been used for large parties, or orgies, and took up almost the entire top floor. In its center, floating, or rather, held aloft exactly between all four walls, the floor and the ceiling was Eshar.

Eshar, and Mists, filling the whole of the otherwise empty space. The Myshalarai's eyes were sightless, staring at nothing and seeing everything, as if all of creation was being poured through them at once. Their mouth moved constantly and their naked limbs twitched, a hundred overlapping voices that were all their voice echoed all around. Spikes of the writhing Mist drove up, new ones constantly piercing into them as the old ones faded back into the mass so that their body never moved from the center of the room but was jerking constantly as their weight shifted from one to the next.

The Mist itself was boiling, a storm of motion somehow contained to that room. Shapes appeared all over, people appearing and then fading back, scenery coalescing for but a moment before being rolled back into the whole. Each time there was a person, or an animal, or a disembodies face it tried to speak or howl or scream and all the voices were Eshar.

Yet, none of these things were what caught Aurin as he stood on the threshold and slammed into his consciousness threatening to overwhelm him and roll him under as easily as any of the Mist illusions. In this place, the one place in the Menagerie free off all illusions Aurin could see the truth.

Seeing their eyes rippling molten gold, skin seeming made of light, the oppressive pressure of a power beyond any he had come into contact with before, Aurin knew the truth.

Eshar was a god.

[Aurin]

Many things changed between one step and the next. Perhaps Arry hadn't been one of those poor shambling husks from below, but that was a mystery he wouldn't be able to solve today. His mind was caught up immediately in something too large. He had met a demigod before. Talon Novalys had even writ Negation upon his flesh and his soul. He had sembled around the edges of him, wary of burning out his eyes and his other faculties. This was different. This was a god. Eshar was crucified by the Mists, but Eshar was a god. He didn't understand it. He didn't know enough about religion to know if this was a new thing, some new moritasi born of his one-time lover and a mist storm, or if they had been hiding this behind their glamours until a mist storm fucked everything up.

But this god had called him here and he had answered. He had slogged through all of that and...

"Eshar."

"ESHAR."

Aurin was here. He had answered the call. He knew that with his Railrunner trick, he could vault into the air, take hold of them, and vault them back to the ground, but would the mists follow them through the slipspace? Would the mists corrupt his trick? Would forced separation kill them or... worse?

All he could do was attempt to wake them, to better understand what was happening and how to help. His senses were scouring this "reality" for cues, for clues, for keys, or for a crowbar if subtlety was useless now.

"Wake the fuck up!"

No, he was not a religious man, but he was the one this god had called in time of need and here he was.