Spoiler! :
Megara
Megara was exhausted. A full day of climbing palace walls, stealing back her old armor, and killing off guards all sneaky like, then fairling to be quite sneaky enough and having to jump out a second-floor window would do that.
But she could go home now, and she did. Non-descript beige cloak draped over her shoulders, concealing the satchel at her side, hood pulled low over her face, back hunched over to make the best use of her cane as a part of her disguise, and she was as unrecognizable as she was going to get from the energetic little troublemaker who killed several guards and broke into the Ringly manor again today. No, she was nobody a the moment. A passing traveler, nothing more.
She reached the fortress as she always did and slipped inside the hidden entrance with no one around to bear witness.
She dodged around the jutting stone and slid inside the one unblocked area of what was going to be a glorious mountain fortress, and felt something. A distinct wrongness in the air.
She was still.
She listened.
She didn't hear anything.
She didn't hear anything.
Her breath hitched and she ran, ignoring the pain as through some feat of adrenalin she didn't fall as she dashed from room to room. Empty, empty, emp- No. Eddie's room wasn't empty.
On the little child-sized bed where Eddie should be, playing with his toys or taking one of his impromptu naps, was instead an envelope.
She approached it slowly, like it was a wild animal that might attack if she made any sudden movements.
She took it gingerly in her hands, and looked at the seal.
Her grip tightened on the envelope as a wave of some mix of horrible emotions washed over her, filled her up, stiffened her spine and hardened her gaze.
She broke the seal - a sparrow clinging to a peacock feather mid-flight - and pulled the letter out.
Her jaw grew tighter and tighter as she read its contents. Over and over her eyes scanned the words until she thought she might shatter her own teeth in her silent white-knuckled rage.
Megara,
Your ward is safe in my care. You may retrieve him at the Nalm's Day feast at home. We do ask that you stay for dinner, and you are welcome to stay afterward as well. We eagerly await your visit.
Your ward is safe in my care. You may retrieve him at the Nalm's Day feast at home. We do ask that you stay for dinner, and you are welcome to stay afterward as well. We eagerly await your visit.
It wasn't signed, but her father's neat handwriting was unmistakable.
Her face was expressionless as she turned on her heel and walked, painfully hiding her limp, to where she'd dropped her cane. She picked it up, as dutifully and carefully as was possible, and straightened.
The letter was still in her hand, held gingerly between her fingers. She wanted to tear it apart. To rip it to pieces and then tear it up again, then to take apart the pen that wrote it. To smash the ink bottle against the wall and shatter the pen. To break the bones in the fingers that penned the words one by one and to use her knives and her training to make the writer's death so much slower and more miserable than any death she'd dealt before.
But she held the letter carefully. She walked calmly into her room and placed her satchel on the bed. She took the armor from inside, flexible, thin and strong, and shed her cloak.
With meticulously practiced movements and a calm, stony exterior, she dawned her old armor. With patience that did nothing to telegraph her rage, she placed objects into her satchel and slung it around her shoulders.
The only hesitation she showed before she left the cold, empty place that was usually home, was just before she left her room.
She halted, the wheels in her head turning, and stared at something draped on the back of the chair that was only used for draping things on. She almost left without it. Then she retraced the step she'd taken out the door and grabbed it.
She carefully folded the worn leather jacket and added it to her satchel.
The next hour was spent getting into another place she wasn't meant to be.
Once inside the university, Megara made her way quickly to the dorm room of one mer in particular.
The room wasn't very large, and every inch of space was filled. The walls no longer seemed to exist, it was just shelves upon shelves of books and a single row of medium-sized chests to hold all of the resident's belongings. The bed was the floor, covered in soft layers of algae, and even that had been all but overtaken by scrolls and books.
The resident herself was near the top of the room, treading water at one of the topmost shelves as she pulled out scrolls and occasionally dropped one down to float to the bed below.
It was a moment before Megara was noticed.
Marciella, the mermaid who had been quite content to pick out her scrolls, got a mask of her own when she saw Megara standing in her doorway.
"Meg," she greeted stiffly.
"Ciel," Meg responded with a curt dip of her head.
"You've come for another favor."
"Yes."
"It wasn't a question."
They stared at each other.
"I need to get to Gotham," Megara said finally.
Marciella swam down to face her, "What do you have to blackmail me this time?"
"Nothing."
"Hm." Marciella looked her over in that way that Marciella did. Like she could see her very soul under all the lies.
"Alright," she said finally, "You remember how to set it up?"
"Yes."
They both nodded their mutual understanding and went in opposite directions, Marciella to get supplies from elsewhere in the university, Megara to use the materials Ciel had in her chests to begin preparations for the spell.
Soon enough, everything was ready.
Marciella went into the center of the rune-ringed circle and spread her arms, her eyes closed. She started out quiet, her voice barely a hum in the water as she began chanting but growing in volume as she went on. The runes glowed, casting strange shadows about the room with their pale blue light.
Megara stepped into the circle and there was a flash.
There were a few seconds of incomprehensible mixes of contradictory sensations, hot and cold, light and dark, absolute silence and all the sound in the world surrounded her on all sides, pressed into her, made it hard to breathe or think. She thought she might go insane if she stayed there.
Then she was somewhere familiar. It was dark, but it always seemed to be dark here, day or night.
It was then that she saw Marciella, leaning against the front of some dark building beside them with her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes closed.
Megara should have gotten angry about her tagging along. Instead, she ducked her head, pulled out Jason's jacket, and put it on.
"This way," was all she said before turning abruptly and beginning the walk toward her allies.
Marciella knew better than to say anything.
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