[If Ozpin is expecting fury from Willow, he won't find it. She is sick, miserable, and exhausted on so many levels she never thought possible, but she is also so pleased to see him, alive and well. Or, at least as well as can be expected under the circumstances.
She couldn't help but think of him and Buffy both when she woke tucked against the strange looking deer god, and it had presented her with the apple and the weight of the choice of either going back, or remaining where she was.
Peaceful, Ozpin had described it as. He was not wrong.
The decision was a simple one for her - she still feels needed here, but it gives her a better understanding of why Ozpin chose to linger a little while, and a better appreciation for his decision to come back.]
I'm glad to see you too.
[She returns the warm smile, but it fades as she glances over her shoulder with a sigh. She can take a guess who is responsible for the destruction here. The worms that plagued the town throughout April might have done some damage, but it wouldn't have been nearly so complete. It hasn't escaped her that, in light of it all, she also needs to be worried about the others who were under the protection of the same spells that had been at work here.]
I'm guessing it was Maul? My spells all would have broke when - well. You know. He didn't go after anyone else, did he? Everyone else is okay? And Ford?
I do not know for certain... but given your last interaction with him, yes, I would guess the same.
[ He follows her gaze back to the rubble, somber. ]
Maul has made no appearance at my home. Glitch is safe. The mist has rendered travel difficult and dangerous, which I suspect will keep him at bay a while.
[ His gaze shifts back to her, and Ozpin sighs, some tension in his shoulders dropping. ]
And Stanford is alive and well... thanks to you.
[ He crouches to offer her help to her feet, and the smile he wears has an ache in it. Ozpin's tone comes soft and low. ]
I am sorry for what happened, Willow. It is only because of you that he and I got out alive. Salem fell to Ruby and her team later that same evening.
Well, at least he hasn't gone after anyone else. Maybe this will be the end of it.
[She doubts it, but she suspects Ozpin is right and maybe Maul will decide traveling in the mist is not worth it for the moment and leave them in peace. Besides, as soon as she's well again, she'll put her wards back up to protect TRUST and the mansion to keep him away from the two properties, and he will, at least, have no idea where she's staying now.
She almost doesn't want to get up, but the it feels dangerous to linger here in the mist, and the damp is miserable and it feels like it's leaching the heat right from her bones. She lets him help her to her feet, smiling in relief at his reassurance that, yes, Ford is fine too.]
I'm glad everyone's okay. Teleportation spells are kind of tricky. I was a little worried.
[Except for Salem, of course, but aside from knowing she will be returning soon too, that doesn't seem to matter much in the moment.
Willow eyes Ozpin quietly for a moment, contemplative, and concerned. She's caught the hesitation in his approach, and the way his shoulders dropped after she said she was glad to see him, like he was able to relax a little. Surely, he doesn't -]
You do you know what happened wasn't your fault, right?
[ There is a faint tightening of his grip, a tension in the steadying arm he has put around her. Still, he walks them to Tippetarius, who kneels as low as he is able to offer them both his sloping back. They do not have the benefit of a saddle, but the mane of dark fur down the elk's nape makes for handhold enough, and he tips those glowing antlers to provider her a handle. Oz offers a hand up without meeting her gaze. ]
That is very kind of you, Willow. [ It is again murmured low. ] I am very well aware that you died in my defense. And to an enemy who has always targeted me above all others.
[ Her touch upon the elk is immediately jarring, an electric current that grates wrong on the level of his very soul. Ozpin inhales a shaky breath as she settles onto his guide's back, and it lends a shuddery quality to his voice. ]
Things would not have played out this way had I been more prudent in handling the threat. Your strength came in the place of my failing.
[She leans into Ozpin as they make their way to Tippetarius, she is slow and achy and at least once she has to pause for a coughing fit that makes her double over but once they make it, she accepts both his hand and the offered antler as she slides into place on the elk's back. She doesn't have it in her to argue about using his dream guide as a mount, although she does throw a concerned glance towards the barn. She'll come back around to her animals after, besides she's sure Oscar has been tending to them. Her focus right now is on their conversation, and who is actually to blame.]
Thanks. Hey, come on now - this wasn't your fault. I died trying to help you and Ford, yeah, but it's not like I gave either of you much choice in that. A little flu bug is a pretty small price to pay for that, really. It would've been worse for you two if you died again.
You don't need to blame yourself - I told you I'd help you with Salem, and I knew what the risk was. It's not your fault, Ozpin.
