Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Quentin sat on the couch in the high-rise apartment that had, apparently, become the group’s home base. He held a cup of coffee and stared out the window, trying to wrap his mind around recent events.

Everything had come to a head pretty quickly. After months of trying to figure out how to stop the Monster, a plan came together with relative ease – thanks to Margo’s ice-axes (Sorrow I & Sorrow II) and Alice’s idea about Incorporate Bonds. Visiting Mayakovski was a success, surprisingly. The one hitch came when they returned and Penny informed them how Julia had been kidnapped by the Monster, to house the body of the even more nefarious twin sister.

Looking back on it now, Quentin couldn’t help but chuckle as he realized that Fen had actually made their plan possible. Well, Fen and Josh – but Josh was a fish at the time, so it was mostly Fen. Thanks to her showing them the Reservoir, Quentin and Alice managed to power up enough to face off against the two Monsters.

Their tactic had been diversion, relying on the Monsters having a fundamental underestimation of humans. They, especially the Sister, failed to realize that humans can be particularly cunning and deceitful when they want to be.

Surprise, motherfuckers! Quentin had thought to himself, taking full advantage of what would probably be a one-time case of feeling like he was the hero in a Die Hard movie.

Once Evil Julia had been stopped, Real Julia had injuries to tend to, so Penny took her to the hospital at Brakebills. Next came the chance to save Eliot. Since Josh had been returned to his human state, Margo was ready to join the excursion.

Thanks to more diversion, skillfully acted by Quentin – if he did say so, himself – and the quick thinking of Dean Fogg, the Monster was teleported to a wooded area and confounded via an enchantment which had, apparently, been used for hazing in days of Brakebills-past. But Fogg had said that was another story for a less emotionally-charged day.

Traveling with Penny, Margo and Quentin found the Monster. They tricked him, just like they’d done with his twin. Then, Margo simultaneously did the kindest and cruelest thing she could, stabbing her best friend in the stomach with Sorrow I. Once the Monster’s essence was captured, the Incorporate Bond was cast—hooray for Kady and her hedge witches, with the power of cooperative magic! Penny took Quentin to meet Alice, where they locked the twins in a dark corner of the Mirror Realm. When Everett showed up on their way out, they let him know he was too late. He was so caught up in his anguish over the failure that the trio managed to escape the room, locking the door behind them and leaving Everett behind as they returned to the real world.

The gang was far from out-of-the-woods. Julia had recovered from the damage done by Sorrow II, but she had now reverted to being “just a human” and, so far, hadn’t even managed to create a tiny spark of magic. Eliot’s road to recovery appeared to be a bit more challenging, however, having had to rely initially on old-fashioned medicine. However, the last report was that the prognosis was good. And, courtesy of Zelda, the Library had apparently gained a conscience and was no longer holding magic captive.

After the mental recap, Quentin sighed and took a sip of his coffee. He couldn’t help but feel quite proud of himself, and of all of his friends. He chose to focus on that sensation, pushing away his usual anxiety about what “big bad” they might have to face next. And he especially kept thoughts of Eliot far away – that glass case of emotion was way too fragile right now and Q didn’t want it to shatter under the weight of his thoughts.

Quentin heard footsteps descending the stairs and turned just in time to see Margo appear. She was perfectly put-together, as usual, but stood still, straightening the sleeves of her blazer. Feeling Quentin’s gaze, she turned to him and smiled, approaching him with unmistakable pep in her step.

“Morning, Q,” she chirped, stopping behind him on the couch and leaning forward to place a kiss atop his head.

“Hey,” Quentin replied, fighting the anxious feeling that was settling in about still being in pajamas, making him feel profoundly under-dressed next to his friend.

“Guess what I’m doing today?” Margo asked in a sing-song voice. She didn’t wait for a response, blurting out the answer, “I’m bringing Eliot home!”

 Despite trying to avoid thinking about El, the news that he was being released from the hospital managed to perk Quentin up far more effectively than the coffee he was drinking. “Home? As in, like, here?”

“Well, duh,” Margo snarked. “Ooh, actually, I have to get going – they said he’d be ready around 9 and I wanna get there early, in case there are any special instructions for taking care of him.”

Quentin stood up and stretched. “Should I come with you?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Margo cooed. “Thanks, but you should probably stay here and make sure the place is Eliot-worthy. Maybe get some food or something. And, you know, put on some real clothes.” She looked Q up and down, clearly disapproving of his lazy-day attire.

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you both when you get back, then?”

“Definitely!” Margo grabbed her purse, marched to the door, blew a kiss and hollered a quick, “Bye!” as the door closed behind her.

 “You good, dude?” Kady called from the kitchen, opening a cupboard to pull out a box of tea.

Quentin jumped up, grabbing his empty coffee mug as he did, and joined Kady. “Yeah, actually, I think I am.”

Kady nodded acknowledgement, almost rhythmically. She placed a teapot on the stove to boil and set out a mug for herself. As Quentin sat down at the kitchen island, Kady held out a tea bag in offering.

“No, thanks,” Q told her. He went to take a sip of coffee before remembering it was empty.

“Need a refill of that?” the girl asked, reaching for a Keurig pod.

Quentin quickly shook his head and said, “Nah, I better not. What are you up to today?”

Kady shrugged. “Some hedges said they wanted to meet with me about. . . something. So I guess I’ll go do that. What are your plans?”

“I’ll probably clean up a bit – myself, and the place,” Q gestured to his pajamas and then glanced at the space around them, which was messier than it could have been. “Then, wait for Julia and Eliot to. . . “ he paused, making sure the words he was about to say felt right before saying them out loud, “. . .come home.”

“Uh-huh,” Kady droned, her eyes barely peeking at Q over her mug of tea.

“What?” Quentin queried, confused by the girl’s tone.

“Nothin’,” Kady replied with a smirk. Her eyes narrowed into a cat-like stare, gazing down at Quentin as she stood with her cup of tea and he sat on the bar-stool at the kitchen island.

“Oh, c’mon!” Quentin chuckled, somewhat nervously. “What is it?”

Kady silently chewed on the inside of her lip with a thoughtful look. She was clearly weighing the options, trying to decide whether to speak her mind or not. Quentin stared her down, literally sitting on his hands to keep from fidgeting with anxiety. Finally, with a sigh, the hedge witch gave in.

“I’m thinking about starting a betting pool,” she began, letting a cheeky grin tug at the corners of her mouth.

Quentin felt like he might regret it, but he went ahead and asked, “For what?”

The grin spread across her face into a full-fledged, devious smile. “For how long it’ll take for you to make your move now that you don’t have a Monster cock-blocking you,” Kady told him, doing a playful little shimmy with her shoulders. Then, she threw in a coy wink.

“Whaaaaaaat?” Quentin asked, his voice rising a few octaves. He rapidly scooted his chair back, letting it scrape loudly against the floor. He rushed his mug over to the sink and busied himself with rinsing it out. Kady lightly squeezed his shoulder, walking away with a self-indulgent snort. Q waited a moment, to make sure she was gone, before turning the faucet off and leaning against the counter. He let out an uncomfortable scoff, running his hand through his hair and feeling even more anxious about his friends returning.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

After a couple hours, Quentin received a text from Margo. It read:

In the lobby. ETA less than 1 minute. Shit better be ready, Nerd.

