[Mal/Duncan] - Suppressed Emotions

[andlivefreely]

Who: Duncan, Malachai
When: Sunday, 8/28
Where: Church in Bastan
Before/After: NA
Warnings: FEELINGS, some talk of death and illness, self-doubt on both parts, angst, cursing, a bit of arguing, umm I think that's it?

In which godtree ents are amazing and Mal spills all the feelings

Duncan opened the door into the Vahishta's chambers, revealing the sitting room where he was meant to entertain guests of status. The decor was lavish without being gaudy, with several very comfortable-looking armchairs arranged around a coffee table.

One of those armchairs had a small tree growing out of it. Its canopy topped at 9 or 10 feet, and its roots stretched down through the armchair and around it into the floor. Somewhere in there was the Winchester rifle that had been laying on the seat, but it was long forgotten by this point.

None of the efforts to eliminate the tree had panned out and Duncan had finally been fed up enough with the clamour in his sitting room to order them to just...'put a fence around it or whatever, I don't care anymore.' As such, there was a simple fence of wooden planks held together with nails and chickenwire erected around the tree, giving it about 3 feet of space on all sides.

The inside of the fence was littered with little acorn-like projectiles.

"There it is," Duncan told Mal, holding an arm out toward the tree.

An acorn bounced off the wood with a thunk.


Mal walked into the room, and then stopped and stared, jaw dropping.

He'd actually looked forward to this. To meeting one of Pelusa's trees, getting to talk to it, see if he could even connect with it like other trees.

He could. And it was pissed.

"You put it in a cage??" No wonder the thing was so angry! (Mal it was angry before the cage probably.)

"No, shh, it's okay," he started, approaching the caged tree without any fear for himself. "Let me get you out of there." Without waiting for permission, or even glancing back at Duncan at all, he pried at one of the planks, determined to free the poor (and very angry) godtree.


A cage? No, that was a shield--why was Mal making it sound like Duncan was the wrong one here?!

"What the fuck else was I supposed to do?!" he demanded. "It wouldn't stop shooting at me every time I tried to get out of my room!"

The tree seethed, inasmumch as a a tree could seethe. Its canopy bristled. It spat another acorn at the plank Mal was prying away.

Duncan ducked behind the door and watched from around the edge.


The acorn startled him just as he was turning to give Duncan a retort, and he looked up at the tree warily. His lips pursed for a moment before he did turn to look at Duncan, grinning, and said, "Climb out the window?"

As serious as this probably was to Duncan, Mal couldn't help but find it amusing that a tree had him scared.

Even if it was a godtree.

Those acorns would probably hurt, though.

"I can try to get it to calm down at least, might be able to get it out of here."

He turned back to the tree, letting his senses feel outward to it. It was a strange thing, being able to connect with nature like that. "You'd rather be somewhere bright and sunny, yeah?"


Duncan responded to that suggestion with a glare.

The acorns did hurt, okay!

"Fucking hope so," he muttered, redirecting that glare to the tree. "Just do whatever druid-y shit you gotta do."

The tree continued to bristle, but it was now the sort of bristling that an uncertain stray cat does while warily eyeing a human with food. It was poised to attack, but not attacking just yet. This was the first person who'd tried to approach the tree on its own level, instead of invading its space or attacking it.

Yes. The tree would much rather be somewhere bright and sunny. Mal would be able to get a sense of its frustration with being stuck in this cramped, sunless place.


Mal snorted at the 'druid-y shit' comment, casting a look of mild annoyance back at Duncan. Maybe he'd call Duncan's powers 'cleric-y shit' sometime, hmph.

"Not sure if it'll work, but I got a spell I can try. You know how Val could turn trees into ents, right?" If anyone could use it on a godtree it'd be the Vohu.

He worked at the plank to pry it off, but hesitated, glancing up at the tree. "Please don't shoot any acorns at me," he asked it, and then, using his magic to loosen the nails by shrinking the wood around them, pulled the plank free and set it aside, working to free a second plank and pull off some of the chickenwire.


Hey. Technically, not inaccurate.

His eyebrows rose. Yes, he certainly did remember Val's ents. He was not sure he liked the idea of having an aggressive tree walking through the church, but if it would get the damn thing out of his hair...

(That sounded super awesome to see in person, too.)

The tree remained on edge, cautious but waiting to see what this person planned for it.

Duncan felt like he should be helping, but he didn't want to put himself anywhere near the tree. "Uh. If...you can ask it not to shoot me either, I can maybe get you something to cut that with."


He paused, glancing at Duncan, looking up at the tree. "Can't guarantee it'll listen. Don't think it's all that happy with you and while I may be Vohu, I ain't fuckin' Pelusa."

...Suddenly he wanted to actually meet Pelusa, though. That would be awesome.

"Lemme try something," he said, for Duncan's benefit, before raising a hand up towards the tree. Druids used nature magic. Maybe if he offered it some, it would help to soothe it.

He had some understanding of how druid rituals and magic worked, and he cast a spell that the druids used to offer their Great Tree life-giving energy. It was the oldest, and largest, tree in the Grove, acting as the central figure of their jungle.


That seemed to do the trick. The tree settled a bit, realizing this was a friendly druid who wanted to help. It remained wary, but no longer seemed poised to attack.

"...Did it work?" Duncan asked, looking between Mal and the tree. "What did you do?"


Fuck yeah, he was awesome.

Grinning oh so proudly, he turned back to Duncan. "I gave it an offering. It's calmer now. Still can't guarantee it won't shoot you but the chances of it are lower."


He eyed the tree and cautiously edged out from behind the door. He gave it a very, very wide berth, never taking his eyes off of it, as he circled the sitting room to the corridor that led to his personal chambers.

The tree 'watched' him just as warily as he watched it.

Once Duncan hit the corridor, he turned and jogged to his bedroom. When he returned, he stayed in the opening of the corridor instead of braving the sitting room again. "Here." He tossed Mal a pair of wire-cutters.

Why did he have a pair of wire cutters just lying around? You never know when shit like that's gonna come in handy, okay!


Mal worked on trying to pry off another plank while Duncan ran off, and then turned in time to ...jump back as the wire-cutters were tossed at him, totally not catching them and letting them clank onto the floor so he could bend down and pick them up.

What he didn't want to catch a tool with sharp bits the wrong way ok.

"Thanks," he uttered turning back to the task at hand, prying off chickenwire with the help of the wire-cutters, clearing away the makeshift gate. In his mind, he was freeing the tree from its confines, not removing a barrier that protected people from the terrible monster tree.

Shoving the last of the 'fence' onto a pile, Mal stood and stretched. That was a lot of work!

He turned to toss the wire-cutters back to Duncan, no longer needing them.


Duncan did not catch them either, only because he was too busy watching the tree, waiting for it to try something. He retrieved them from the ground and shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans.

"So now you're going to turn it into an ent?" he asked, dubious.


Of course, Mal had to snicker at Duncan fumbling the clippers. Hah, you can't catch 'em either!