[She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck, remembering the lonely woman she freed from the cannibals' ropes before learning what her name was. The one who said she was the only magic user in her world for a long time.]
[ He catches the direction of her glance and murmurs a low Ah of realization. ]
The animals are unharmed. We are going to join them now, in fact.
[ Speaking a reassurance helps with the shivery awareness that she is touching his soul. It is not painful, per se, but he did not feel ready for this. It feels acutely, jarringly exposed.
Ozpin mounts the elk behind her, and the intimacy of her touch upon Tippetarius is easier to bear when it is shared by his own, and her simple, physical weight against him. Ozpin sits with his arms around her, holding tight to his Dream Guide. ]
I take your point. It was still a very selfless act, and not one you owed me. In my time, I have made more mistakes than I could begin to list for you.
[ Tippetarius begins to walk, slowly at first, and Ozpin settles into the rhythm. ]
[Willow sighs with relief at Ozpin's reassurance that the animals are safe and nods quietly. At least while Maul might have destroyed the property, he left the living creatures she is responsible for alone. She never would have expected anything less, but she is grateful that they've been cared for in her absence all the same.
He mounts up behind her and she sags against him in exhaustion with her hands braced against the elk's broad shoulders to help maintain her balance. She's not entirely sure how to parse the deeply personal feeling, like she's touching Ozpin's soul. She remembers the initial jolt of shock, when Puck, panicked at the knowledge of what was about to come, dove into Ozpin's arms to seek comfort for them both in those final moments, and how it had helped smooth away her fear in the end. Her hands buried in Tipp's fur are gentle.
They start the journey back, and it's easy to relax into the rhythm of the elk's walk. She trusts neither of them will let her fall, and for a few moments, she's quiet, listening to the steady clip-clop of hooves on the pavement.]
Ohh, trust me, I've made plenty of mistakes too, and in less time than you've had.
[There's only one in particular that relates here, and under the circumstances, it's best he know what it is. She pauses again and clears her throat.]
But, uh. I saw Salem - a few days before everything happened. Those cannibal things got her, and had her tied up. I thought she was just another Sleeper, I couldn't just leave her there, knowing what would happen. She said she was the only magic user in her world. So I let her loose. We talked some - she seemed okay. Sad, lonely, but not dangerous at all. Then I asked her name. I should've told you sooner, but what was done was done. There was nothing we could do to change it. I was still trying to figure out how I was supposed to tell you I accidentally helped the one person I promised you I'd side with you against when I found Ford. And well, you know what happened after that.
[ He falls silent to listen, but it is impossible to mask the way he tenses against her. I let her loose. It is like being told by Qrow, in horrorstricken tones, how she'd been in the Lab. Qrow had not known who he was saving, really; he had thought it an act of mercy that she deserved.
Ozpin has long last track of who deserves what. He cannot wonder at what she deserves without wondering the same for himself. He is inextricably tied into every life she had taken, every town wiped out, every damage inflicted upon the world. Her inaction and his inaction go hand in hand. He wonders it if would have been an agony to her, being bound and left in the enclosed darkness of a cave. He wonders if she would not have cared at all. She's been bound in more profound ways than that for longer than he has been alive, and he has been alive a very long time.
Ozpin exhales a slow, careful sigh. Finally, he speaks, his tone carefully level. ]
You did what you thought was right, Willow. You freed a person who had been left vulnerable in terrible circumstances. That speaks very highly to your character.
[ We talked some. She said she was the only magic user in her world. These are the pieces that are incomprehensible to him; these are the pieces that make her sound alarmingly human. Perhaps it was a ploy to get free. He knows how sweet she can sound, to those she thinks will be useful. ]
I understand why you would look upon it as a terrible mistake.
[ There had once been a girl in a tower— ]
But I do not know that it would have mattered, in the end. Perhaps she would have suffered her next death a little sooner, but she will only be back again.
[ He has been trying so very hard not to dwell on who, precisely, she will come back as. ]
[She can feel the tension in him when she starts to explain what happened, and for a moment, she thinks maybe he will blame her too. He doesn't, though, and she sighs as he offers a cautious reassurance. Maybe Ozpin is right - maybe it wouldn't have made a difference. Maybe it would have made things worse. Or maybe it would have prevented a whole lot of heartbreak.]