Quentin knew the words were not intended to be taken lightly – Margo was dead-serious. For once, though, he actually wasn’t worried.

The apartment was spotless, thanks to elbow grease and some Minor Mendings. Quentin had ordered a few pizzas and a variety of pizza-related foods like cheesy bread and chicken wings. There were plenty of drink options, ranging from bottled waters to liters of pop and, of course, some alcoholic beverages. Q had even showered and put on a nice pair of slacks and a button-down shirt. He felt pretty confident that everything was, indeed, ready.

Kady had returned from her “top-secret” meeting with the hedges about a half hour earlier, promising to share the story with everyone later, so she’d only have to tell it once. Alice showed up a shortly after, giving Quentin a quick, semi-awkward peck on the cheek. The girls had arranged the food, buffet-style, while Quentin was getting himself ready. Josh arrived just in time to launch into melt-down mode about the inadequacy of food options, which was made worse by Kady and Alice’s poor “presentation” choices. He quickly made some adjustments, which he swore made all the difference in the world.

By the time Margo’s text came in, the four of them were poised at the foyer of the apartment, waiting to greet their friends.

Suddenly, Quentin turned to the trio beside him and said, “Is it a good idea to shout ‘SURPRISE’ at them? I mean, is that gonna freak them out or be too much for them or. . .” Q let his voice trail off.

Kady snorted, attempting to stifle a laugh. Josh looked like he was genuinely considering the question. But Alice spoke up, giving Quentin a sympathetic look: “They didn’t have heart attacks, Q. I think they can handle a surprise.”

Quentin nodded thoughtfully. He considered challenging her further, but decided against it. He turned back to face the door, just in time to see the handle turn.

The door swung open, and the Welcome Wagon erupted into a chorus of “SURPRISE” and “WELCOME HOME.” Alice and Josh both did awkward little jumps and jazz-hands. Kady one-upped them by vocalizing, showing off just a snippet of her impressive four-octave range. Quentin performed some quick handwork, casting sparks into the air and materializing confetti that covered the apartment’s entryway – a party trick he had almost forgotten he knew.

Margo was just outside the doorway, nodding in Q’s general direction, beaming pride. Penny was hanging back in the hallway, trying to look like he wasn’t amused. Directly in the center of the doorway stood the guests of honor.

Julia giggled and clapped her hands together in front of her mouth, smiling with genuine appreciation. She was wearing a cream-colored turtle-neck sweater and black pants, similar to what she had been wearing when they had last seen her as the Sister-Monster, except this iteration of the outfit had significantly less blood. “Thanks, guys!” the dark-haired girl giggled, stepping into the apartment and making sure to hug each member of the welcoming group. When she got to Quentin, she held him a bit longer and tighter than others.

“It’s good to have you back,” Quentin told his friend when she finally released him from the embrace.

“It’s good to be back,” Julia told him, maintaining the warm smile. But a sadness in her eyes betrayed her words. She side-stepped to let the group give a proper welcome to her companion. It was almost like they were both soldiers, returning from war. Julia actually appeared to be dealing with her return to normalcy a bit better, though.

Eliot was still standing in the doorway, looking a little disheveled compared to his typical self, but a considered improvement to the Monster’s lack of concern for appearance. Someone had apparently allowed the man to shower, as he was no longer splattered with dirt and blood. His hair had shed a few layers of grunge, but it still hung at an unruly length – although it was far more tame, obviously having finally received some care and effort. Deviating from his usual classy, almost-overdressed, stylish attire, Eliot was wearing a plain pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a gray cardigan.

Josh offered a cheery “Welcome back!” to Eliot, as he approached him with a slow, cautious manner – like how one might approach a wounded animal in the wild. Kady followed suit, but with a bit less hesitation. She patted Eliot on the shoulder and offered a warm, gentle smile.

“It’s nice to see you – ya know, as you,” she said. It was a statement to be expected from the girl, and Quentin was secretly grateful to her for not treating Eliot like he was broken.

Alice took a step toward the doorway, then stopped and stood rocking on her heels. “Um, it’s. . .” the blonde paused, struggling to find the words she wanted. Silently, she stood in place making jerky movements, almost like a nervous series of twitches. She started with her arms hanging loosely at her sides, then put them forward as if she were going to shake hands or even hug Eliot. Then she stopped herself and wiggled her fingers in the air. Finally, she settled on slipping her arms behind her back and clasping them together. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Alice finally stated plainly before hurrying away, diving into the kitchen and disappearing.

“So, is this party a party or what?” Margo asked, pushing her way into the apartment. She peeked around the corner and squealed with delight at the sight of the food and refreshments. After receiving Margo’s approval, the rest of the gang quickly maneuvered into the kitchen and began loading up plates, pouring drinks, and chatting amongst themselves.

Only Quentin and Eliot remained in the entryway, a few feet away from each other. Q inspected Eliot again, appreciating the fact that he was looking at Eliot and not a Monster wearing Eliot like a Halloween costume. El’s longer hair was actually sort of appealing, making it so he had waves rather than proper curls. Even though Eliot was standing at sort of an awkward angle, obviously favoring the wound in his abdomen, the very air about him was a drastic and refreshing difference from the Monster.

Mostly, though, Quentin couldn’t stop inspecting Eliot’s look, trying to remember if he’d ever actually seen his friend in such casual clothing. It was odd, but not at all unpleasant. He liked the way the tshirt hung on the man’s tall, thin frame. And the jeans hugged Eliot in all the right places. Quentin forced aside the desire to have Eliot turn around so he could see the way his ass filled out the jeans.

Suddenly, Q realized he’d been staring at Eliot – probably for an uncomfortable length of time. He averted his gaze, glancing toward the crowd in the kitchen, which was steadily growing noisier. After what he thought was a respectable beat, he looked back to his best friend.

Eliot’s eyes remained downcast, burning a hole in a random spot on the floor. It dawned on Quentin that El had not made eye contact with anyone or even said anything, yet. Q slowly took a step toward the man, trying to remain nonchalant.

“Hi,” Quentin offered. His voice came out quieter than he had anticipated, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I, uh, I missed you. Like, a lot.” The words came tumbling out before Quentin fully realized what he had said. And he mentally kicked himself for sounding like an idiot.

After a beat, Eliot raised his face, showing a small smile. The gentle and soulfulness Q had come to admire and expect restored to those hazel eyes. It was all Quentin could do to keep the dam from breaking and letting loose the pounds of emotions he’d been carrying around for months. Without another thought, Quentin rushed forward to close the distance between them, pulling Eliot into an embrace.

Eliot immediately tensed up, wincing. Quentin pulled away rapidly and launched into a torrent of apologies. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to – sorry, El, I shouldn’t have – and I wasn’t thinking – I’m just so glad to see you and – well, I’m sorry – and just – ugh, shit, man –I’m sorry. . .” he finally let his voice trail off and stood there, panting after his jumble of almost-sentences.

With a raised eyebrow, Eliot said, “Are you done, Spazz?”

Quentin took a few more deep breaths and chuckled. “Y-yeah, I think so.” He let out a breathy laugh and gestured toward Eliot’s stomach. “Are you okay?”

El still had a hand firmly pressed against the general location of the wound and was hunched over rather than standing tall like he normally would, so he and Quentin were actually almost at the same height for a change. “Do you want the truth, or the bullshit answer I’m supposed to say to make you feel better?”