"Well," he started, stepping away from the tree to look up at it. It was pretty amazing, he had to admit. It wasn't just a tree! Not like the other trees. It had more... emotion, personality, than most trees did. Other trees would get upset if you started cutting them down, but this was stronger, more readily apparent.

He started wondering how safe having it run around as an ent would be.

But it was the only way to make it happy, to get it out of this place and find it somewhere more suited.

"Think you could, uh, warn people to avoid it, or leave a path for it, or something? I don't have any idea how safe this is and don't want people to upset it or for it to start attacking anyone."


Not very safe at all, if you asked Duncan. But, being that it was really the only viable solution at this point, he was willing to risk it.

"Yeah, let me...just...uh..." He began the process of edging around the sitting room again, eyeing the tree. Halfway across, he bolted for the door and ducked behind it, then gave Mal a thumbs-up before easing it shut and going off to warn everyone in between his wing and the nearest exit to the outside.

(He actually had an exit to the outside in his wing, but it was an enclosed garden and fuck if he was letting that tree just sit out there forever.)

He returned several minutes later to inform Mal that he was clear to start moving the tree.


Once Duncan returned, Mal grinned at him and nodded, positioning himself in front of the tree and rubbing his hands together, then shook out his arms and shoulders, psyching himself up. He still had no fucking clue if it'd work.

"Okay," he said, still grinning. "Let's do this."

He hadn't summoned an ent before. He knew how, and not just because he'd done it while playing Val. He'd seen it done at the Grove, had it explained to him. Maybe a godtree wasn't the best thing to start out with, but...

Mal let his hands fall to his sides and closed his eyes, concentrating, calling up the magic of nature. He let it reach out to the tree, soothing, respectful, careful to let the tree get a feel for his magic before actually doing anything with it. Kind of like letting a stray dog sniff your hand before petting it.

Once he felt the tree wasn't going to wrench back in disgust (or shoot him in the head), he started letting the magic seep into it, calling to it. It was more a request to come forth than an attempt to change it on his own, but the magic would let it change, should it be willing to do so.

It would mean getting out of this place and into some sun, though.

As distrusting as it was, Mal was surprised when it finally accepted, but let his magic flow into the tree, reshaping it. Its roots pulled up out of the floor, forming makeshift legs, branches bending and twisting into arms. The visage of a face formed in the bark on the 'front' of the tree.

Once finished, all Mal could do at first was stare at it in awe, uttering, "Holy shit it worked," in disbelief.


The tree's acceptance was a sign of just how badly it wanted to get the hell out of that room. Once its new form became clear, it stepped out of the armchair it had grown through, shaking the cushion free of its leg and knocking the chair over in the process. Tree didn't care. Throwing off its oppressors, fuck yeah!!

It then proceeded to tear down the rest of the fencing with glee.

Duncan, at this point, had retreated into the hallway and was pressed against the wall. As cool as it was to see that spell in person, he was second guessing whether this had been a good idea.


"Uh-"

Mal backpedaled out of range, winding up in the hall near Duncan, just so he wouldn't get hit by any debris. He was pretty sure the thing wasn't going to target him specifically, but didn't want to risk losing an eye to a flying nail or something.

He cast a crooked, sheepish grin Duncan's way before focusing on the ent again, trying to coax it into calming and following him outside where there was sun and he could take it someplace away from these horrible people. He had a connection to it, being the one who summoned it, but he wasn't sure how well a godent would take to it.

Worst case, he could withdraw the magic that kept it the way it was. He'd rather not do that unless he absolutely had to.


Duncan returned the sheepish look with an 'I hope you know what the fuck you're doing' one.

The coaxing seemed to work. The ent's fury slowed, and once the last of the fence was dealt with, it turned and faced the door. It did seem calmed, perhaps even satisfied. Trusting in the one who'd given it the means to free itself, it took a step, and then another, starting into a slow, lumbering walk in whatever direction Mal chose to lead it.

It didn't duck through the doorway on the first try. The burst of outrage was followed by a second attempt. It managed to make its way into the hall, though it took some doing.

Duncan cautiously stepped back, keeping his distance from the tree (not that it'd help when the damn thing had a projectile weapon). Without speaking, he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the hallway behind him. He led the way to the nearest outdoor exit, walking mostly backward the whole way so he wouldn't have to take his eyes off the tree.


Mal nodded and started to follow Duncan's lead, keeping his focus on the tree and only glancing to see which way Duncan was going when he needed to. He really hoped nobody else was around to get in the way, or if there were, that Duncan would be able to get them out of the way without any fuss.

Fortunately there was nothing to stop them from getting outside, and Mal managed to lead the tree there with only size issues (having to wait for it to get around corners or the likes). All he had to do next was... figure out where to put it...

"How far away do you want it?"


"As far the fuck away as you can manage it." He hovered by the doorway that led out to the church gardens, still wary of getting too close to the tree.

The tree seemed to have forgotten all about him, thankfully. Once it felt the brightness of the sun and the warm breeze on its leaves, it stilled, facing up to the sun with its branches spread out, basking in the light.

Yes, Mal had made it a very happy little tree.


Mal couldn't help but feel smug at the tree's happiness, but there was still the matter of location.

"I could bring it back with me, but that'll either require some mages or a very long walk." He smirked, and looked at Duncan. "Might be better to leave it in the gardens and come back to do that later. Maybe bring a couple other druids along." Really well trained ones. Like Zaira.

She was probably going to be annoyed that he'd done this much without her around.


"Yeah." He frowned thoughtfully, watching the tree bask. He was just relieved to have it out of his sitting room. "Pretty sure I could hook you up with a warp mage to the druid grove."

...Oh. A thought struck him. He looked to Mal, eyebrows raised. "Hey, actually, you know how there was a military cordon when Fall City came over? All their shit got turned into these things, too. Our people have been trying to take care of it but, slow going, you know? Think you can get some druids to take 'em off our hands?"


"Sure, we can do that. I mean, I'm not sure how many of us can actually, y'know, do that," he nodded to the content tree. Many druids could summon ents, but he had no idea if any besides him could summon a godent. "But that'd only really determine how long it'd take to move 'em all, I guess."

Even if he were the only one who could, he could see about using other druids to help move them after they've been summoned. Or possibly turn it into a ritual to summon several at once and relocate them. Or... Something.


Duncan seemed visibly relieved to get confirmation of Mal's willingness to help. "Thanks, man." He nodded toward the door. "Do you wanna go work out the logistics of that now or hold off on that?"


"Naw, now's good. Just let me take care of this guy."

'This guy' being the big walking tree that was enjoying the sun. At least it was happy, which meant convincing it to find somewhere in the gardens to settle down and 'take root' wasn't too difficult. He made sure the spot would get plenty of sun (so long as it was sunny) and slowly withdrew the magic the kept it an ent, watching as the tree rooted itself in the ground and settle back into a proper tree shape.

Once done he turned back to Duncan, looking rather pleased with himself, and motioned for him to lead the way.