I'm... I'm not sure I could've left her there like that even if I knew, you know? After what happened to us. Or what almost did. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
[She would have called him, though, instead of just setting her free, though. Salem is dead now, though, and Willow can't help but wonder what's going to happen when she comes back. How much will she remember?]
[ It is said softly. Willow is good in a way he has not felt himself to be in a long, long time.
It is a lie, that it might not have mattered. Had Salem died sooner— had she died at her statue, by his hand, the moment she returned from the dead; had he not been too much a coward to strike her down when he had the chance— Stanley would not have died. Willow would not have died, by extension. Stanford and his young niece and nephew would not have spent a week grieving. ]
She will, yes. This was her third death. I suspect the woman who returns will not be the same one you faced.
[ Silence falls, for a moment. There is nothing but the gentle rhythm of Tippetarius's hooves, and the acute, live-nerve electricity of every little shift of Willow against Ozpin and his soul.
Finally, he speaks. ]
You asked me, once, how it all began. You lost your life because of this story, Willow. I think it is time I tell it.
[Salem's third death. So she will lose more of her memory. Ozpin says she won't be the same person, and it makes sense. How could anyone be the same in the absence of their memories? She lapses into silence as well to consider the implications of it all.
Her eyebrows raise in surprise when he offers to share the story of how this all started. She hasn't even considered trying to bring it up again since the night of the party. She regrets pushing for it in the first place, but it felt important at the time. After speaking to Salem, and seeing what she is capable of first hand, it feels less important now.]
You don't have to tell me, if it's too painful, Ozpin. But if you want to tell me about it, I'm listening.
[ If it's too painful. He exhales a breath that is almost a laugh, so soft she might not notice were he not right there over her shoulder. She does not know the half of it. It has always been too painful, and always shall be.
He cannot help but think of Qrow, and Oscar. They would say that is why he should tell it. He may not agree in so many words, but in this instance... in this place...
She will hear it from someone, at this rate. It would best be him. He is silent only a moment, and when he speaks again, it is in the distant tones of a storyteller. ]
You know that I am far older than I look, Willow. And that I once did not look like this at all. Salem, on the other hand... she has changed in a different way, over the lifetimes.
Upon Remnant, there is a story we still tell, about a girl kept trapped in a tower. It was her father's wish, you see. He regarded her as one more of his treasures.
[ Through it, Tippetarius walks on, the sound of his hooves a steady rhythm behind the story. ]
A young man— a naive young warrior— came to rescue her from that fate. He stormed the tower, and side by side, they used their magic to strike down her father and all his armies. They won the battle, and the girl and warrior went freely to adventure through the lands beyond.
[She listens quietly as he starts to tell the tale. It starts off sounding similar to the sorts of fairy tales she's familiar with from home, and her first instinct is to think it might be a parable. The thought is dismissed easily, though - he told her he would tell her how this all started. No doubt it will all be clear by the time he's done.
Brave, yes. But foolish, too. He thought himself invincible, and that he would always stand at the girl's side.
He was wrong.
[ The smile in her voice is painful to him, and Oz is silent another beat before he continues. ]
He died unexpectedly, of a sudden illness. The young woman was left alone once again. She had the freedom she'd always desired, but with his loss, she again felt trapped. She went to petition the gods for his resurrection... a feat never before accomplished in their world.
[ The mist billows around them as they go. Nothing has yet emerged from it, and he can only hope that the air of coming danger does not crystallize too soon. ]
The two gods walked the world, in those days. A god of light, and a god of darkness. She chose to speak to the god of light.
[There's a certain feeling of invulnerability that generally comes with youth - Willow lost her delusions of invincibility a long time ago, but it doesn't surprise her that the warrior did not see his fate coming. Especially not from an illness; not being young, and strong, and healthy.
Ozpin carries on to tell her about the girl going to the gods for help and the story is so painfully familiar she can't help stiffening. It's instinctive to want to curl her fingers into the elk's soft fur, but it's his soul she has her hands on. Instead, she takes a deep breath that immediately dissolves into coughing, and she brings her arm up to cover her mouth.
She can't imagine going to the gods for help is going to end well - Osiris only agreed to bring Buffy back because her death was supernatural in origin. Tara, who died a completely natural death, was denied, and Willow still misses her desperately.
