Written Wonderland

Rhys had been able to stall King Ciric for a while--telling him the magic needed to be ready, finding ways the king needed to protect himself against the goddess. He even remembered one poignant conversation.

"Once you do get your son back, what will you do with him?" Rhys knew that, to some degree, this was a low blow. He had watched the king and his son do almost nothing except argue and disagree.

Rorrim hadn't had a good answer for that. That had bought them a couple weeks. But then the king insisted more seriously, and Rhys felt a pressure to act.

The pieces were all nearly in place, regardless. Time to release some energy.

Back in a secret room behind his laboratory--perfectly organized so he knew within a centimeter if something was amiss--he sat within a small, thin, simple circle laid onto the ground. The herbs were a unique blend Rhys had curated himself. He smiled to himself wolfishly, thinking of how innocent he must look to the people of the city--out in the countryside, collecting flowers. No, he'd taken to collecting out of common areas, for the most part.

From that circle, Rhys--no, Silv--primed himself like a spring. The silver energy that was always in a slow spiral above his head stopped moving suddenly, and Rhys pulled it tightly into his body. Immediately, he vibrated with power. But he had a plan of how to use it.

Walking in his casually restrained way--upright but intent--Rhys walked to the throne room and waited for King Ciric to hear from the last of his citizens. Once the crowd had dispersed and the king's advisor's had taken their leave, Rhys walked up to the king.

"Your Majesty. Regarding your son. We are ready."

The king's eyebrows immediately shot up.

"Now?" the king said incredulously.

Rhys nodded.

"Let us go to the room you had prepared." The construction had been completed recently, and Rhys had been waiting for the right time to use it. King Ciric's eyes widened, and Rhys was confident he had the king's interest.

They walked to the pyramid structure in a slow, elaborate procession. Rhys enjoyed drawing the ritual and ceremony out. Stalling, sure, but also building pressure, tension, and energy.

Once there, only Rhys and the king went in, telling those who had followed that they would come back out with the prince.

Rhys pulled out a prism from his robes and set it to one side of Rorrim and himself such that they became three points on a triangle. As the moon hit the prism just right, it split into seven colors against the wall between them.

So much of all this was all for show. There were many ways in which Rhys hadn't needed tools or techniques for casting magic for a long time, but he liked to keep the king busy with puzzles lest his curiosity wander in dangerous directions.

Still, he hadn't lied. Teleportation magic was difficult without the right set of parameters--the space, the prism, the candles. After much practice on himself, he felt more than confident. And he had a spring-loaded kind of power behind his attempt.

Conveniently, one of the king's spies had managed to send a quick sketch of the rebel camp. While Rhys could have pinpointed their location without it, the map made the show of Rhys' magic seem far more plausible. Having been in communication with Mizu, he had a vague notion of where in the country the camp was located, but having more specifics did make this process easier.

"The prince is unlikely to be completely unsupervised," Rhys told the king. "Anyone in the tent with him will come as well. We should be prepared."

"Naturally," the king said. "They are traitors to the crown, and no one would bat an eye at them being punished by death. "

Rhys narrowed his eyes at Ciric, and the king looked confused for a moment, but then adjusted accordingly.

"You're right. We should try to get information out of them." Rhys nodded, pleased. He preferred to avoid loss of life where possible. It was wasteful and ultimately counter to Rhys' purpose.

"I have created a potent sleep charm for any guard who comes through," Rhys said, handing a necklace to Ciric. Best to make him feel useful. "Just slip the necklace over their head, and they will succumb."

Ciric nodded, taking the necklace. It had a tear-shaped dark blue pendant, inscribed with runes that would activate once worn. Another piece of showmanship to some degree, but it would work. Once.

Waiting until just before midnight, the time when he suspected the fewest people would be around to discover what had occurred, Rhys pinpointed the location and held his attention in that place. And then, preparing the spring to uncoil all at once, he imagined himself swooping down as a thick, all-encompassing darkness until the beings inside the tent--there were two--were completely within him. For a moment, there was peace, a sudden understanding as both of them felt the presence of his godhood and their--momentary--safety. And then, he adjusted himself, the sensation like clicking gears into place as he plotted the new coordinates for his travelers, and instantaneously folded them through time and space until they were both present in the temple room with the king.

The guard, having been abruptly removed from the peace and potency of Silv's being, startled, blinked, registered that the king was present and prepared to fight back, drawing their sword. The guard's realizations, however, took a fraction of a second too long, and the king slipped the necklace over their head. Immediately, they crumpled to the floor, fully unconscious. Only then did Rhys look at Ponderance, who stood impassively as ever, holding a wooden falcon. He watched Rhys intently, and they shared a moment of knowing with each other. While Ponderance may have suspected what Rhys was, he could have no doubts about that matter now. Fortunately, Rhys felt supremely confident that Ponderance had no intention of telling the king.

Ciric was breathing heavily, staring down at the guard, but he, too, finally turned his attention to Ponderance.