That was really cool and he was sad that it had to be wasted on a tree that hated him so he couldn't enjoy it for its own sake.

He waited by the doorway instead of following Mal off to find a temporary home for the tree. When Mal returned, Duncan led him back through the church toward his chambers.

The path took them through the Likeness room. Most of the damage from the fight with Aerveas had been repaired by now, though there were a few spots where the tile was still cracked and hadn't been replaced yet. The room itself was open, no ceiling, the gigantic tree growing straight up through where it would have been. The second floor was more a balcony, and most of the first floor was earthen, with tile placed around the edges, the tree's roots creating an uneven surface for it.

Mal would have been taken through here on his way in, and they'd skirted it on the way to the gardens, but he wouldn't have been allowed the chance to stop and get a good look.


Mal's steps slowed as he passed by the giant tree, and then halted altogether as he spoke. "Hey, hold up," he started, glancing to see if Duncan stopped before his gaze returned to the Likeness. "Didn't really get a look at this thing earlier, you mind if I do?"

He cracked a wry grin as he looked back to Duncan. "Don't think your staff likes me much."


Duncan kept walking while Mal slowed, not noticing until he was asked to wait. He stopped, turning to face Mal, curious.

"Oh. Sure." He retreated back to Mal's side, looking up at the now-familiar sight of the Likeness's tree. Most of the organs were lit up in various colours now, only the penis and liver missing.

At the comment, the corner of his mouth turned up in something that was almost a smile, but with some exasperation to it. He lowered his head, ruffling a hand through his hair. "They're touchy about it. The last Vohu who came through here really did a number on the place. It's nothing personal, you know?"

If Mal tried to get a read on this tree the same as the god-tree he'd just tended to, he wouldn't find much on the surface. It was eerily still and stoic, an existence that had no need to advertise itself.


"Yeah, I know." He hadn't been there for it, but he'd heard about it. Who hadn't? Heck, he'd been given a few first-hand comments on the battle itself. "Least I don't ever plan to invade Bastan. I mean, what would I do with a holy city?"

The Likeness tree had his attention more than Duncan did, though, once he'd been given the okay. His comments were half-assed joking, shit he just did with Duncan, but that tree was... Well, it was impressive. Even the Great Tree in the Grove wasn't quite as big.

Except that it felt so vibrant and alive that this one actually had him stumped.

He started to approach it without really thinking about it, feeling out towards it with his magic (which was also something he'd started doing without much thought), though at least had the presence of mind to make it more of a respectful greeting for something so ancient.


"Desecrate it," Duncan replied, folding his arms and cocking his head toward Mal, perfectly deadpan. He was just following the banter too, but he was willing to let it drop when he saw how intent Mal was on the tree. He stepped back, not exactly to give them space, but so he could have both Vohu and Likeness in his vision at the same time.

What Mal got was probably not what he expected.

The tree remained stoic. Mal was stoic. His own energy reached out to him and respectfully greeted him. Instead of feeling the tree as a separate entity, he felt himself as the tree, mirrored back at him in a distorted signal, like static on a radio.

It wasn't like reaching out to a tree should have been. It was like he'd reached through a window to tap someone on the shoulder only to realize it was his own shoulder he was tapping.


After a stunned silence, Mal uttered, "H-huh." Then he realized Duncan had said something, and withdrew his magic, letting it fade as he turned to blink at Duncan. "What?"


What Duncan had said wasn't important. The weird reaction from Mal? That was important.

"What happened?" he asked, intent, maybe a little wary. He wanted to know, but that tree creeped him out sometimes, so he wasn't sure it would be good.


"It-" he started, but stopped, having to think about how to explain it. "I'm not really sure. Normally when I reach out to a tree it's like I can get a sense of the tree but... This time it was like I was the tree..."

Which, in a sense, was getting a sense of the tree. Just in a really strange and startling way.


Duncan looked at Mal like he'd started speaking in tongues. "So, what, you like...mind-melded with the tree, or...what...?"

He wasn't sure what the implications of that were. He was not a druid!


"Kinda, I guess? Like, I was all stoic and shit and I felt my own magic reach out to me to greet me. It was weird."

He didn't even comment on Duncan being a nerd.


Look, Star Trek is a classic, okay.

He looked from Mal to the tree to the outline of Xumurdad and all the organ-shaped lights inside of it. His gaze settled there for a moment, then dropped to the violet uterine shape at the bottom of the torso. Then, finally, back to Mal.

"Trees, uh. Typically. Don't do that, I'm assuming."


"Not so much, no," he answered, though with the tone it was more of a not at all.

"What all do you know about the thing? Like is it in any of your holy texts or anything?"


He pulled his arms apart to give a slow, deliberate shrug, the look on his face somewhere between puzzled and worried. "All I've heard is that one day lightning struck the tree and Xumurdad's Likeness was carved into the bark by it."

He rubbed the back of his neck, throwing a sidelong look at the tree. "Pretty sure that's bullshit. Especially now."


"Yeah I don't think lightning woulda done all that," Mal said, raising his hand to point at the various lit-up organs.

He wanted to know more about it. Facts, not stories. The only people he could think of that might know were the guild leaders, and most of them were dead. Some of the ancient spirits might know something, if they were old enough...

But there was one source right in front of him. The tree itself. Duncan's comment about mind-melding had him wondering. Would he be able to get memories from it, if he dug deep enough?

He stared at the tree intently as he pondered this. If Duncan hadn't been standing right there he would have tried it without a second thought. Perhaps it was fortunate he was, then, because it made Mal consider the possible dangers.

It occurred to him that out of all the guild leaders, Duncan was probably the best to have on hand for something like that.

"Hey so I wanna try something, but I have no idea how safe this is exactly." His gaze shifted to Duncan, with a hint of a grin. "You up for bein' a spotter?"


He gave Mal a wary look. "You're not going to try to turn it into an ent, are you?"


First he laughed at the idea as if it were the most ridiculous thing Duncan could have said.

Then he stopped, and looked at the tree as if he were actually considering it.

"That'd be fuckin' awesome if I could..."

A moment later, he shook his head, snickered, and looked back to Duncan. "But no. You said 'mind-melding' so I kinda wanna see how true that is, maybe get some of the thing's memories."


The laugh was met by a sigh of relief, but the thoughtful pause instantly turned that into a dire look. "Mal, do not turn the symbol of my church into a Power Rangers monster."

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or worried by the explanation of what Mal was actually planning. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking up at the tree. "It bleeds," he said, looking at Mal from the corner of his eye, both his tone and expression warning. "Ezra and I checked it once." He wasn't sure whether that would make a difference to what Mal intended, but it seemed like information that would be good to have while making that decision.


Whatever retort he had vanished at the rest of what Duncan said.

"Bleeds?" Mal asked, stunned. "What, like, you cut it to see?"

What that meant, exactly, Mal wasn't entirely sure, but it certainly meant it was more than just a tree.