Salem killed her - part of her thinks she shouldn't feel sympathy for her murderer, but it's impossible not to. She knows all too well how such sudden, raw grief can make you feel claustrophobic, and trapped - like it's pressing down on you from all sides, and all you want to do is find some way to escape it. To demand that the universe take it back, and let you have a do over. Or perhaps to, somehow, some way, fix it. She knows now that the only way out is through, and that even then, you can never completely leave it behind. You can't run from something that lives inside your own heart, and most of the time, there's no way to go back. When there is, it's never a good idea.
She is suddenly unsure she wants the rest of the story, but at the same time, she wants to understand.
[ Willow stiffens, then falls to a coughing spell; he assumes this is what caused her shoulders to tense against him. Ozpin falls silent to let it pass. They are nearing the mansion, now, if his flimsy landmarks hold true. Even with his enchanted glasses, it is difficult to make out much through the fog. ]
He did. In this world, light and dark existed as balancing forces. So did life and death, he argued.
She turned instead to his younger brother, the less favored of the two. The god of darkness was merely pleased to have a worshipper. She claimed loyalty to him, and spoke his praises above those of his elder brother...
[ They reach the gate, and Tipp sidles up to it so that Ozpin may see to the latch. Once they are on the other side, and moving steadily up the drive to the front door, he continues. ]
But the god of light grew angry. The two brothers fought, and blamed her for inciting the feud.
[It feels very much like a child's trick - when one parent has already said no, so you ask the other one instead, hoping for an answer you'll like more. Willow understands the need to try, but it's not hard to see that this second attempt is also going to go badly, even before Ozpin tells her about the fight between the two gods. Her sympathy still lies with the poor young woman, desperately trying to save her lost love.
They pass through the gates, and she is suddenly reminded of her first visit here back in December, chased by the white walkers that cornered her. She can even almost imagine seeing the burnt out tower she had been curious about, but never actually asked about, in through the mist. There's still the chance that something might come at them on the grounds, but she doubts it will. With the gates shut behind them, it feels safe.
Her focus is back on the story again, and she winces as he explains where the two brothers decided blame ought to be placed for their fight. It's never going to be a good thing to have gods unite against you. Facing one, she knows, would be bad enough.]
[ They reach the front door, and this time Ozpin has to dismount in order to open it. Tipp remains still and steady beneath Willow. The double doors are grand and wide, easily tall enough to allow Tipp's curving antlers, and he bows his head as he carries her into the foyer.
There is a brief silence as Ozpin shuts the door behind them, the last of the mist swirling about his hands in clinging curls. Then the door is latched, and they are alone in the dim and empty foyer. He is still deeply aware of Willow's every shift of weight against Tipp's bare flanks, the exact pressure of her fingers tightened nervously in his fur. ]
[Of course they cursed her. Osiris may have been furious when Willow called upon him to bring Tara back, refusing to interfere in a natural death, but at least he did not curse her.
She didn't exactly give him the chance to.
Tipp carries her inside, and she ducks her head as they pass through the doorframe. She watches quietly as Ozpin sees to the door, and she straightens in surprise when he reveals the curse was never ending life. She understands the implication immediately - that the woman would never again be reunited with the warrior. It seems a particularly cruel punishment for someone who just wanted a second chance at a love cut tragically short.
She leans forward to dismount and lets Ozpin help her down from Tipp's back. She feels herself sway unsteadily at first, and keeps a hand braced on the elk's shoulder until the moment passes.]
Thank-you. Both of you.
So they cursed her with life for wanting to bring someone she loved back from death?
[ He steps forward to offer her his arm, and Tipp moves away to let them take the lead down the hall towards her room. ]
They did.
[ His voice remains low as they walk, though the rest of the house is silent around them. ]
For failing to respect the balance of life and death, they said, she would walk the world endlessly and learn the pain of a life without end. Immortality is not much of a blessing, I'm afraid. Not for long.
[Willow takes his arm and lets him lead the way to the bedroom, as he continues the tale.
She supposes it does sound like the sort of lesson a god would inflict on someone - you asked for this harmful thing for someone else, so here, you have it instead so you can figure out why it was wrong to ask.
She thinks about Angel, and Mayor Wilkins who pointed out that immortality is no fun when the people you love are mortal, and you have to watch them age and die while you remain unchanged, and she nods in understanding.]
Yeah, that makes sense. That's harsh, though. She wasn't asking for the warrior to be immortal, was she? Just for a second chance. That's kind of a normal part of grief, taken to an extreme.
