Post by wordy on Jan 11, 2010 10:22:46 GMT 10
Title: Storm-Killer
Rating: PG
Summary: Oneshot. What might have been if Tris had chosen a different path.
A/N: So basically I was reading The Magic in the Weaving, and came across this bit:
Tris stared out at the white-capped waves. The storm was moving on, the roll of thunder growing more distant. There has to be a quicker way, Tris thought. If I was a mage, I’d get Nature to do my bidding. They’d call me “Storm-Killer,” and I would be famous all over the world.
Which got me thinking about how different Tris was when we first met her, messing with the tides and so on. And this fic kind of just popped out
Niko held his arm up against the driving rain, a futile attempt to protect his face from the eruption of lightning and magic that lit up the sky. Higher up the crag, he could see the dark outline of a human figure; every few seconds, a crack of lightning would light up the sky, colouring the heavy clouds that hung above them green and purple. Magic seemed to run through everything: the trees, the ground, the clouds, and the wind. It flashed gold in Niko’s vision, crackling like electricity.
Taking a moment to catch his breath – the walk up the mountain had been long and demanding on his lean frame, the wind and rain whipping his clothes and body to and fro in every direction – he continued toward the figure at the top of the crag. He couldn’t go back now, especially since he was so close. He knew she would hear him out, even if she didn’t take heed to his words.
It had taken months for him to finally track her down. He had felt obligated to, not just because she was his former student, but because everyone seemed to look to him for a solution. People thought, he supposed, that he - the famous Niklaren Goldeye - was the only mage who could be her match, the only mage who could bring her down from the joyride of power that she had chosen.
And it was true. If anyone could convince her to stop, it would be him. It was too late to undo the destruction she had wrought, perhaps it was even too late to prevent what she was working on now, but a small, sentimental part of him hoped that it wasn’t too late to save the little, stubborn redhead he remembered.
He stood only a few feet away from her now. As he had drawn closer, the wind and rain had faded away, circling the two of them as if they were standing in the centre of some type of magnetic weather pole. She really was the calm at the centre of the storm, he couldn’t help thinking ironically. Standing such a short distance from each other, he could see her clearly now, from her practical dress and oilskin cloak to the tip of her straight nose, which was littered with freckles. She didn’t turn to him, though he knew she must sense his presence. Indeed, if what he had heard was true, she would have seen him on the wind when he was still miles away. He waited, knowing that she would only attend to him when her weather-working was done. She had grown taller in the many years they had spent apart, though her hair was the same bold shade of red it had ever been. It hung loose about her shoulders, curls floating serenely around her face: another indication that they stood inside some sort of magical centre, which experienced conditions entirely opposite to those that raged above and around them.
Finally, she seemed to have finished. For the moment at least, Niko thought uneasily. She turned her face to him, her clear grey eyes boring into his and going further still. Uneasiness came over him again, and he hesitated, before remembering what he had come here for.
“Tris,” he shouted, but his voice was lost in the strange wind. From where he stood, he saw her flick a finger - her arm not even moving from her side – and suddenly there was quietness within the space where they stood. She had created some sort of wind tunnel, so that the breeze flowed by him and on to her, allowing her to hear what he said.
“Tris,” he tried again. This time, his voice rang out clearly and she lifted her chin; a sign that she had heard him. “Tris, you need to stop this. It’s not natural!”
A fleeting smile passed over her pale face. “Nature has nothing to do with it, Niko. I am in control.” She smiled again and turned her face up to the sky. Niko shook his head, trying to clear the ringing sound from his ears; her voice had sounded like waves crashing onto shore, and the crackle of thunder. He looked up at her once more.
“Nature has everything to do with it!” he called. “You’ve forgotten everything you were taught - everything I taught you – about messing with these kinds of forces!”
She didn’t reply this time. A look of serenity had come over her face, the wind tugging lovingly at her clothes. She almost looked beautiful, thought Niko. A terrible beauty.
“Tris, please,” he begged. Her face snapped across to his suddenly; she had never known Niklaren Goldeye to beg. She surveyed him carefully this time, taking in his worn face, ragged clothes, and hair that was now more grey than black. “It’s never too late to come home,” he said, kindly.
And then she laughed. She actually laughed. Niko could do nothing but stand there, staring at his former pupil in something verging on horror.
She looked back at him, still smiling. “Don’t you know what they call me, Niklaren Goldeye? Storm-Killer!” She shouted it to the heavens, and thunder answered her. Raising her arms, she closed her eyes for a moment in silent rapture, before lowering them again and turning back to him. Her face took on a more serious expression, all laughter gone. “How can I go back to that, Niko? After this?” She looked wistfully up at the storm circling above them. From where he stood, Niko could see the reflection of lightning dancing in her eyes. “ How could anyone go back?”