“The truth,” Quentin replied instantly.

“I feel like I was hit by a train.”

Q laughed softly. “Julia said it felt like a truck.” Then he added, “Like, eight times.”

Eliot bit his lip and squinted slightly, looking pensive. Finally he nodded. “Sounds about right. Getting hit by a truck eight times is probably equivalent to a train.”

“Well, in that case, you probably wanna sit down,” Q suggested. Eliot nodded fervently, letting out a heavy sigh. Wordlessly, Quentin positioned himself at Eliot’s side, putting an arm around his shoulders and allowing his friend to put his weight on him. Eliot wrapped his arm around Quentin at the waist, and they carefully made their way from the door to the sofa in the sitting area.

“Yo, you guys need help?” Penny called from the kitchen.

“We’re good,” Quentin answered. Although it probably would’ve been easier on Eliot to have someone on the other side to balance out the weight, Q selfishly decided he was doing fine. He didn’t want to share this moment.

Once they got to the couch, Quentin helped lower Eliot to sit on the cushion. El leaned back against the sofa, his arm still partially wrapped around Quentin’s waist. He ended up knocking Q off balance, so he dropped one knee to the couch and stood there in an awkward sort of crouched position. Quentin had moved his arm from Eliot’s shoulders, but his hand was planted on the back of the couch, next to the man’s head.

“Sorry,” Eliot whispered. Quentin could barely hear it over the commotion of their friends in the kitchen, but he read the word on Eliot’s lips.

Eliot’s lips.

Heat rushed to Q’s face and he knew his cheeks must be flushed. He quickly looked away from El’s mouth, using his free hand to tuck a strand of long hair behind Eliot’s ear.

Eliot scoffed. “This hair is something else. It actually took hours to brush, if you can believe it. I can’t believe none of you taught that Monster anything about appearance.” He wrinkled his nose. “Or hygiene. I begged the hospital to let me shower, because I couldn’t even stand the smell of myself!”

Quentin smiled down at him, slightly out of amusement but mostly out of sheer appreciation for having Eliot back. Really, truly back. He wanted Eliot to keep talking, to say anything and everything so he could hear him. Eliot’s voice, his words, the timber and cadence when he spoke – all things that the Monster could never imitate, because they were perfectly and completely unique to the one and only Eliot Waugh.

“Um, Q?” Eliot said, causing Quentin to blink a few rapid times as he retreated from his thoughts. “You’re staring at me, Q. . .”

Blushing, Quentin averted his gaze, shooting his eyes up toward the ceiling. Panicking slightly, he backed up, knocking into the tea table in front of the couch and causing him to wobble slightly. Eliot reached forward and steadied him, firmly placing his hands on both of Quentin’s hips.

“I’ve got you,” El stated.

Q felt a lump in his throat. The words were so simple and seemed innocent enough, so anyone who was looking would just think that Eliot had prevented Quentin from clumsily cracking his head open on the glass table behind him. But Quentin couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to Eliot’s words. The way he said them didn’t sound innocent or simple. The words oozed tension, traversing the miles of subtext and unspoken feelings between them.

Eliot loosed his grip but kept his hands on Q’s hips, thumbs in front and his other fingers spread across the base of Quentin’s back and the rise of his ass. He delicately, almost absentmindedly, rubbed his thumbs across the waistband of Q’s slacks. One thumb snuck underneath the hem of Quentin’s shirt, rubbing against the warm skin on his hip.

Quentin opened his mouth to speak, but was having trouble finding the words. Finally, he closed his mouth, swallowing so hard that he gulped audibly.

“EL-I-OOOOOOTTTTT!” Margo’s voice rang out, drawling out the syllables.

El’s hands dropped to his lap and Quentin took a step backward, careful to avoid the tea table. They both cleared their throats and focused their attention anywhere but each other.

Eliot rotated slightly on the couch, following Margo’s shrill call. “Yes, Bambi?” he replied sweetly.

“Do. You. Want. Pizza?” she asked, punctuating each word.

Quentin wondered how long she’d been trying to get his attention. That made him wonder if she’d been watching their small, semi-intimate interaction. And that made him wonder who else had been watching. Quentin discretely placed two fingers against his wrist to check his pulse, certain that he was having palpations. His heart was racing, but he had the feeling that had less to do with Margo and more to do with the fact that he could still feel Eliot’s hands on him.

Once again, Q had spaced out, apparently. When he shook himself from his thoughts, Margo was standing behind the couch, running a hand through Eliot’s long hair as he bit into a piece of cheesy bread.

“We need to do something about. . . THIS,” Margo mumbled, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger. “Then again,” she said slyly, grabbing a fistful of Eliot’s hair, “maybe it could be a little fun.” She then tugged on his hair, pulling his head back and leaning in so her face was directly in front of his.

Eliot gave Margo a coy smile, letting out a playful growl and nipping at her nose. She giggled, released his hair, and climbed over the back of the couch to sit next to him, stealing his breadstick as she did.

Quentin watched the exchange, feeling a twinge of jealousy. He felt incapable of pulling himself away from the scene. Suddenly, he felt an elbow nudge him in the ribs. He turned slightly to see Kady standing beside him, with a knowing smirk.

Q rolled his eyes and made his way to the armchair near the sofa, purposely distancing himself from Eliot. One by one, the rest of the group relocated from the kitchen to the living room. Julia handed Quentin a paper plate piled high with pizza and cheesy bread before sitting cross-legged on the floor at his feet. Penny wasted no time in settling in right beside Julia, matching her Indian-style position and letting their knees touch just slightly.

Suddenly, Quentin remembered something. “Kady!” He exclaimed, startling the girl who was still standing in the middle of the room. “You had an announcement of some kind?”

The rest of the gang mirrored Quentin’s interest, excitedly encouraging her to tell them the news about her top-secret meeting with the hedges earlier.

“Oh, yeah. So, get this,” Kady animatedly waved her hands in the air, looking like she was trying to stop herself from laughing. “Apparently, ‘representatives’ from hedge witch communities around the world got together and decided that they need someone to act as, like, a ‘leader’ to help them work together and attempt to ‘bring peace and unity to hedges everywhere,’” she explained, complete with air quotes and a dramatic tone.

“And they’ve asked you to do it?” Julia guessed.

“Bingo was his name-o,” Kady replied with a shrug. She then laughed out loud. “Can you believe it? They want me to be, like, boss-bitch of all hedges.”

 “Mm, question,” Eliot said, raising his hand. “Is ‘boss-bitch’ an official title?”

 Kady placed her hands on her hips and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”

El held his hands up in mock surrender. “Not at all. Just wanted to know what we should have engraved on the plaque for your desk.”

Sticking her tongue out for added emphasis, she flipped her middle finger in Eliot’s general direction. Despite the theatricality, Quentin could tell that Kady was secretly proud of the hedge’s request.

“Well, if they wanted a boss-bitch,” Quentin began, somewhat reservedly, “they couldn’t have made a better choice.”

Everyone laughed, but mumbled agreement. Kady rolled her eyes and made her way to the armchair on the other side of the room. But once she was seated, she caught Quentin’s eye, offering a warm smile. She then discretely mouthed the words “thank you.” Q nodded in acknowledgement before looking away, allowing her to retain her tough girl image.