[ He says it low, in a murmur, as he lets them into the room that will be hers. It is quiet, peaceful, neatly made up. He is a steady arm for her to lean upon as she settles onto the bed.
The story is not over, of course. Not by half. But they are no longer in the quiet safety— odd though it feels to call it such— of the mist. Reality is reimposing itself, and practicality with it. Tippetarius still stands at the door, regal and silent. Ozpin's expression is so very tired.
He is quiet a long moment. Then: ]
Allow me to fetch you something clean to wear. Glynda's wardrobe should do, and we will find something better-fitting in the morning.
[Willow settles onto the edge of the bed quietly, and lets go of his arm. She's more exhausted than she thought she was when they were out in the mist, where there was a chance of being attacked by Maul, or who knows what creatures could have been lurking in the shadows, and it's tempting to want to curl up under the blankets just as she is.
Still, she wants to hear the rest of the story.
Ozpin offers to get her something clean to wear and she nods, and rubs her eyes to try to encourage a bit more alertness. A chance to clean up a bit and get changed should help her stay awake a bit longer, she thinks, and she'll likely sleep better for it.]
Thanks. You're sure Glynda won't mind you raiding her wardrobe?
[ He would offer her something of his, as he once did to Winter, when she first stayed here. But he knows Glynda: the moment he tells her that one of their charges is suffering, no degree of strict practicality will cover how fiercely she cares.
With Willow on the bed, he rises and steps away, back towards the bright-antlered elk at his back. ]
I will return in a moment, then. Is there anything else I should fetch?
[ The story dissipates ever further between them. ]
[She appreciates them both - especially now when it seems like things can't get much worse, and she can't help but smile a little as Ozpin reassures her Glynda won't mind loaning out something for her to wear at least for the night. She is not used to other people looking after her like this.]
Okay. Thank her for me too?
[Willow clears her throat. She'd rather get back to the rest of the story sooner - both because she wants to hear how the rest of it goes, and because she can't imagine stopping in the middle like this makes it any easier on him. Especially when he seemed so determined outside to share it with her.]
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no subject
She couldn't help but think of him and Buffy both when she woke tucked against the strange looking deer god, and it had presented her with the apple and the weight of the choice of either going back, or remaining where she was.
Peaceful, Ozpin had described it as. He was not wrong.
The decision was a simple one for her - she still feels needed here, but it gives her a better understanding of why Ozpin chose to linger a little while, and a better appreciation for his decision to come back.]
I'm glad to see you too.
[She returns the warm smile, but it fades as she glances over her shoulder with a sigh. She can take a guess who is responsible for the destruction here. The worms that plagued the town throughout April might have done some damage, but it wouldn't have been nearly so complete. It hasn't escaped her that, in light of it all, she also needs to be worried about the others who were under the protection of the same spells that had been at work here.]
I'm guessing it was Maul? My spells all would have broke when - well. You know. He didn't go after anyone else, did he? Everyone else is okay? And Ford?
no subject
[ He follows her gaze back to the rubble, somber. ]
Maul has made no appearance at my home. Glitch is safe. The mist has rendered travel difficult and dangerous, which I suspect will keep him at bay a while.
[ His gaze shifts back to her, and Ozpin sighs, some tension in his shoulders dropping. ]
And Stanford is alive and well... thanks to you.
[ He crouches to offer her help to her feet, and the smile he wears has an ache in it. Ozpin's tone comes soft and low. ]
I am sorry for what happened, Willow. It is only because of you that he and I got out alive. Salem fell to Ruby and her team later that same evening.
no subject
[She doubts it, but she suspects Ozpin is right and maybe Maul will decide traveling in the mist is not worth it for the moment and leave them in peace. Besides, as soon as she's well again, she'll put her wards back up to protect TRUST and the mansion to keep him away from the two properties, and he will, at least, have no idea where she's staying now.
She almost doesn't want to get up, but the it feels dangerous to linger here in the mist, and the damp is miserable and it feels like it's leaching the heat right from her bones. She lets him help her to her feet, smiling in relief at his reassurance that, yes, Ford is fine too.]
I'm glad everyone's okay. Teleportation spells are kind of tricky. I was a little worried.
[Except for Salem, of course, but aside from knowing she will be returning soon too, that doesn't seem to matter much in the moment.