He nodded and stepped forward to stand at the trunk, motioning for Mal to follow. He leaned down and pointed to a spot, somewhere in the empty space boxed in by the glowing colon, where a deep gouge had been left in the bark. It was impossible to see if you weren't looking for it. Duncan had shoved the knife straight in and pulled it straight out, so it was easy to mistake the thin hole for a shadow in the bark.

"It just...kind of oozed," he said, looking up at Mal. "It looked like really old, stale, deoxygenated blood. Like a corpse."


Mal followed, and once the spot was pointed out to him, got in closer for a good look at it.

But leaned away with Duncan's description, looking up at him with a bit of shock.

"Did you try cutting anywhere else? Like, outside the Likeness?"


He shook his head and straightened, folding his arms again. "We weren't really concerned about the tree at the time."


"So you just assumed the Likeness was separate from the tree." It didn't sound accusatory, just a statement of fact. And it was the same conclusion Mal had come to, anyway.

He straightened and took a few steps back. "So, what, you think the Likeness might actually be Xumurdad or something?"


Facing Mal now, he paused and cast the tree a wary glance out of the corner of his eye. A couple seconds later, his eyes darted back to Mal. "I think there is a chance that there is a body inside that tree, yup."


Mal looked at Duncan, and let out a nervous laugh as he glanced back to the Likeness, taking another step away from it. Suddenly, trying to connect to the tree seemed far more terrifying, despite trying to convince himself that druid magic couldn't affect corpses, let alone corpses of Gods.

"Guess that explains why they went and built a church around it..."


Not for the first time, Duncan wished he'd kept the old Vahishta around to answer some questions. He shook it off, deciding that was really the last thing he wanted to think about right now.

"You still wanna try it?" he asked. His tone was very clear: this was probably a bad idea, but it was still interesting enough to risk.


Duncan was supposed to be the voice of reason! If something was dangerous, or would get him into trouble (usually the latter), Duncan would tell him how stupid it was.

So to have him sound like he kind of wanted Mal to do it, wanted to see what would happen, only encouraged Mal into shrugging off the danger that might lay in it. Mostly because if he was going to do something reckless and dangerous he wanted it to at least appear that he was totally into it and had no doubts whatsoever. What could possibly go wrong! (He could wake up Xumurdad- DON'T THINK ABOUT THAT)

He gave Duncan a crooked grin, and walked around the tree away from the Likeness before approaching it again (that thing officially creeped him out now). Then he laid his hand on the tree's bark, closed his eyes, and let his magic reach into it, trying to connect with it, expecting what he'd believed had happened the first time.


Duncan was not wholeheartedly into this. Mal's grin got a nervous not-quite-smile in response. He followed Mal around to the other side of the tree, but it was a delayed reaction.

He hung back a few feet, as though trying to stay clear of any sort of backlash range. There was no way to know what kind of backlash there might be and what the safe distance was, but it made him feel a little better.

This was a terrible idea. Just like stabbing the tree had been a terrible idea. He tried to be the cautious, reasonable, smart one, but there were some things that were just too enthralling not to pursue. His thirst for knowledge was what sparked him to encourage Mal to do this, but it was not without a certain degree of guilt. If Mal got hurt, or if something went terribly, horribly wrong, it would be his fault. So please, whatever gods were listening, do not let something go horribly wrong.


Everything went wrong, though not in any way Duncan could have imagined. Nor Mal, for that matter.

He established the connection as he'd expected, felt the stoicness of the tree as though it were part of him, felt his own magic reaching out to greet him. He thought, as before, that he'd become one with the tree, that what he felt was what the tree felt.


He was wrong.

What he actually felt was himself, somehow his magic looping back from the tree. So when he started trying to dig into the tree's memories, all he got were his own. It was strange, and he wasn't even sure how it was happening. It shouldn't be possible, should it? To be able to delve into a person's memories?

Except that he was doing it to himself, and not a separate entity.

He tried again, thinking that perhaps with being melded to the tree he was mixing up where to look. He dug deeper, and still all he got were his own memories. Flashes, at first, but then more detailed things, things he'd been trying to keep buried, to forget about. Mostly to do with his father, but there were other things as well.

He let out a frustrated snarl, and pushed harder. There had to be access to the tree's memories in there somewhere.

There wasn't.

He wound up pushing back into his own memories as far as his mother's illness, her death, the funeral. He flashed forward to his father moving him away from his aunt, then further to school, where his father all but ignored him for many years, only paying attention when it required giving him money for things.

His hand pulled away from the tree, shock clear on his face, but it didn't stop right away. As he extracted himself, he wound up seeing flashes of more recent memories; Brandon leaving him for someone else, the way things went with Rhys and how he felt Rhys had pushed him away, his stepmother calling to tell him about his father's death.

The first time he'd returned to his father's house, only to realize how empty and lonely it seemed without the presence of either his father or the twins, whom he didn't think he'd ever get to see again.

When it finally stopped, he found himself staring out at the bark of the tree, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks.


At first, nothing seemed to be amiss. Duncan couldn't tell what was going on. From the outside, it was just Mal with his eyes closed and a hand against the tree. Not being able to tell what was going on was not a comfort, though. It just left Duncan fretting that maybe something was going wrong but he wouldn't be able to tell until it was too late.

When Mal started crying, he wasn't sure what to do. Concern flared up, but he was hesitant to pull Mal away from the tree. If this was anything like diving into the Dark, that could have disastrous consequences. He was forced to wait until Mal pulled back on his own, at which point he closed the distance between them and set a hand on Mal's shoulder in an effort to ground him, if he needed it.

"What happened?" He was much more concerned than curious at this point.


He kept staring at the tree, not noticing Duncan's hand, or his voice, right away. When it finally sunk in that someone had spoken, he turned his head to look at Duncan. He looked... lost, perhaps even frightened, at least a little.

Realization of what happened dawned on him, and he shook his head. "It didn't work," he said, hearing his own voice threaten to choke up. The memories were all still so fresh, dug up and forced on him all at once, and the weight of it all was overwhelming. He shut his eyes to try to shut them out, bury them back where they belonged, get rid of the loneliness they'd brought with them, the sense of loss and abandonment.

It felt futile. The tears didn't stop, despite no sobs to go with them.


Okay, that was...not encouraging. "Um..." He pulled his hand away, uncertain.

"...Are you...going to be okay?" he asked, hesitantly.


Mal's first instinct was to brush off Duncan's concern and try to forget the whole thing. But that was what he'd been doing all his life, trying to forget everything. It hadn't been working.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head slowly, taking a moment to try and settle down. His hand rose to wipe at his cheeks, dry them off, and though he managed to stop the tears from coming, he still felt like he wanted to cry.

He turned to face Duncan and shook his head again.

"I just got a rundown of my life since my mother's death and it fucking sucks."


His eyebrows shot up, and then furrowed. He looked between Mal and the tree, trying to put together a complete picture of what had happened.