"You're safe," Ciric said somewhat flatly, raising his arms and lowering them briefly. Ponderance just stared at his father.

"There's a carriage waiting for you outside," Ciric said to Ponderance before looking to Rhys.

"I'll make sure the soldiers secure this one properly," Rhys said, watching the king and prince leave the sacred space.

Ponderance was not easily startled, but the sudden appearance of the shadows, the intensity of what he experienced in there, and coming suddenly face to face with his father again in such a brief period did not lend itself well to keeping himself together.

The king mercifully had brought two carriages, and maybe Rhys would follow with the soldiers on foot. The prince didn't care just then. He just wanted to be alone. Alone with the falcon.

The moment the doors of the carriage were closed, the prince activated the runes. He hoped the goddess would answer. If not her, then someone back at the rebel camp.

"If you can hear me, they've taken me to the castle. The shadows came and took me. They took me." He found himself rocking backward and forward in his seat a little, trying to calm himself down.

There was a moment of silence, but then Ponderance heard, ""I'm here, Ponderance. I'm here." It was assuredly the goddess' voice. Good, Captain Fujiwara and the commander had kept their word. Ponderance let out a sigh of relief, though he was sure it wasn't carried over the device he had created.

"Ponderance," another voice said. One of the other captains, the one who had talked through the runes before. He must be the one keeping the goddess... company. "Are you hurt or in any immediate danger?"

At least the captain was talking to Ponderance like an equal. Like another one of his soldiers. But, still, he didn't want to show any weakness to this man.

"No." Ponderance looked out the window as the carriage began its journey back toward the palace. "This is the first time they've left me alone." He watched the soldiers follow behind the carriage. "Mostly."

"He's not going to hurt you," the goddess said, and Ponderance knew she was talking about the king.

"I know," Ponderance answered, his voice a bit short.

"Is anyone else aware that you're talking to us right now?" the captain asked.

Ponderance thought about the sensations of the shadows, of the depth and then the sudden brightness of them, like everything in the universe suddenly made perfect and complete sense. It felt like... like... divinity.

Was it possible that the shadows were still here with Ponderance? Were they a part of him now?

He was suddenly less confident in... everything. "I don't know." He hated how childish that sounded.

"Do you know if anyone at the camp is hurt or in any immediate danger?" This question made Ponderance bristle, but he was genuinely beginning to calm down and start acting more like himself.

Still, he decided to play nice and offer the truth. "Everything happened quickly, but I believe I was the only one they wanted," Ponderance told the man.

"Do you want to speak to... the goddess alone, Ponderance?" This question immediately dissipated the discomfort Ponderance felt in talking to the man. At least the captain finally realized how invasive all of this was. But then, as he thought about the reality of what the captain was offering, Ponderance's chest clenched inward toward itself.

"She doesn't want that." He didn't want the goddess to say anything back. "Just come quickly. And come prepared." He wanted this stupid war to end, one way or another. He was sick of being a pawn in a fight he didn't care about, constantly listening to people attempt to persuade him in one direction or another.

He relinquished the communication and spent the rest of the carriage ride in silence.

Ponderance dreaded the moment they would arrive at the castle. It had always felt like a prison to him. He couldn't go anywhere without an accompanying troupe of guards, and that still hadn't prevented him from getting kidnapped from the rebel soldiers, not that they were much better. At least they hadn't tried to take his carving knife away.

He was angry, stewing uncomfortably, unwilling to go back but unable to see a way out. Everyone would see him if he got out of the carriage. He wouldn't make it five feet, and even if he did, the whole kingdom would be on high alert for his return. He'd have to live alone in the woods to escape. And he wasn't sure he could do that. Yet.

But, something tugged at his consciousness, some curiosity reawakened as he contemplated being transported from the rebel camp--many kilometers away--directly to this building Ponderance had never seen before. Had they managed to build it since Ponderance had been captured? Was it specifically for the purpose of getting him back? Ponderance shivered at the thought. How had they managed the transportation? Everything Ponderance had read indicated that transportation magic was the highest form of magic. Had Rhys managed to pull it off?

Ponderance closed his eyes and tried to pull up everything he remembered of the experience.

A blackness enveloped him, sucking away all his ability to speak, the guard's mouth opening as though to scream, but no sound escaped. And then there was nothing but warm darkness. A brief feeling of safety and a sensation that everything that had ever been set into motion would end exactly as it was meant to. Had Ponderance ever known such peace? And then he was elsewhere, looking at his father's beloved sorcerer across from a glowing prism.

Ponderance opened his eyes immediately, the realization having dawned on him at last. Rhys was not a sorcerer. He was a god.

Everything suddenly began to click into place for Ponderance. So many times that Rhys had handed Ponderance just the right collection of texts to help him make sense of his own identity. So many times Rhys made the magic look effortless even while the king--father--barely managed to scrape any successes together. Ponderance had never known another magical practitioner as potent as Rhys, and Rhys was always vague and non-descript about where he had learned from. Which god was Rhys, then? But it was suddenly obvious to Ponderance. Silv, god of strategy. His mother's opposite.