Willow eyes Ozpin quietly for a moment, contemplative, and concerned. She's caught the hesitation in his approach, and the way his shoulders dropped after she said she was glad to see him, like he was able to relax a little. Surely, he doesn't -]
You do you know what happened wasn't your fault, right?
no subject
That is very kind of you, Willow. [ It is again murmured low. ] I am very well aware that you died in my defense. And to an enemy who has always targeted me above all others.
[ Her touch upon the elk is immediately jarring, an electric current that grates wrong on the level of his very soul. Ozpin inhales a shaky breath as she settles onto his guide's back, and it lends a shuddery quality to his voice. ]
Things would not have played out this way had I been more prudent in handling the threat. Your strength came in the place of my failing.
no subject
Thanks. Hey, come on now - this wasn't your fault. I died trying to help you and Ford, yeah, but it's not like I gave either of you much choice in that. A little flu bug is a pretty small price to pay for that, really. It would've been worse for you two if you died again.
You don't need to blame yourself - I told you I'd help you with Salem, and I knew what the risk was. It's not your fault, Ozpin.
[She pauses, rubbing the back of her neck, remembering the lonely woman she freed from the cannibals' ropes before learning what her name was. The one who said she was the only magic user in her world for a long time.]
Besides, I... maybe kind of screwed up a little.
no subject
The animals are unharmed. We are going to join them now, in fact.
[ Speaking a reassurance helps with the shivery awareness that she is touching his soul. It is not painful, per se, but he did not feel ready for this. It feels acutely, jarringly exposed.
Ozpin mounts the elk behind her, and the intimacy of her touch upon Tippetarius is easier to bear when it is shared by his own, and her simple, physical weight against him. Ozpin sits with his arms around her, holding tight to his Dream Guide. ]
I take your point. It was still a very selfless act, and not one you owed me. In my time, I have made more mistakes than I could begin to list for you.
[ Tippetarius begins to walk, slowly at first, and Ozpin settles into the rhythm. ]
Would you like to tell me about yours?
no subject
He mounts up behind her and she sags against him in exhaustion with her hands braced against the elk's broad shoulders to help maintain her balance. She's not entirely sure how to parse the deeply personal feeling, like she's touching Ozpin's soul. She remembers the initial jolt of shock, when Puck, panicked at the knowledge of what was about to come, dove into Ozpin's arms to seek comfort for them both in those final moments, and how it had helped smooth away her fear in the end. Her hands buried in Tipp's fur are gentle.
They start the journey back, and it's easy to relax into the rhythm of the elk's walk. She trusts neither of them will let her fall, and for a few moments, she's quiet, listening to the steady clip-clop of hooves on the pavement.]
Ohh, trust me, I've made plenty of mistakes too, and in less time than you've had.
[There's only one in particular that relates here, and under the circumstances, it's best he know what it is. She pauses again and clears her throat.]
But, uh. I saw Salem - a few days before everything happened. Those cannibal things got her, and had her tied up. I thought she was just another Sleeper, I couldn't just leave her there, knowing what would happen. She said she was the only magic user in her world. So I let her loose. We talked some - she seemed okay. Sad, lonely, but not dangerous at all. Then I asked her name. I should've told you sooner, but what was done was done. There was nothing we could do to change it. I was still trying to figure out how I was supposed to tell you I accidentally helped the one person I promised you I'd side with you against when I found Ford. And well, you know what happened after that.
no subject
Ozpin has long last track of who deserves what. He cannot wonder at what she deserves without wondering the same for himself. He is inextricably tied into every life she had taken, every town wiped out, every damage inflicted upon the world. Her inaction and his inaction go hand in hand. He wonders it if would have been an agony to her, being bound and left in the enclosed darkness of a cave. He wonders if she would not have cared at all. She's been bound in more profound ways than that for longer than he has been alive, and he has been alive a very long time.
Ozpin exhales a slow, careful sigh. Finally, he speaks, his tone carefully level. ]
You did what you thought was right, Willow. You freed a person who had been left vulnerable in terrible circumstances. That speaks very highly to your character.
[ We talked some. She said she was the only magic user in her world. These are the pieces that are incomprehensible to him; these are the pieces that make her sound alarmingly human. Perhaps it was a ploy to get free. He knows how sweet she can sound, to those she thinks will be useful. ]
I understand why you would look upon it as a terrible mistake.
[ There had once been a girl in a tower— ]
But I do not know that it would have mattered, in the end. Perhaps she would have suffered her next death a little sooner, but she will only be back again.