Curiosity fought with concern, and unfortunately concern did not win. This was Mal. It was easy to take for granted that he was never deeply affected by anything, because he so rarely seemed to take anything seriously. "Like the tree showed you your life story or what?"



He'd shaken his head twice, which he felt should've been enough to indicate he was not all right and that he was taking this seriously, but Mal didn't even consider that Duncan may have been brushing that aside. The question seemed reasonable enough. Find out more about what, exactly, had happened.

"No, it-" he faltered, glancing up at the tree, trying to understand, battling with the tears that still threatened even if they weren't coming. He took a deep breath and looked back to Duncan. "It... I don't know. Anywhere I tried to dig all I got were my own memories, not the tree's. Like I couldn't find the tree."


The explanation got a puzzled expression in response; Duncan looked to the tree. Just what, exactly, was going on here?

So Mal had tried to talk to the tree and the tree responded by...becoming Mal...? Or by showing Mal himself? Or...? Nothing about that made any sense. Why would the Vohu be completely unable to find the tree's consciousness? And why was it that the consciousness he found instead was his own?

Duncan had been worried Mal would end up somehow communicating with Xumurdad directly. This was...just weird, honestly.

He looked back to Mal and wasn't sure what to say. He finally settled on, "...Let's put some distance between this thing and us." The slightest hint of agreement and he would continue leading Mal back to his wing of the church.


That sounded like a good idea, and Mal cast a wary glance back to the tree before starting to move away from it.

He was broody as he followed Duncan, not saying anything at all, no jokes, no snide remarks. He wasn't really sure what to say. Even once they got to Duncan's wing, Mal was silent. Heck, he'd forgotten what they were supposed to be going there to talk about originally.


Not even a single half-hearted snide remark on the walk back? That was when Duncan realized that Mal was really shaken up about this.

When they got to his sitting room, he gestured for Mal to sit and hesitated by the door after closing it. He really wasn't sure how to handle this. Mal being seriously upset about something was unfamiliar territory.

"Do you...uh...want something to drink?" he offered, awkwardly pointing to indicate the direction of his small kitchen.


There was some hesitation before Mal moved to take a seat, and when he did, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, wringing his hands together.

He did want a drink. A good, strong drink. Except that was what he always did when something bothered him, and it tended to make it harder to talk about.

"Water," he requested, adding, "please," as an afterthought.

"Am I a fuck up?" he asked suddenly, brows creasing as he looked at Duncan.


He moved off toward the hallway at the back of the room, but paused when Mal spoke again, facing him. He was at a loss for how to respond.

"Uh... Not, like, consummately...?" He rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable and uncertain. "How do you mean?"


He noticed the discomfort he was causing, and looked away, frowning.

"Just... My dad never paid me much attention, I chased off my boyfriend, then Red- Rhys... We pretty much haven't spoken since he fucked off to Zen, til I became Vohu, and even then I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm gonna fuck this up."

He went quiet, contemplative. There were a lot of things he was worried about, things he never really spoke of and simply pushed away to worry about later, only to never get back to them. And then there were things he'd never dealt with, like his father's death, and, to an extent, his mother's. When Brandon had left him, he'd cried, but he still wasn't sure if he was crying over Brandon or his mother. Or maybe both, having felt abandoned twice.

He dug through his pocket, pulling his wallet out. It was lighter now, having removed the cards he wouldn't need anymore and tucked them away back in his hut in the Grove, but there were still a few things in there. He fumbled through it as he spoke, saying, "I never showed you this," and pulled out a small photograph. He paused as he caught sight of it, hesitated, then held it out for Duncan to see.

A healthy, smiling woman with hair the same colour as Mal's stood in the photo, wearing a bright red summer dress and hat, one hand up to hold the hat on her head as wind threatened to blow it off. The woman was holding a child- baby Mal, not more than two, short, scruffy blonde hair, giggling at his mother.

"That's... before she got sick. I don't even remember it."


He edged over to lean down and examine the photo, taking it in but not knowing what to think of it. This was...not a situation he felt equipped to handle. He hated to see his friends suffer, but consoling them was not his strong suit. What did you even say to something like this?

"... Let me...go get you that water," he said, straightening and pointing across himself toward the hallway. "I'll be right back."

It was partially an attempt to get some breathing room and come up with a game plan, but he was quick about it. He didn't want to leave Mal hanging, thinking Duncan didn't care about him enough to try. When he returned, he set the glass of water on the coffee table in front of Mal and took a seat on the sofa across from him.

"Sorry," he said first thing, for having to leave the room to fill Mal's request. He folded his arms, shifting awkwardly, but he kept his eyes on Mal's face. "Look, I'm not...really sure what to say. But I'm here for you, and I'm listening."


Duncan leaving left Mal looking at the photo. He remembered moments where his mother was less sick, able to come home, able to care for him. But most of that time was overshadowed with the fear that she'd relapse and there'd be nothing they could do. His father doted on her, barely paying Mal any mind, and though she tried so hard to give him a lot of attention, she just hadn't had the energy to keep up with a growing, energetic child.

His aunt had been more of a mother than his own mother, and at the time he'd blamed his mother for it, but now...

He wished he'd paid her more attention, as she'd tried to for him.

When Duncan returned, Mal hurriedly wiped away the tears that had started to fall again, and tucked the photo back into his wallet. He let out a long, ragged sigh and glanced up, nodding his thanks for the water.

The words were not what he was looking for. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for, but 'I'm listening' wasn't it. What was the point of talking about it if the person you were talking to had nothing to say?

Mal shook his head, tucking his wallet away. "It's fine. Don't worry about it." He paused. "You wanted to uh... talk about the trees, right?"

Shove it away and find something else to deal with. That was how Mal dealt with shit.


Duncan's brow knit as he looked at Mal. He shifted, leaning forward, setting his arms on his legs, hands clasped between his knees. He knew what Mal was doing. He knew Mal's tendency to bottle up his feelings and brush them aside instead of dealing with them.

Given how upset Mal had been after his dive into the Likeness's tree, there was no way he wasn't doing that right now.

"Don't pull that bullshit on me, Mal," Duncan said, looking him in the eye. "Even I can see it's not fine. If you don't want to talk about it, that's cool, but don't fucking lie to me."


Mal started to fidget, and then reached out to take the water he'd asked for to keep from doing so. It kept his hands busy, and he had asked for it. There was some obligation to actually drink it.

He hesitated before sipping from the glass to speak, refusing to meet Duncan's gaze. "You don't wanna hear about that shit. Nobody does." Except maybe Aunt Kate, but she was... fuck, he'd probably never see her again, either.


"I just said I was willing to listen. Try again."


He frowned, casting a glare at Duncan. "Being willing to ain't the same as wanting to. That's like... some sorta obligation to listen, even if it's bullshit you don't care about."


He glared right back. "When, in our seven year friendship, have I ever given you the idea that I don't care when you're upset?"


"That's not-" Mal stammered, but faltered, his brows furrowing. He was going to argue that that wasn't what he'd said, but what Duncan said seemed to dawn on him as if for the first time.