But, then, if Rhys was a god, why was he helping the king? What was he going to get out of that arrangement? Ponderance was suddenly furious and disgusted with Rhys.

Just then, they arrived at the palace, and Ponderance was all but limp as the guards led him to his large room and locked the door. King Ciric didn't so much as look at him as it happened, didn't even bother with an explanation about the lock this time--it's for your safety, he could imagine him saying all too well.

Ponderance fell into a fitful sleep after much pacing. He dreamt of shadows and gods and places he'd never been before. Time folded and bent around him in terrifying, unpredictable ways.

When he awoke in the early dawn, he realized he was clutching the carved falcon. He fingered the runes for a few moments before activating them.

"Dehaljadrun?" Ponderance asked tentatively.

There was no response.

Ponderance wanted to throw the thing across the room. He refrained, tears falling down his face. He soon fell back asleep.

In the morning, Ponderance tried the door fruitlessly. He wanted to scream, rage, stomp all over the room, but he pulled that anger in deep, deep in the well of him. He would store that kind of energy for later. There would come a time to unleash it. It was not now.

"Ponderance," the prince heard, and he looked at the falcon in his hand, realizing it was coming from there. He laid on his bed before he responded.

"Mother."

After a moment, she said, "I'm hear with you again." Confirming what he already knew to be true.

"You left."

"Weren't you asleep?"

Ponderance didn't respond. He wondered if she would say anything else. Why was she contacting him?

“You knew to reach me. You wanted to reach me. After everything your father has likely told you about me, why?” Was she nervous? Or... was it something else? Ponderance adjusted himself into a more comfortable position.

“I’ve read the histories. The legends. The stories of the gods. Father has collected many books, many of which only I read.”

“Did Rorrim tell you of your history? How did you know?” the goddess asked.

Ponderance let a long silence pass, trying to figure out how he wanted to answer.

“I am not aware of any other demigods, but I suspect, if they exist, they know as I know. Or learned. Father is not good at secrets.”

The goddess did not say anything, and Ponderance felt his anger flaring again. She hadn't apologized for leaving.

“Father did you a favor in a way,” Ponderance said, knowing it would strike a nerve.

“I don’t…” the goddess began, “I don’t want to believe that.”

Ponderance grit his teeth briefly, preparing another biting remark, but then he heard a key turning in the lock of his room.

"Stay close," Ponderance said. "Please."

"I will," the goddess said. "I will."

Rorrim turned the key in the lock of Ponderance's room. Maybe the lock itself was just for show--Ponderance had long since learned how to pick them, magically or otherwise--but the two guards posted outside the door were not.

The king held a plate of food he hoped would appeal to Ponderance, although he was never much of an eater. Rorrim wondered how much of that was just a reluctance to eat in front of others and how much was his demigod nature. It was always difficult to separate out those traits.

"My son," Rorrim said, smiling as warmly as he could.

Ponderance looked up at him blankly.

"I brought you some food," the king offered, sitting on the floor in front of the boy where he sat on his bed. Maybe this positioning would appeal to him.

The boy didn't move to take the plate, and he maintained his attentive, unnerving silence.

The king sighed. "I know this situation isn't ideal, but the war will be over soon enough, and we can lighten security once that happens." He knew he was already scrambling for words. Ponderance always made him feel defensive, even when the boy wasn't saying anything.

"What do you think about a parade? We could show the people of the capital that you're back home and safe. We could get you some new robes and..."

"I'm not your puppet," Ponderance said, interrupting. "I'm not going to smile and wave for your benefit." Ponderance folded his arms and looked at the wall. The king sighed.

"Will you at least tell me something about what was happening at the rebel camp? Do you know their aims?" the king asked, shifting to a pleading tone. The boy inspected him thoughtfully, giving Rorrim some hope. Ponderance was quiet for a long time.

Finally, he said, "They're doing exactly what you're afraid of." Rorrim frowned and fingered the amulet around his neck--protection should Dehaljadrun ever escape. She's not going to escape, Rorrim told himself.

"What do you mean?" the king asked. Ponderance only stared at the king defiantly. Finally, the king sighed again.

"Well, as I said, it won't matter because it will all be over soon." And then the king left the room, leaving the tray of food on the floor.

--

Ponderance was able to persuade the guards--four of them now--to take him to the outer gardens. There, he ran his fingers through the creek that wound through the center of it and watched the flying insects. The guards even did their part not to get in the way of his views, which Ponderance appreciated. And all the while, he contemplated how he was going to talk to Rhys.

((OOC: So, it seems like, if Ponderance is going to contact Dehaljadrun, it will be much later in the day, so I think we should proceed with Adrianna and Dehaljadrun's meeting, and if there's a time where it seems like he will want to interrupt, we will take care of it on our end. <3))