[ He has been trying so very hard not to dwell on who, precisely, she will come back as. ]
no subject
I'm... I'm not sure I could've left her there like that even if I knew, you know? After what happened to us. Or what almost did. I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
[She would have called him, though, instead of just setting her free, though. Salem is dead now, though, and Willow can't help but wonder what's going to happen when she comes back. How much will she remember?]
She'll be back again soon, huh?
no subject
[ It is said softly. Willow is good in a way he has not felt himself to be in a long, long time.
It is a lie, that it might not have mattered. Had Salem died sooner— had she died at her statue, by his hand, the moment she returned from the dead; had he not been too much a coward to strike her down when he had the chance— Stanley would not have died. Willow would not have died, by extension. Stanford and his young niece and nephew would not have spent a week grieving. ]
She will, yes. This was her third death. I suspect the woman who returns will not be the same one you faced.
[ Silence falls, for a moment. There is nothing but the gentle rhythm of Tippetarius's hooves, and the acute, live-nerve electricity of every little shift of Willow against Ozpin and his soul.
Finally, he speaks. ]
You asked me, once, how it all began. You lost your life because of this story, Willow. I think it is time I tell it.
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Her eyebrows raise in surprise when he offers to share the story of how this all started. She hasn't even considered trying to bring it up again since the night of the party. She regrets pushing for it in the first place, but it felt important at the time. After speaking to Salem, and seeing what she is capable of first hand, it feels less important now.]
You don't have to tell me, if it's too painful, Ozpin. But if you want to tell me about it, I'm listening.
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He cannot help but think of Qrow, and Oscar. They would say that is why he should tell it. He may not agree in so many words, but in this instance... in this place...
She will hear it from someone, at this rate. It would best be him. He is silent only a moment, and when he speaks again, it is in the distant tones of a storyteller. ]
You know that I am far older than I look, Willow. And that I once did not look like this at all. Salem, on the other hand... she has changed in a different way, over the lifetimes.
Upon Remnant, there is a story we still tell, about a girl kept trapped in a tower. It was her father's wish, you see. He regarded her as one more of his treasures.
[ Through it, Tippetarius walks on, the sound of his hooves a steady rhythm behind the story. ]
A young man— a naive young warrior— came to rescue her from that fate. He stormed the tower, and side by side, they used their magic to strike down her father and all his armies. They won the battle, and the girl and warrior went freely to adventure through the lands beyond.
They fell in love.
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She smiles a little.]
The warrior sounds very brave.
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He was wrong.
[ The smile in her voice is painful to him, and Oz is silent another beat before he continues. ]
He died unexpectedly, of a sudden illness. The young woman was left alone once again. She had the freedom she'd always desired, but with his loss, she again felt trapped. She went to petition the gods for his resurrection... a feat never before accomplished in their world.
[ The mist billows around them as they go. Nothing has yet emerged from it, and he can only hope that the air of coming danger does not crystallize too soon. ]
The two gods walked the world, in those days. A god of light, and a god of darkness. She chose to speak to the god of light.
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Ozpin carries on to tell her about the girl going to the gods for help and the story is so painfully familiar she can't help stiffening. It's instinctive to want to curl her fingers into the elk's soft fur, but it's his soul she has her hands on. Instead, she takes a deep breath that immediately dissolves into coughing, and she brings her arm up to cover her mouth.
She can't imagine going to the gods for help is going to end well - Osiris only agreed to bring Buffy back because her death was supernatural in origin. Tara, who died a completely natural death, was denied, and Willow still misses her desperately.
Salem killed her - part of her thinks she shouldn't feel sympathy for her murderer, but it's impossible not to. She knows all too well how such sudden, raw grief can make you feel claustrophobic, and trapped - like it's pressing down on you from all sides, and all you want to do is find some way to escape it. To demand that the universe take it back, and let you have a do over. Or perhaps to, somehow, some way, fix it. She knows now that the only way out is through, and that even then, you can never completely leave it behind. You can't run from something that lives inside your own heart, and most of the time, there's no way to go back. When there is, it's never a good idea.
She is suddenly unsure she wants the rest of the story, but at the same time, she wants to understand.
The only way out is through.]
I'm guessing the god refused?
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He did. In this world, light and dark existed as balancing forces. So did life and death, he argued.
She turned instead to his younger brother, the less favored of the two. The god of darkness was merely pleased to have a worshipper. She claimed loyalty to him, and spoke his praises above those of his elder brother...