Duncan cared.

Some part of him knew, had known for a long time. Why else would Duncan put up with his bullshit? But he was suddenly confused, in that moment, having never really thought about it before.

"Why do you even care?" he asked, but rather than sounding like a retort, it sounded like an honest question, especially combined with the expression of uncertainty. "I give you so much shit, I woulda thought by now you'd just want to be rid of me." Like everyone else.


The answer was a simple one. It came easily, in a matter-of-factly annoyed tone, "Because we're friends, dumbass."


"That didn't stop-" He cut off, frowning. Rhys had barely been a friend, and Brandon... Well, five years was a long time, but in a relationship things were different, and things could easily end abruptly for various reasons.

"Why are we friends, though?" A direction change seemed fitting, just then. "I mean we barely got anything in common. Outside of bein' guild leaders now, I guess."


He arched an eyebrow at Mal, a look that made it clear that he thought it was a useless question to ask. "Unless you're objecting to us being friends, I don't think it fucking matters why. We are. That's all there needs to be."


"Yeah, like I'm gonna object to th' only real friend I got." Sarcasm was another tool Mal liked to hide behind, except that he meant it when he called Duncan his only 'real' friend. There were others, but in Mal's mind, they were less... certain, and more likely to brush him off for being an ass.

He still didn't understand why Duncan didn't.

"It's just... Everyone thinks I'm an irresponsible jerk, nobody really sticks around much, nobody even really takes me seriously, like, ever. Except you. Did I do something right with you at some point or are you just a stubborn jackass?"

He really wanted to figure this out so he could try harder at keeping the others...


Duncan folded his arms, but didn't straighten his posture. His gaze drifted to Mal's right. "I'm a shitty fucking person, Mal. Loyalty is the one goddamn thing I have going for me. So--yeah, I guess it's just that I'm a stubborn jackass.

"But, I mean." He shrugged one shoulder. "You do present yourself that way. It's hard to take you seriously when you don't seem to take anything seriously. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt with this Vohu thing because I know how hard you dedicate yourself to shit you care about, but not everyone gets to see that side of you, y'know?"


"I take lots of things seriously," Mal said earnestly, eyes on Duncan, but floundered as he tried to come up with an example that wasn't specific to Duncan, which considering the length of their friendship was most of the times he'd taken anything seriously... Or Brandon, since he hadn't taken their entire relationship seriously enough to keep it...

"I take Angel seriously," Mal said finally. "Like, when he comes to me to unload about all his fears and shit. And alchemy! I took that seriously!"

He still had the constructs to prove it!


Duncan's mouth quirked like there was something he wanted to say but was holding back. Taking Gabriel seriously by listening when he ranted about something was not the same as displaying responsibility, and the fact that Mal even thought to equate them was pretty damning.

"People are going to base their image of you on what they see, though." His eyes moved back to Mal as his posture straightened out. "You know what a workaholic I am, right? But there are auxiliary bishops here who think I'm a fucking slacker." He unfolded one arm to gesture toward the door, indicating the church at large. "Because they heard about the time I ditched a meeting without explaining why, or when I told everyone to fuck off for half a day so I could recharge. They don't see how much effort I'm putting in the rest of the time.

"And you know what--fuck 'em, to be honest. I'll do my job right, and eventually they'll realize I'm serious about it."


Mal frowned, leaning forward to set the glass down again. "I don't think the druids give a shit what I do. They're just glad to be rid of Aerveas."

He straightened in his seat, looking back to Duncan. "But you, or Gabe, or Lera..." He made a point of using real names, partly because he wasn't sure Duncan even knew his nickname for Lera (or that he... even knew Lera as well as he did), partly because this felt like a serious enough discussion to warrant it. "Even Rhys... Especially Rhys, since we gotta share a country now."

That was still something he hadn't quite managed to wrap his head around.

"I care more about what you guys think than some random bunch of druids I'm 'sposed to be in charge of." His nose wrinkled. "Not that I don't care about the druids, just... Not as much, you know?"


He appreciated that Mal was using real names. The nicknames were hard to keep track of.

"It's the same thing. You show us that you're serious about it by taking it seriously. And treat your position with the respect it warrants."


Mal let out an annoyed, "Ugh," and leaned forward, setting an elbow on his knee and his face in his hand. He stayed like that for a moment, taking a breath, letting it out, before letting his hand fall and giving Duncan an annoyed look.

"Why're you so stuck on the Vohu thing? Is that all I am now?"


Duncan stared at Mal for a moment, utterly befuddled by the question. The explanation seemed so obvious that he didn't even know where to begin.

Finally, still looking completely lost and perplexed, he started to form an answer, unfolding his arms to put some nervous energy into vague gesturing. "You said--people think you're irresponsible and don't take you seriously. You asked me if you were a fuck-up and said that Rhys thinks you'll fuck up the Vohu thing.

"The Vohu thing isn't, like, disconnected from the rest of your life. It's the most visible thing about you right now, it's what everyone who thinks you're an irresponsible douchebag is watching to see if you prove them right. But since it is the most visible thing about you, you can also prove them wrong by handling it well...?" He sort of trailed off, looking cautiously expectant, as though encouraging Mal to understand. "And that's fucking huge so changing their opinion of you as Vohu will extend to their opinion of you as a person. In theory."


He let out an annoyed sigh and pushed himself to his feet, starting to pace. It seemed like a sound theory, but... Having to prove himself as Vohu to prove to his friends that he was a good person seemed unfair.

He didn't want his friends to just see him as the Vohu.

He paced, going over that all in his head, growing more frustrated, until he stopped and turned to look at Duncan again.

"What about outside of that? Isn't there somethin' I can do to, like, show 'em I care about them? Not just about bein' Vohu?"


Duncan half-folded his arms and rubbed the bridge of his nose while he watched Mal pace. It was nervous. He was nervous. He was pretty sure that he was saying the wrong thing and none of this was even remotely helpful for Mal to hear.

He perked up when Mal turned to him, lowering his hand away from his face and looking expectantly up at him. His brow furrowed at the question. That was another one with an answer so obvious he didn't know where to begin.

"Uhh..." He paused, glancing aside uncomfortably. "Act like you actually fucking care about them, maybe."

(Was that a hint of bitterness? Oh, yes.)


Mal scowled. "I already do that!" His expression shifted, though, to uncertainty. "Don't I?"


Duncan's, meanwhile, shifted to a glower. It was pretty obvious there was a, 'The fuck you do,' lurking at the tip of his tongue, but it went unsaid.

Instead, he said, "Do you remember that time I had to be rescued from a mob by an X-DAV security guard and Jordan gave me a bloody nose trying to fight them off and all you did was fucking mock me? Because I do."


A faint grin cracked Mal's features, but faded quickly. Duncan wasn't amused. "Oh, come on. I was just tryin' to lighten the mood!"


"That!" Duncan exclaimed, pointing at him. "Right there, that is your fucking problem."


Mal just stared at him, utterly confused.