The rest of the evening passed by quickly and was relatively uneventful – which was a welcome change for the gang. They ate way too much, and drank, and they talked and joked. For a few hours, they managed to feel and act like they were actually. . . normal. Even if they were just pretending and trying to convince themselves as much as each other.

Eventually, they turned on the television and found a movie to watch. Quentin didn’t remember discussing it or picking a movie, or even what movie they ended up selecting. At some point, someone—probably Josh—had found and distributed blankets and pillows. Everyone settled into comfortable-ish positions, wrapped up in blankets and watching the TV with tired eyes.

Alice had stretched out on the loveseat near the window and fell asleep first, looking like she had the best spot out of anyone. Julia and Penny fell asleep next, spread out on the floor side-by-side. Kady passed out in her armchair across from Quentin, legs pulled up and arms wrapped around her knees. Josh was sitting straight up on the couch, with his head propped up on the back of the couch at an angle that would certainly leave his neck aching in the morning. But considering the fact that Margo was curled up on the extra-large couch with her head in his lap, it was likely that he would consider the crick in his neck to be well worth it.

Finally, Eliot and Quentin were the only ones left awake. The credits rolled at the end of the movie that had been playing. Q was still in the armchair, not even really facing the TV. He’d spent the evening watching everyone else – relishing the fact that they were all in such good spirits, albeit exhausted.

Eliot had remained seated on the couch. Once everyone else was asleep and the apartment was dark and silent, he stretched his arms in the air and yawned.

“Ow,” he said softly, dropping an arm back down to his stomach.

“You okay?” Quentin whispered.

“Fuck, Q,” Eliot hissed back. “I thought you were asleep hours ago.”

Quentin could just barely make out Eliot’s silhouette, illuminated by the faint glow of the TV. Carefully, favoring his side, Eliot eased himself to lay down on the couch, stretching out in full. Then through the dark he said, “I think you have the last blanket.”

“Do you want it?” Without waiting for a response, Quentin unwrapped himself from the blanket and stood up.

“We could share it.” Eliot’s reply was just barely whispered, slightly hesitant and cautious – vulnerable. It was a version of Eliot that Quentin hadn’t experienced in a long time, and that he was certain very few others had ever seen at all in their lifetimes.

“Yeah. We could do that,” Quentin agreed. He felt like he was frozen in place, standing with the blanket hanging in his arms.

“Or you could, you know, stand there awkwardly.” A playful tone entered Eliot’s voice and Quentin was sure it was probably accompanied by a wink – or would have been if they weren’t in pitch darkness.

“Awkwardness is kind of my spirit animal,” Q retorted.

And Eliot laughed.

Quentin had always been terrible at banter or rapport. He always thought himself to be clever, but he was rarely able to come across as witty because he usually lacked either the confidence or the quick thinking necessary to participate in a spirited back-and-forth. But with Eliot, it was different. He came up with responses quickly, and managed to actually say them out loud. Even if they ended up sounding stupid or were a joke at his own expense, which was typically the case, the exchange usually went well because Eliot never made him feel stupid. And Eliot appreciated self-deprecating humor in a way that others didn’t, managing to poke fun at himself, too. Even when he also took shots at Quentin, it was never mean-spirited and led to Q admitting his own flaws – flaws which he normally felt self-conscious about. But instead of sweeping them under the rug, he embraced them and often took them a step farther with more jokes and puns when he was with Eliot.

Everything was just easier with Eliot. That was an undeniable fact. Whether that was the reason for the magnetic draw Quentin felt towards the man, or if it resulted from the attraction, it was impossible to tell. Q eventually had stopped trying to figure it out, filing that question away with other important ponderings of the universe, like the chicken-or-the-egg argument.

From the couch, Eliot softly hummed the Jeopardy! theme music. Quentin chuckled and, in one swift motion, unfurled the blanket to drape it over Eliot on the couch. He then laid down on his back, letting his legs flop over the edge of the couch. His face was right next to Eliot’s and he could feel his friend’s warm breath on his neck. Q  stayed on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling, opposed to turning on his side where he would have been nose-to-nose with El.

“You’re not getting much use of the blanket,” Eliot whispered directly into Quentin’s ear.

“That’s fine. I’m warm enough,” Q told him. And he meant it. He genuinely felt a warmth radiating through his entire body, almost tingly. With a heavy sigh, Quentin closed his eyes.

Laying there, he knew – knew – that he could no longer suppress his emotions. Now that Eliot had been saved, Quentin would have to face the reason why he had been so obsessed with that task, knowing deep down that it was about so much more than just friendship. He steeled himself to the decision that he would have to talk to Eliot – and, therefore, Alice – about his true feelings and whatever happened, happened. He decided that when morning came, he would take action. Q repeated that decision in his mind, like a mantra, until he finally drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Kady was the first to wake up. It was early still, and the living room held a comfortable air about it, with the quiet sounds of Kady's sleeping comrades filling the space.

The hedge witch ran a hand through her curls and rested her head on her hand. She shifted her gaze to Quentin. He was curled up on his side, his face nuzzled in Eliot's neck. She had originally guesstimated that the boys would be body-thumping by the end of the week. Seeing them now, she made a mental note to move up the timeline to within the next couple days.

With a sigh, she sprang up from the armchair where she'd slept. After brewing herself a cup of coffee, she went into Marina's library with a pen and notepad. Dropping into the chair at the café-style table in the room, she opened the notebook and started writing.

Just the night before, Pete and the other hedges had asked her to become an informal leader, and a formal emissary, for the hedge witch cause. She'd accepted and immediately, ideas started pouring into her head about changes and improvements to make. So, she sat in the library and she wrote – jotting down notes, which developed into detailed plans. When she had finished putting her initial ideas to paper, she leaned back and read through everything.

"Okay," she mumbled to herself. The first and foremost item on her list was to implement policies for all hedges to adhere to. "Then, the Library. They need to. . ." she paused, thinking. "Stop being douches?" She asked out loud. She shrugged and scribbled that in the margins of the paper.

Kady chewed on the end of her pen, then tapped it against her teeth. An idea suddenly popped into her head. "Fogg!" She exclaimed, louder than intended. She quickly dropped the pen and clasped both hands over her mouth. Then she rolled her eyes and put her hands down, picking up the pen again. "Dumb-ass," she said, directing the insult to herself. She then set pen to paper, frantically writing down ideas about convincing Fogg to give her some authority at Brakebills – maybe giving hedge witches second chances at entrance exams or making the University more open. . .

Suddenly, the door to the library creaked as it opened. Kady's eyes shot up, matching green with brown as Penny partially entered the room. Realizing that she must look like a mess, hunched over piles of paper and her fingers ink-stained, scribbling wildly with the pen that looked like a puppy had gotten hold of it from how much she'd been gnawing on it. In an attempt to regain composure, Kady set down the pen and sat up straight.

"Sorry. I heard someone talking in here. . ." Penny muttered from the door. He furrowed his brow as he looked around the room. "Are you talking to yourself?" He asked suddenly, not even bothering to hide the judgment.

Casually, Kady leaned back and crossed her legs, flinging an arm across the back of the chair. "Yeah. It's a trait of genius. You wanna make something of it?"

Penny held his hands up in mock-surrender. He looked down at the floor, rubbing his toe into the floor and looking like he wanted to say something. Kady dared him to speak first, waiting in her seated position and staring, menacingly, at the stranger who wore a familiar face.