[ They reach the gate, and Tipp sidles up to it so that Ozpin may see to the latch. Once they are on the other side, and moving steadily up the drive to the front door, he continues. ]
But the god of light grew angry. The two brothers fought, and blamed her for inciting the feud.
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They pass through the gates, and she is suddenly reminded of her first visit here back in December, chased by the white walkers that cornered her. She can even almost imagine seeing the burnt out tower she had been curious about, but never actually asked about, in through the mist. There's still the chance that something might come at them on the grounds, but she doubts it will. With the gates shut behind them, it feels safe.
Her focus is back on the story again, and she winces as he explains where the two brothers decided blame ought to be placed for their fight. It's never going to be a good thing to have gods unite against you. Facing one, she knows, would be bad enough.]
So what happened?
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[ They reach the front door, and this time Ozpin has to dismount in order to open it. Tipp remains still and steady beneath Willow. The double doors are grand and wide, easily tall enough to allow Tipp's curving antlers, and he bows his head as he carries her into the foyer.
There is a brief silence as Ozpin shuts the door behind them, the last of the mist swirling about his hands in clinging curls. Then the door is latched, and they are alone in the dim and empty foyer. He is still deeply aware of Willow's every shift of weight against Tipp's bare flanks, the exact pressure of her fingers tightened nervously in his fur. ]
They cursed her with an unending life.
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She didn't exactly give him the chance to.
Tipp carries her inside, and she ducks her head as they pass through the doorframe. She watches quietly as Ozpin sees to the door, and she straightens in surprise when he reveals the curse was never ending life. She understands the implication immediately - that the woman would never again be reunited with the warrior. It seems a particularly cruel punishment for someone who just wanted a second chance at a love cut tragically short.
She leans forward to dismount and lets Ozpin help her down from Tipp's back. She feels herself sway unsteadily at first, and keeps a hand braced on the elk's shoulder until the moment passes.]
Thank-you. Both of you.
So they cursed her with life for wanting to bring someone she loved back from death?
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They did.
[ His voice remains low as they walk, though the rest of the house is silent around them. ]
For failing to respect the balance of life and death, they said, she would walk the world endlessly and learn the pain of a life without end. Immortality is not much of a blessing, I'm afraid. Not for long.
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She supposes it does sound like the sort of lesson a god would inflict on someone - you asked for this harmful thing for someone else, so here, you have it instead so you can figure out why it was wrong to ask.
She thinks about Angel, and Mayor Wilkins who pointed out that immortality is no fun when the people you love are mortal, and you have to watch them age and die while you remain unchanged, and she nods in understanding.]
Yeah, that makes sense. That's harsh, though. She wasn't asking for the warrior to be immortal, was she? Just for a second chance. That's kind of a normal part of grief, taken to an extreme.
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[ He says it low, in a murmur, as he lets them into the room that will be hers. It is quiet, peaceful, neatly made up. He is a steady arm for her to lean upon as she settles onto the bed.
The story is not over, of course. Not by half. But they are no longer in the quiet safety— odd though it feels to call it such— of the mist. Reality is reimposing itself, and practicality with it. Tippetarius still stands at the door, regal and silent. Ozpin's expression is so very tired.
He is quiet a long moment. Then: ]
Allow me to fetch you something clean to wear. Glynda's wardrobe should do, and we will find something better-fitting in the morning.
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Still, she wants to hear the rest of the story.
Ozpin offers to get her something clean to wear and she nods, and rubs her eyes to try to encourage a bit more alertness. A chance to clean up a bit and get changed should help her stay awake a bit longer, she thinks, and she'll likely sleep better for it.]
Thanks. You're sure Glynda won't mind you raiding her wardrobe?
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[ He would offer her something of his, as he once did to Winter, when she first stayed here. But he knows Glynda: the moment he tells her that one of their charges is suffering, no degree of strict practicality will cover how fiercely she cares.
With Willow on the bed, he rises and steps away, back towards the bright-antlered elk at his back. ]
I will return in a moment, then. Is there anything else I should fetch?
[ The story dissipates ever further between them. ]
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Okay. Thank her for me too?
[Willow clears her throat. She'd rather get back to the rest of the story sooner - both because she wants to hear how the rest of it goes, and because she can't imagine stopping in the middle like this makes it any easier on him. Especially when he seemed so determined outside to share it with her.]
Maybe just some water too, please?
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