"The fact that you even think the mood needs lightening in a situation like that means you aren't taking it seriously!"


...He was still confused.

"I was tryin' to take peoples' minds off it? I thought that was a good thing."


Duncan was positively seething now. "Making fun of the person it happened to is not how you fucking do that, asshole."


Mal looked at Duncan as if he'd just been slapped, shock and hurt on his face, and turned away. He felt bad- terrible- that he had fucked up so badly that even now, months later, it pissed Duncan off as much as it seemed to.

"Sorry," he muttered, barely audible, and then, a little more clearly, "I'm sorry," as he started walking out. He couldn't be there anymore. Duncan didn't want him there, he was sure of it.

Of all their fights, all the times Duncan had told him off, Mal was most vulnerable at that moment, and had never been more convinced that Duncan would never want to speak to him again.


"The fuck are you going?" Duncan demanded, indignant, as he shoved himself to his feet. "Get your ass back here and goddamn talk to me!"

It was a very Duncan sort of tone, irritated but concerned, telling Mal to stay not so he could keep being angry at him but so that they could continue working on whatever it was Mal needed to work out.


Staying was... Not what Mal wanted to do, but he didn't want to be alone either, so while his steps slowed to a stop, he just stood there, not looking back, wringing his hands together, not at all sure what to do. The tone had him a little confused. He was pretty convinced Duncan just wanted to yell at him some more, and he'd deserve it, too, but he wasn't sure he could take it.

He was overwhelmed. There was too much at stake, and it wasn't just Duncan's friendship, though that meant more to him than the rest. The slow realization of just how much his being Vohu meant to others, the belief that he was nothing more than a fuck-up lingering at the back of his mind. The idea of failing as a guild leader and proving to others that he really was irresponsible and useless, and of losing what few valued friendships that he had because of it.

And above it all, the feeling of loss was still so fresh, thanks to the memories of his parents flooding him during his attempt to read the Likeness tree. He tried to push it away, to focus on just one thing- on how to be a better friend- but it was still there. In part because Duncan could have brought his father back, if he hadn't been cremated, and a small part of him wanted to be angry at Duncan for that, but he knew it was unreasonable.

Rather than continuing to stand around like some zombie, he settled for sinking into the nearest seat, hand on the armrest as if to steady himself, starting, silently, into some unseen distance.


Duncan dropped back into his chair as well once Mal was seated. He folded his arms, his expression softening to a mild grumpiness. For a few seconds he was silent, putting aside his annoyance and working out what to say.

"Talk to me," he repeated, more calm, less demanding. "What are you actually upset about?"


He looked down at his hand, fingers starting to pick at the armrest. His mind tried to sort out his thoughts, tried to pinpoint what, specifically, was so upsetting, but there wasn't any one thing.

"I don't know," he muttered, staring at his hand as if it were something strange. He could feel the magic in him, the connection to nature, to the spirits. Even without trying, he could sense the location of the Likeness tree, as well as any other plantlife in the area- the plants in the gardens outside, the tree he'd relocated residing there, Duncan's personal garden. These strange sensations, things never even known before, added to the pile of thoughts and feelings that threatened to drown him.

He couldn't shut them out. They were a part of him now. An all-too-present reminder of who he was.

He looked up at Duncan, suddenly. "What's it like? Being Vahishta? Like... What do you feel?"


His brows tilted quizzically at the question and he shifted in his chair, leaning back, letting his hands fall to his lap. He threaded his fingers together, looking down toward them but not at them, his eyes distant.

What did he feel? That was a specific question, easier to answer than what being the Vahishta was like. What it was like was knowing what the Dark was and knowing nobody could escape it forever, it was protocol and meetings and politics and lessons, it was needing to care about a religion he knew very little about, it was being, quite suddenly, a Very Important Person with no template for how to deal with that.

It was knowing you had something no one else had. Ageless immortality, and the ability to resurrect without wasting precious resources, and the responsibility to use both to ensure that the Dark was escapable.

But that wasn't what Mal was asking for, thankfully. He didn't want to explain it.

"I guess...the most obvious thing is my center." One hand drifted up, laying over his heart. "It's like a--like a warmth, behind your heart. It feels like something that was always supposed to be there and I just never noticed it until now. That's where all my magic comes from."

He almost started to add an explanation of resurrection and the perfect understanding the heart came with, but he hesitated and closed his mouth and settled back, leaving it there. He wasn't sure he wanted to share that.


"Are you used to it?" Mal asked, brows creased. "Like, does it ever still shock you or anything? Knowing what you can do, feeling what you can do?"


He shook his head. "No--I mean, I'm used to it." He dropped his hand, raising his head to look at Mal, bringing his focus back to the conversation. "I think if I ever woke up and couldn't feel it, I'd be pretty fucking worried. It's just normal to me now.

"I guess if I stop to think about it, the shit I'm capable of is pretty fucking amazing. But I...try not to think about it, actually."


"I don't have a choice," Mal said, looking down at his hand again. "I can always feel it. Not just that it's there, but like... Even now, I can still sense the Likeness tree, out there. I can understand animals, sense the spirits around me, even the ones nobody can see."

He looked back to Duncan, his expression unclear. He wasn't sure how he felt. Trapped, maybe. But also... A sense of thrill, enjoyment. He liked being able to sense these things. He wasn't sure he could ever give them up. But if he failed as Vohu...

It only made the fear of failure that much more real.

"What if I fuck up? What if something I do or say screws shit up so bad that I have to give it up? What if... What if the druids decide to take it back, like when they gave the last Earth Vohu to Aerveas?"

He didn't know how many people knew exactly how Aerveas had gotten his hands on the womb.


Duncan seemed pretty uncomfortable as he tried to imagine what that must be like. He did not envy Mal at all. "Maybe it gets easier to push aside as you get used to it," he suggested, trying to offer some hope, but tainted by that discomfort he felt at the idea.

And that discomfort just got worse as Mal moved into wondering about something Duncan himself was very afraid of. What if the clerics found out he'd murdered the original? What if they suddenly decided he wasn't worthy of the position and someone got the bright idea to do the same to him? What if cleric succession ended up becoming like assassin succession--whoever managed to kill the Vahishta got the title?

He shifted in his chair, glancing away, suddenly feeling a chill and trying to rub some warmth into his hands. "I think you can't worry about that stuff until it happens or you'll just drive yourself crazy," he mumbled.


Mal shook his head. "Normally I don't mind it, it's just..." He made a vague gesture back towards the Likeness room. That was one tree he didn't particularly want to sense. "And sometimes it's kind of overwhelming. Like when I first got to the Grove. That place is just..." He faltered, unable to put it into words. "You should see it," he said instead, sounding awestruck despite everything else.

That faded in short order as he returned to the topic at hand, looking up at the ceiling in an attempt to clear his mind, or possibly hoping to find some answer scrawled across it. "It's not just... If I fuck this up, Rhys will probably never want anything to do with me again." His eyes fell back to Duncan, features creased with concern, worry, even a hint of fear. "I don't even know what the others will think. Like you."