Finally, Penny sighed. He shook his head, almost to himself, and backed out of the room in silence. Kady scoffed and inhaled sharply through her nose. Then, she stood up and let out a frustrated, primal growl, sliding her arm across the table and sending the papers and notebook flying. With a rueful laugh, Kady dropped to her knees. Her hands flew to her face, swiping at her eyes to make sure that no tears had dared to escape. After a moment, she sighed and started picking up the papers sprawled across the floor.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

A few hours later, the apartment was bustling as everyone was awake. Everyone except Quentin. So, maybe it was less bustling and more stealthily maneuvering while trying to allow their fearless, albeit overly anxious, leader to continue sleeping.

It wasn't long before Josh and Margo announced that they were heading off to Fillory, determined to find a way to rescind Margo's banishment and reclaim her throne.

"I suppose I have to take you?" Penny offered dejectedly.

Margo declined with a shake of her head. She then held out her hand and closed her eyes, letting a big smile spread across her face. "Damn, that feels good!" she purred.

Kady's arm shot out in front of her. She wiggled her fingers in the air, measuring the level of ambient magic. She gasped and felt warmth radiating through her body, her smile matching Margo's. "Hallelujah, magic truly is free again!" Kady announced, fist-pumping the air.

Margo held a hand up in response, "Mm, preach!"

They knew the Library had agreed to remove the strict magic rations, but no one had really bothered checking the levels or testing their abilities. Apparently, the Librarians were feeling very generous.

Right then, with impeccable timing, a bunny dropped onto the kitchen island.

"ALICE. LIBRARY. NOW." The bunny commanded in a harsh rasp.

Apparently, Alice didn't need to be told twice. She nodded in the general direction of the bunny before making a few rapid, almost sloppy gestures. A shimmering void opened in the middle of the room. Waving her hand in a half-hearted farewell, Alice wordlessly stepped through the portal which quickly closed behind her.

"Oh-kay," Margo sniped. She sighed in annoyance and snapped her fingers. "Josh! Let's roll," she barked.

Josh hurried over to the counter, gingerly picking up the bunny. "Let's get you back to your friends in Fillory," he whispered to the critter, tucking it under his arm as he approached Margo, who was starting the handwork to build a portal of her own.

Once the portal developed, she stepped part of the way through, turning back to Josh, asking, "Ready?" Without waiting for an answer, she stepped the rest of the way through.

Josh turned to wave to everybody, but could barely squeak out a quick "Bye!" before Margo's arm reached through the portal, grabbed him by the shirt-collar, and dragged him through into Fillory.

The quartet stood silently for a moment. Eliot absentmindedly started toward the stairs, shoving past Penny as he did.

"Whoa, dude, what's your deal?" Penny asked, grabbing Eliot by the shoulder. In a single motion, he jerked away from the touch and smacked Penny's hand away.

"Hey!" Penny let out a frustrated growl. "Look, we just spent months with a vague-as-shit Monster walking around in your body. We went through a lot to save your ass. And I think I speak for everyone," Penny spread his arms wide, gesturing to the remaining members of the group before continuing, "when I say that we're tired of games. So, we need you to be straight with us. Can you do that?"

Eliot smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "Sorry. Straight is one thing I actually can't do."

Penny scoffed. "You think this is funny?" He asked, intensity in his eyes. Then he took a small step toward Eliot.

Obviously, a big mistake.

Suddenly, Penny was forced backwards, dropping off the small ledge separating the kitchen area from the living room and landing on his ass with a loud smack. Julia and Kady both whipped their heads toward Eliot, shock and awe evident in their expressions.

"—the fuck was that?!" Penny exclaimed from the floor, panting slightly from having the wind knocked out of him.

Eliot stared down at him, but the look on his face wasn't menacing. In fact, he looked even more shocked than the rest of them. El inhaled deeply and then, seemingly unable to come up with a response, raced up the stairs, followed only by the sound of a slamming bedroom door.

Once he was gone, Penny pulled himself up to his feet. Kady clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

"Me?"

"Yeah, dickwad," she said, charging forward and shoving the Traveler, hard, in the chest. "You were provoking him!"

"He just threw battle-magic at me!" Penny pointed to the empty space Eliot had been occupying.

"Oh, please." Kady rolled her eyes. "He knocked you on your ass. It was embarrassing, but hardly qualifies as battle-magic."

Scoffing, Penny pulled a crystal out of his pocket. "Call it what you want. I have protection charms and amulets by the shit-ton. Somehow, he managed to bypass every single one without even lifting a finger! Doesn't that worry anyone?"

"I had one of those Monsters in me, too," Julia said quietly, still standing across the room, near the refrigerator. "Those siblings were. . . something else. And I was only possessed by one for a couple days. Eliot was trapped with one controlling him for months, Pen."

"Yeah, I know – I've been here the whole time," Penny retorted. "That's my point, though. What if that thing did something to him?"

"Just, shut up," Kady said with a snarl. "Of course it did something to him! He was violated in the most intimate possible way, for months, by an evil, murderous thing. I'd be worried if he wasn't fucked up."

Penny groaned, throwing his hands in the air. Apparently giving up, he stalked away from the girl, settling onto a bar-stool at the kitchen island to sulk.

Julia and Kady exchanged concerned looks. Then, Julia cautiously approached Kady, standing on her tiptoes to look past the taller girl.

"How is he still asleep?" Jules queried, nodding toward Q's still-slumbering body on the couch.

Kady shrugged and made her way into the living room, content to keep the sleeping young man company. Putting distance between herself and Penny was an added bonus. Julia followed her and they sat together in silence for a while, on the end of the couch opposite Q. After a while, Julia decided she would go to Brakebills to do some research.

"Maybe see if I can find some books or if there's anybody I can talk to—Lipson, Fogg, anybody—who can help me with. . ." Jules paused. Finally, she gestured to herself and said, "Well, with me."

"Fine," Kady said sharply.

"I'll take Penny with me. He can give me a ride and maybe help out. You'll be okay here with Q & El?"

Kady gave another short reply: "Yup."

"Okay. See ya later then," Julia said with a small little wave. She approached Penny and talked to him quietly. Apparently, he agreed with Julia's plan because there was a small whoosh and then they were gone.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

It was late in the afternoon. Kady sat on the coffee table, staring at Quentin. He had, somehow in his sleep, contorted himself so that he was flopped on his stomach across the couch, with one leg stretched out behind him and the other dragging on the floor. Both arms lay flat and prone at his sides. He was, essentially, laying on his face. In a puddle of drool, no less.

Suddenly (finally) Quentin opened his eyes, squinting at the brightness of the sun shining in the window.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Sleeping Beauty," Kady said smugly. She chuckled as Quentin struggled to get up, which proved insanely difficult since both his arms were asleep.

Finally, Q managed to right himself and he wiggled forward to sit on the edge of the couch cushion. He worked at shaking out his arms, trying to regain feeling. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at Kady, who had an amused look on her face.

"Mmmmmmm. Wow." Quentin groaned as he stretched his arms in the air. He looked out the window and saw that the sun was hanging low in the sky. "Uh, Kady? What time is it?"

She glanced at her watch and gave Q a sympathetic look. "It's, uh, 4:30."

"In the afternoon?!" Quentin all but shouted.

Letting out a sheepish little laugh and nodding, Kady told him, "You must have been really tired."