Rating: PG
Summary: Oneshot. What might have been if Tris had chosen a different path.
A/N: So basically I was reading The Magic in the Weaving, and came across this bit:
Tris stared out at the white-capped waves. The storm was moving on, the roll of thunder growing more distant. There has to be a quicker way, Tris thought. If I was a mage, I’d get Nature to do my bidding. They’d call me “Storm-Killer,” and I would be famous all over the world.
Which got me thinking about how different Tris was when we first met her, messing with the tides and so on. And this fic kind of just popped out
Niko held his arm up against the driving rain, a futile attempt to protect his face from the eruption of lightning and magic that lit up the sky. Higher up the crag, he could see the dark outline of a human figure; every few seconds, a crack of lightning would light up the sky, colouring the heavy clouds that hung above them green and purple. Magic seemed to run through everything: the trees, the ground, the clouds, and the wind. It flashed gold in Niko’s vision, crackling like electricity.
Taking a moment to catch his breath – the walk up the mountain had been long and demanding on his lean frame, the wind and rain whipping his clothes and body to and fro in every direction – he continued toward the figure at the top of the crag. He couldn’t go back now, especially since he was so close. He knew she would hear him out, even if she didn’t take heed to his words.
It had taken months for him to finally track her down. He had felt obligated to, not just because she was his former student, but because everyone seemed to look to him for a solution. People thought, he supposed, that he - the famous Niklaren Goldeye - was the only mage who could be her match, the only mage who could bring her down from the joyride of power that she had chosen.
And it was true. If anyone could convince her to stop, it would be him. It was too late to undo the destruction she had wrought, perhaps it was even too late to prevent what she was working on now, but a small, sentimental part of him hoped that it wasn’t too late to save the little, stubborn redhead he remembered.
He stood only a few feet away from her now. As he had drawn closer, the wind and rain had faded away, circling the two of them as if they were standing in the centre of some type of magnetic weather pole. She really was the calm at the centre of the storm, he couldn’t help thinking ironically. Standing such a short distance from each other, he could see her clearly now, from her practical dress and oilskin cloak to the tip of her straight nose, which was littered with freckles. She didn’t turn to him, though he knew she must sense his presence. Indeed, if what he had heard was true, she would have seen him on the wind when he was still miles away. He waited, knowing that she would only attend to him when her weather-working was done. She had grown taller in the many years they had spent apart, though her hair was the same bold shade of red it had ever been. It hung loose about her shoulders, curls floating serenely around her face: another indication that they stood inside some sort of magical centre, which experienced conditions entirely opposite to those that raged above and around them.
Finally, she seemed to have finished. For the moment at least, Niko thought uneasily. She turned her face to him, her clear grey eyes boring into his and going further still. Uneasiness came over him again, and he hesitated, before remembering what he had come here for.
“Tris,” he shouted, but his voice was lost in the strange wind. From where he stood, he saw her flick a finger - her arm not even moving from her side – and suddenly there was quietness within the space where they stood. She had created some sort of wind tunnel, so that the breeze flowed by him and on to her, allowing her to hear what he said.
“Tris,” he tried again. This time, his voice rang out clearly and she lifted her chin; a sign that she had heard him. “Tris, you need to stop this. It’s not natural!”
A fleeting smile passed over her pale face. “Nature has nothing to do with it, Niko. I am in control.” She smiled again and turned her face up to the sky. Niko shook his head, trying to clear the ringing sound from his ears; her voice had sounded like waves crashing onto shore, and the crackle of thunder. He looked up at her once more.
“Nature has everything to do with it!” he called. “You’ve forgotten everything you were taught - everything I taught you – about messing with these kinds of forces!”
She didn’t reply this time. A look of serenity had come over her face, the wind tugging lovingly at her clothes. She almost looked beautiful, thought Niko. A terrible beauty.
“Tris, please,” he begged. Her face snapped across to his suddenly; she had never known Niklaren Goldeye to beg. She surveyed him carefully this time, taking in his worn face, ragged clothes, and hair that was now more grey than black. “It’s never too late to come home,” he said, kindly.
And then she laughed. She actually laughed. Niko could do nothing but stand there, staring at his former pupil in something verging on horror.
She looked back at him, still smiling. “Don’t you know what they call me, Niklaren Goldeye? Storm-Killer!” She shouted it to the heavens, and thunder answered her. Raising her arms, she closed her eyes for a moment in silent rapture, before lowering them again and turning back to him. Her face took on a more serious expression, all laughter gone. “How can I go back to that, Niko? After this?” She looked wistfully up at the storm circling above them. From where he stood, Niko could see the reflection of lightning dancing in her eyes. “ How could anyone go back?”
I love this! 