His mouth quirked at Rhys's name coming up again. "So are you worried about how to be responsible and do your job right, or are you worried about what your friends will think of you?" That was probably a question he should've asked sooner, but he was just now realizing where Mal's focus kept ending up.


That made Mal take pause. He'd been confusing himself, unable to focus on any one thing, and mixing the two issues into one. There were two, and Duncan had just made them both perfectly clear.

There were more than two, really, but those were the two he could focus on, now that they'd been untangled from the mass of feelings and thoughts.

"Both?" Mal said, sounding uncertain. "I don't know how to be a good guild leader. Zaira's good at teaching me how to be a druid, but not... Not 'in charge'? Not 'diplomatic', not..." His eyes rose skyward with a sigh. He actually... wasn't really sure what he needed to be, as a guild leader, and being the Vohu, following after Aerveas, made things even more complicated. "Medena chose me to... To help the druids, to lead them forward. To guide them. I don't really have anyone guiding me."

He looked down at his hands, folding them in his lap. "But I've never really had anyone guiding me. All my life. My dad just kind of let me do whatever the fuck I wanted and threw money at me and my aunt was too far away to really help me with any of the day to day shit or figure shit out and now... Now you help, sometimes, and I don't want to lose that. I need that."

It sounded selfish, saying it, like putting the burden of guiding him through life on Duncan's shoulders. It wasn't how he meant it, but he wasn't sure how to voice what he really meant. Instead he waited, silent, to hear how Duncan reacted to it, hoping Duncan would understand what he meant.


He exhaled, deflating somewhat, sinking back in his chair. "You won't lose that," he assured Mal, "but I have my hands full trying to figure out my own shit."

He paused, considering, and finally said, "I'm pretty sure none of us had any idea what we were getting into when we took those god-organs. I know most of my 'how the fuck do you guild leader' lessons have been coming from Doukas and Dorothy--maybe there's someone in your guild who's actually good at it who can teach you?

"Orrr maybe the others would have some good advice. They've all been at this longer than us. Couldn't hurt to ask, right?"


Although not entirely convinced, Duncan's assurance did give him some relief, and Mal let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair as a smile crept across his face. Just the fact that Duncan hadn't called him selfish or otherwise reacted poorly to it was a relief.

He considered the rest thoughtfully. "The druids aren't... real big on the whole diplomacy thing. They're sorta seclusive. I mean, sure, I can learn how to handle spirits, and all the stuff that a druid needs to know, like how to respect nature and all the magic stuff, and what my role as Vohu is to them, like running rituals and everything. But... They'd rather just hide in their Grove and avoid the other guilds and their leaders entirely."

He frowned. Medena had chosen him to guide the druids into a better understanding of the nature of Earth, and as someone who could better understand the other guild leaders. He wasn't so sure that he was up to the task, now, though at the time... At the time he'd been impulsive and jumped at the chance.

"When I'd taken the... the job, I guess, I thought I was doing it for the right reasons. To guide the druids. To be what they needed with everything that was going on. But... I can't shake the feeling that I did it because I was jealous. I don't think I did, but what if, deep down, that was why I did?"


He grimaced at the mention of what the druids would rather be doing. "Given what just happened, that's probably not the best idea." The druids had a ruined reputation in need of repair, and fading from view wasn't going to fix that.

Jealousy. Over all their friends becoming guild leaders? Actually, Duncan could understand that, sort of--before he'd become the Vahishta, he'd been feeling incredibly lonely because all his friends had moved up to a new rung in life that he could no longer access. They had hardships on a scale he couldn't understand, and his own problems paled in comparison. He'd never felt jealous of them, but...left out, absolutely. He could see that easily turning to jealousy in Mal's case; Mal was just that type of person, to want to be a part of everything.

Duncan shifted, leaning on the armrest. "If that is why you did it, fucking forget about it." He shrugged, an easy casual motion that belied the seriousness of what he was talking about. "Your top priority is your responsibility to your guild, whatever you were jealous about is bullshit. This isn't some secret exclusive club that you're in, you're responsible for people's lives."


Mal internally flinched. Externally, he frowned. "It's not that easy to forget. It's always there, in the back of my mind. Am I even worthy of this? Can I actually pull it off? If I did it because I was jealous, what the hell does that say of me as a guild leader?"

He sighed, glancing skyward again. "I'm not really sure how to convince the druids that they need to make up for what they did, or whatever. I mean, they didn't even do it out of malice. They... They didn't want Aerveas to win. They gave him the womb because they'd hoped the connection to nature, to Zenderael itself, would mellow him out, so that he would give up on the war, and by the time they finally realized it wasn't going to work, he had Mezzron on his side and they were afraid to turn against him."

He understood it, but he was probably more sympathetic than others. He had to be. He was their Vohu. Part of being responsible for a group of people as large as a guild was understanding them, why they did things.

He shook his head and glanced at Duncan. "Probably sounds like a shit excuse for what they did, but fear makes you do stupid things."


Duncan was starting to feel a little out of his depth here. If Mal had chosen to take the position out of jealousy, whatever that said about him was still a far cry better than what Duncan's reasons said. He was not qualified to reassure Mal about something as petty as that when his own sins were so much worse.

His expression grew thoughtfully distant, a frown creasing his brow. "I don't know, man. I think if you're aware of it, it's easier to look out for? Like, you can stop and ask yourself if you're making decisions based on what's best for your people or based on whatever it is you were jealous of. Just be aware, right?"

And as for the rest... He understood perfectly that fear made you do stupid things. Did he ever. But just telling people why they'd done it wouldn't be enough to make people forgive them. It rarely was.

He sighed, straightening, lacing his fingers together between his thighs. "Honestly, Mal, I'm not that good at this either. I haven't been at it much longer than you have. If you want advice, Rhys is probably the one to talk to. He had to deal with repairing the berserkers' reputation after they attacked Bastan, didn't he?"


"Yeah," Mal started, pausing to think on it. It made sense. And at least he was aware of it, which, while it meant second-guessing himself, was probably a good thing. Making big, guild-affecting decisions kind of needed that sort of second-guessing, to stop and think it through, to make sure it was the best choice for the guild as a whole and not the best choice for him. "Yeah, you're right. And worst case I can always get another opinion, to make sure it's the right choice..."

Thinking about talking to Rhys, though... Well, he did want to talk to Rhys, anyway, to explain why the druids had even done what they'd done. He wasn't sure how it would affect things, but it... might at least but Rhys at ease to know the druids weren't outright against the other guild leaders.

He didn't look forward to getting lectured, but maybe, in this case, that was what he needed. Someone who'd been at it a lot longer, who had experience leading, dealing with consequences, smoothing things out.

He sighed. "Probably a good idea anyway, since the berserkers and druids kind of have to live with each other more than the other guilds. And they... did sort of fuck with the berserkers pretty bad, so he might have some idea how they... we... could fix shit."