"I had no idea. . ." Quentin mused, blinking a few more times as he tried to shake off the lingering grogginess of sleeping for what bordered on 16 hours.

"You've had a lot going on lately. Worrying about your friends, fighting magical monsters, saving the world." Kady shrugged, counting off the items in her list as blasé as she could.

"So, just the usual," Quentin replied through a yawn. "Still," he continued, "I can't believe I slept so long."

"Yeahhhhh," the hedge witch grimaced slightly. "Everyone tried really hard to let you sleep." She stood up, placing her hands on her hips. "Then, everyone tried to wake you up."

"Great," Q mumbled. He stretched and stood up, giving in to another yawn and popping his neck to relieve the tension that had developed from his odd sleeping position. He was still in his clothes from the day before, although the slacks were now quite wrinkled and a few buttons had come undone from his shirt.

"Where is everybody?" he asked, flipping his long hair out of his face.

Kady quickly recounted the location of their friends: "Alice – The Library. Margo & Josh – Fillory. Julia & Penny – Brakebills."

Q looked at her, somewhat expectantly. "And, uh, wh-where's Eliot?" Quentin asked timidly.

"Upstairs," she replied. Q nodded absentmindedly before dropping back down on the couch.

Finally, Kady couldn't contain herself anymore. With a loud groan, she sat on the coffee table again. She scooted forward to sit on the edge of the table, positioning herself directly in front of Q. "All right, Coldwater. It's time for some real-talk."

"Uh-oh." Quentin's eyes widened and he leaned back against the couch.

"It's painfully obvious that you're hardcore jonesing for Eliot."

"I'm what, now?" Quentin asked innocently.

"Oh, please." Kady frowned. "Even a blind, deaf, and dumb idiot can tell how bad you two have it for each other. The only question is why the hell neither of you will do anything about it."

Quentin's brows furrowed and he exhaled sharply. "It's not—you make it sound like it's so simple."

"It kind of is," Kady stated plainly. "Everyone sees the way you look at each other. I mean," she chortled, "the sexual tension between you two is so thick, you'd need a fucking machete to clear it."

Q opened his mouth to speak, but Kady stopped him, holding up a hand. Then, she leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. "What the hell are you so afraid of, Quentin?"

"Um, everything?" Quentin answered, as if it was obvious. "That's kind of the gist of who I am. Ya know – depression, anxiety, general disinterest and dissatisfaction, fear, indecisiveness, apathy. . ." he counted off his maladies by holding up a finger for each one.

"But, what scares you about Eliot?" Kady clarified.

The question made Q pause. He considered it for a moment, trying to decide first whether to answer at all and then to figure out how best to respond. He exhaled slowly, finally looking up to make eye contact with the girl. "I tried with El before and. . . he shot me down. After that, I thought we could just be friends. Except I didn't really have time to even deal with it because we had so much going on with keys and all. Then, the Monster took over."

Quentin paused, biting his lip. "I feel like such a piece of shit for saying this, but the Monster and everything that's been going on actually made things easier for me."

"Easier?" Kady asked.

"Y-yeah," Quentin muttered with a shrug, feeling self-conscious. "I mean, there was so much happening, so I didn't have time to think about things. I got kind of. . . numb, I guess?" Running a hand through his hair, Q sighed. "Now that the dust is settling, there's nothing to stop me from thinking. And feeling. And wondering, theorizing, weighing options, worrying, panicking. . ." Quentin put his face in his hands, groaning.

"Okay, okay, I get it. Chill." Kady cooed, grabbing Q's hands and pulling them toward her, clasping them tight. "Can I give you my perspective?"

Quentin nodded.

"If there is any part of you that wants to be with Eliot, that thinks it's still possible for that to happen? You should act on that. You owe it to yourself – and to him – to at least try." Kady stopped, licking her lips as she thought about what to say next. "You have something I never had, Q. You have hope."

"What do you mean?"

With a deep sigh, Kady steeled herself against her emotions and continued. "Look, I lost the man I loved. And he's gone. For good. Now," she leaned back, putting her arms behind her and resting on her palms on the tea table. "When 23 came here, everybody got Penny back - everybody but me, because he wasn't the same, wasn't mine. In fact, he's Julia's. He made that clear to begin with, and now even she seems to have embraced it."

Suddenly, Kady held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for Jules, I guess. But the fact still stands that 23 has managed to serve as an effective stand-in for our Penny – my Penny. Except I still want the OG Penny back."

"Kady," Quentin said sorrowfully. But Kady cut him off, standing up and placing a hand on her hip as she looked down at Q.

"I know that it's impossible. And I have to find a way to move on. But I'll never stop wanting it." She threw her hands up in a very exaggerated shrug. "And I have a constant reminder of what I lost, of what someone else gets that I'll never have."

Quickly, feeling frantic like her emotions were getting ready to get the best of her, Kady sat back down, so she could look Quentin in the eyes again. "I have to spend the rest of my life watching a stranger taking Penny's place. Having him within reach, and yet millions of miles away. Now, you had just a tiny taste of a few months of that, when the Monster was parading around in Eliot's body."

Quentin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, like he was trying to get a bad taste out of his mouth. "It was torture. Especially since he knew – he fucking knew – that he could manipulate me by threatening to hurt El. I hated him. Like," Q searched for the words, "I felt physically sick every time I was near him, knowing what he was. But then I'd look at him, and I'd see Eliot. Knowing that he was being used like that, that he wasn't able to control himself. . . having him physically present, but still so out of reach."

Then Q looked at Kady, sympathy in his deep brown eyes. "Just like you feel with Penny, I guess."

"Yeah," Kady agreed. "Except you got lucky. Because you did what I couldn't: You saved him. Now Eliot's back, and he's still Eliot." With her next words, Kady spoke slowly and deliberately, "We all got him back. But he's yours."

Neither magician spoke. Kady let her words hang in the air between them and Q took them in, letting them settle and process.

After a minute, the hedge witch's face felt hot and her vision blurred slightly as she could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She willed them to stay in place. Finally, she grabbed Quentin by the shoulder – more to steady herself than anything. Kady wasn't totally sure why she cared so damn much, except that the parallels between her and Quentin were so strong and she couldn't help over-identifying.

"Quentin, you've got a second chance. Please, promise me you'll do something with it? Don't waste it. You owe it to each other." Quentin was looking down, at Kady's hands in his own. But Kady kept her gaze focused on him anyway, letting her green eyes bore into him. There was an unmistakable hint of desperation in her voice as she added, "If nothing else, you owe it to me to not just walk away from something that I can only dream of having."

"I'm afraid of opening up or of being rejected, and absolutely terrified of losing the people I love – especially El, but all the rest of you, too."

"You don't wanna lose people?" Kady asked, seriously. "Then don't waste a second that you have with them."

"Okay," Quentin whispered. When he looked up, he sniffled and quickly reached up to rub a tear from the corner of his eye with his sleeve. "All right, Kady. Okay," he said again, a bit more confidently this time.

Q nodded and then, without thinking, he grabbed Kady and pulled her into a tight hug. She seemed a bit thrown-off at first, tensing up, but then she relaxed and returned the embrace. When they pulled apart, Kady stood up and busied herself with straightening out her shirt.

"So, um, yeah. That's all I wanted—needed, to say."

Quentin stood, too. "Thank you," he told her.

Kady only nodded, repeating one of her nervous tics of running a hand through her thick hair. With a small laugh, she said, "It's nice, not having something trying to kill us, for a change."

The Mending Magician laughed out loud in reply. "How long do you think that'll last?" he asked her.

"Pfft," Kady scoffed. "Who the hell knows? Not long enough, probably. Guess we should enjoy the peace while it lasts."

So, with that, both let out long exhales and dropped onto the couch. It felt good to have a friend like Quentin and Kady was secretly grateful for the chance to get to know him better. She nudged him with her shoulder, smiling. Then, they settled into a comfortable silence as they watched the sunset out the high-rise window.

Chapter Text

Quentin and Kady spent a good hour sitting on the couch. They told each other little “fun facts” about themselves, and they told stupid jokes – mostly really shitty dad-type jokes, on Q’s part anyway. But Kady laughed, which Quentin appreciated even if it was a pity laugh (she swore it wasn’t, though). 

“I wish we’d done this sooner.” Kady had stated at one point, taking Quentin by surprise. It gave him a warm and fuzzy feeling and he returned the sentiment.

 “Sooooooooo, what’s the deal with you and Pete?” Q asked with curiosity.

 “Uh, nothing?” Kady’s voice was strong, but her eyes betrayed her. Quentin caught the tiny flash of doubt in the girl’s emerald eyes and latched onto it. He decided to give her a taste of her own medicine.

“Maybe I should start my own betting pool,” Quentin told her, mimicking her teasing tone from the day before. Kady rolled her eyes and didn’t bother to answer. Q went on anyway, “Pete’s sweatin’ you pretty hard. But I think you know that. And I don’t think you hate it.”

“You’re just grasping for straws, aren’t you?” Kady slouched and crossed her arms, appearing to pout.

“I predict he’ll make a move soon,” Quentin announced. “And when he does,” he carried on, “you’ll let him.” They stared each other down, one daring the other to cave.

Finally, Kady rolled her eyes and pushed herself up off the couch. “I will not dignify your accusations with a response. Now, I shall retire to the other room. Don’t follow me.” She started to walk away, but stopped suddenly when they heard a knock on the door. Instantly, she tapped a finger to the tip of her nose. “Not it!” she giggled before once again shutting herself in Marina’s library.

Quentin sighed and stood, swinging and stretching his shoulders as he walked toward the front door. Upon opening it, he was surprised to see Alice, looking absolutely effervescent.

“Quentin!” she squealed, bursting through the doorway and throwing her arms around Q’s neck. She leaned into him, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. Quentin wobbled and had to grab a decorative table next to him to steady himself and keep from falling backwards.

“Mnm, hmmpf,” Quentin mumbled through the kiss. Finally, he grabbed Alice’s shoulders and pulled back, squirming slightly to get out of her tight grasp. “Um, hi!” Q exclaimed, still surprised.

Alice giggled and clasped her hands together in front of her, swaying back and forth. Quentin couldn’t help but smile, her happy attitude proving to be contagious. She looked like a giddy schoolgirl and Q had to admit, it was pretty cute. “Sorry,” Alice finally said, stepping around Quentin to fully enter the apartment.

“No, don’t, uh—you don’t need to apologize. What, um, what are you so happy about?” Quentin asked as he closed the front door and turned back to the girl.

“Well, the Library summoned me,” she began, still bubbly but sounding more like the matter-of-fact Alice that Quentin knew. “Since their former Librarian with a capital L is currently—and permanently—locked in the Mirror Realm, they find themselves leaderless.”

“What about Zelda?” Quentin interrupted, asking the obvious.

Alice shook her head and shrugged. “She could have stepped up but she didn’t want to. So,” the giddiness was back in Alice’s voice, “they asked me!”

It took a moment for Q to process the information. “Wait, so you’re, like, the new Everett?”

Alice scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Hopefully, I’m better than Everett.” Then her smile returned. “But basically, yes. I am in charge of the Library. The entire Library, Q!”

“That sounds like a. . .”

“Great opportunity? Second chance?” Alice offered.

Q frowned slightly. “I was thinking more like a potential clusterfuck or a trap.” Upon seeing the light fade from Alice’s eyes, he quickly tried to backpedal. “But, you know that I’m a catastrophist! You’re being optimistic, and opportunistic, and that’s—that’s great, Alice.”

Apparently sated by the response, Alice sighed happily. She grabbed his hands and started walking backwards, pulling him along with her. “I could change everything, Q. And maybe we won’t be wading in the shit all the time anymore!” Once they reached the couch, they stopped. Alice gave Quentin a devilish grin and leaned in closer to him, placing her hands on his chest.

“We should celebrate,” she said in a seductive whisper.

Before Quentin could respond, Alice gave his chest a playful but authoritative shove, making him topple backward onto the couch. He landed crookedly on his back, with his feet mostly in the air, over the back of the sofa. Quickly, he scooted to right himself so he was at least laying flat on the cushions. Alice grabbed the edge of the couch and pulled herself up to lift her feet off the ground before rolling over the back of the couch and landing on its surface next to Quentin.

Both burst into laughter and wiggled on the couch, trying to get into somewhat reasonable positions. Once they settled, Quentin was still laughing. When he realized Alice was positioned across his upper body, her face dangerously close to his, his laughter faded into nervous chuckling.

Alice removed her glasses, leaning over to set them on the coffee table. When she turned back, she immediately kissed Quentin hard on the lips. At first, he didn’t respond. His mind was racing and the old apathetic, anxious version of himself returned – the one who didn’t process well, didn’t react well, couldn’t speak his mind, feared rejection or offending others. . . all the things he thought he had gotten over.

“Are you okay?” Alice’s voice suddenly drew him from his thoughts. She wore a concerned look.

“Mm-hmm. It’s just. . .” Q mumbled. Alice gave him a half-hearted smile, but accepted the response and kissed him again, before he could formulate any actual words. The blonde kissed her way down Quentin’s neck, settling there for a while.

Quentin forced his tense muscles to relax. He sucked in a breath and tried to remember how to speak.

Emotionally, he was a million miles away. The conversation with Kady was rattling through his mind, and memories from a life not-really-lived flooded his brain. Then he considered the blonde girl who was currently having a relatively one-sided make-out session with him, kissing his neck fervently. He had memories with her, too, and that wasn’t nothing. That had been real, too. But somehow, those memories were distant, seeming more like they were scenes from a movie than his own life. His memories of Eliot, though—from the Cottage and their quest, and every other second spent together, in myriad faculties—were crisp and visceral.

Alice kissed Quentin on the lips again, running her hand through his messy, somewhat tangled hair. Returning somewhat to the present moment, Q couldn’t help but think how nice it felt to be kissed. How truly exhausted he still was from everything that had been happening lately. How lonely and empty he had been feeling. . .

So, he pushed his emotions and logic away and focused purely on the physical.

Finally submitting to his body, Quentin returned Alice’s kisses – albeit, less out of passion and more from just being horny. But Alice either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and the make-out session continued.

Stop this , Quentin’s conscience hollered from the dark recesses of his brain. Stop leading her on. But he shook the thought away.

“Mm, Q,” Alice whispered with a sigh between kisses.

Rip off the band-aid, Coldwater. Keep going and it’s just gonna hurt more in the long run . His thoughts were logical, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t turn the thoughts into actions. Or words.

Then, Quentin’s mind conjured up images. . . He recalled a lean and muscular torso, and hands everywhere, exploring and sparking magic with every touch, like a chemical reaction.  Visions of dark curls and soft, pouting lips. The unexpected smell of cinnamon and musk, mingled with the unmistakable scent of sex and lust in the air all around them. And hazel eyes.

Without really meaning to, his brain produced the name of the one he knew, deep down, that he was truly wanting: Eliot.

“What did you say?”

Q snapped to attention and sat up, realizing that Alice was no longer on top of him. Or kissing or touching him. Or anywhere near him, actually. She had scooted away and wore an unreadable expression.

“Um. What?” Quentin asked. He was certain his mouth was full of cotton balls.

Alice slowly moved over to sit on the edge of the coffee table. She grabbed her glasses and put them on, shaking hair out of her face. Now, her gaze was something Quentin was very familiar with: Haughty indifference. It was a look Alice had mastered and Q had been on the receiving end far too many times – mostly from Niffin-Alice.

Her voice was unnervingly cool and emotionless as she answered Quentin: “You said Eliot’s name.”

Well, shit , Q’s conscience chastised. Apparently, the name had gone a bit farther than his brain or even the tip of his tongue, and had actually been verbalized.

When Quentin didn’t respond, Alice’s indifference faded. In its place was a series of emotions: Hurt, anger, frustration, defensiveness, jealousy. She opened her mouth to speak a couple times, but stopped herself, clearly trying to avoid saying something she would later regret.

To Q’s surprise, her face had softened and she seemed to have settled on trying to appear understanding. Alice closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. “Are you in love with him?” she asked plainly.

He didn't even have to think before answering: “Yes.”

Alice opened her eyes and looked down. She nodded slowly, almost to herself. After a long moment of silence, she raised her eyes to meet Quentin’s again. Solemnly, she said, “I thought so.”

“Alice,” Quentin said softly, finally regaining the capacity for speech. “He’s my best friend. And then, he was more. It just kind of. . . happened.” His words were the truth, although Alice didn’t appear to believe them.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. Then, she cleared her throat and spoke again, louder and thoughtfully, “I think I always knew—maybe even before you did—that I was competing with him.”

Q sighed. “No, it’s—”

But Alice held up a hand, silencing the protest. “I also knew,” she added, her voice finally losing some resolve and shaking slightly, “that I was fighting a losing battle. But I had to at least try.”

Quentin didn’t know what to say. He mulled over the girl’s words, considering everything that had happened over the last four years – ever since he first stumbled onto the Brakebills campus. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered that day, walking up to the front steps where he realized for the first time that magic was real. Where he met Eliot for the first time.

“Holy shit,” Quentin mused aloud. Alice cocked her head to the side, looking confused. He laughed softly and professed, “I loved him the moment I saw him. Or at least I liked him enough to want to be near him, believing that I could love him.”

With a sweet sadness, Alice smiled. “So, I guess we’re exes again.”

“I’m sorry, Alice. Truly, I am,” Quentin implored, putting his hand on her knee.

“I know,” Alice said, putting her own hand on top of his.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“And I only ever wanted you to be happy,” Alice admitted. With an inquisitive look, she asked, “Are you? Happy, I mean? Or, at least, do you think you could be? With him?” The words tumbled out awkwardly and Quentin appreciated not being the only one who was flummoxed.

“I already was once,” Q confessed. “Yes, I think I could be again,” he added, answering her question directly.

“Okay, then,” Alice told him, nodding her head firmly and standing up. As she straightened out her skirt, she said, “I’ll take care of things at the Library. You take care of Eliot.”

Quentin stood up, too. Alice put a hand on Q’s shoulder. “Take care of you, too, though.” With a nod, Quentin pulled the girl into a hug.

“You really have changed,” he told her, keeping his voice light so she would know it was a good thing.

She only smiled as she pulled away. Then, she playfully punched him in the shoulder and said, “Well, go get ‘em, Tiger.”

“Uh, okay?” Quentin laughed and walked toward the stairs. He took them two at a time, stopping at Eliot’s door. Just as he raised his hand to knock, he heard voices from within and immediately recognizing them as Eliot, of course, and Julia. At some point, Julia and Penny must have returned from Brakebills.

Not wanting to interrupt whatever conversation Julia and Eliot were having, Quentin decided he should probably take a much-needed shower. And brush his teeth. And probably put on fresh clothes. So, he headed down the hall to his own room to do just those things, mentally practicing just how he would confess his feelings to Eliot. For the second time, since first doing it in the throne room in Fillory, but hopefully with a different, happier outcome this time.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

  Meanwhile, elsewhere in the apartment. . .

Julia and Penny magically appeared in the hallway on the upper level of the New York apartment. In their arms, they held several books that had been recommended by curious Brakebills students and faculty members – although no one really had any actual answers about restoring magic to a non-magic girl, any more than they knew how to restore god-hood to a formerly god-touched human.

“Do you think anybody else is around?” Julia asked. As soon as the words left her mouth, she heard voices from downstairs. She peered over the railing and saw Alice and Quentin standing near the couch.

Penny joined Julia at the railing just in time to see the pair topple over onto the couch, with Alice planting a passionate kiss on Quentin’s lips. With a smug grin, Penny leaned back and said, “Looks like you and Kady both owe me some money.”

Julia rolled her eyes dismissively. “The bet is about the war, not the battle.”

A door creaked open from down the hall and Eliot poked his head out. “Julia!” he exclaimed in a loud whisper. Then he crooked his finger in the air and bent it, urging her to come over.

“Start reading these,” Julia said, handing her pile of books to Penny. “I’ll join you later.”

She left before Penny could protest, approaching Eliot’s door. “Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

Instead of responding, Eliot grabbed her arm and dragged her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

Once inside, Julia noticed that the room was in complete disarray: the bed was covered with various medical supplies; the nightstand next to the bed had a couple bottles of pills on it; a lamp lay on the floor, shattered to pieces. And to top if all off, the beige carpet was speckled with blood from the bed to the attached bathroom. The sheets on the bed also had a fair amount of blood on them – as did Eliot’s polo, which was white except for a large blood-soaked spot on his side.

Julia’s jaw dropped. She gazed at her friend, who looked somewhat bewildered and wild-eyed. “What the actual fuck, Eliot?” Julia asked, still shocked.

Without answering, Eliot dropped down to sit on the side of the bed. He frowned and gestured toward his stomach. “Pretty sure the stitches tore and this thing bled like a motherfucker.”

“No shit,” Julia agreed. “We should get you to Lipson.”

“No.” Eliot’s tone was resolute.

Julia looked at him with curious concern. “Oh-kay. Well, then, at least to the infirmary at Brakebills for, like, a nurse?”

Eliot raised an eyebrow, implying that his previous answer still stood.

“A regular hospital?” Julia tried one more time, but she didn’t put much hope in her voice.

“Oh, so we can explain how and why this wound happened? Maybe introduce them to the twin Sorrows?” Eliot’s voice oozed sarcasm.

Julia threw her arms up and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Eliot. “So, what? You’re just gonna bleed out?”

The side-eye she got from Eliot made her regret her words. “Uh-oh,” Julia groaned. “What are you planning?”

Wordlessly, Eliot reached into the drawer of the bedside table. When he pulled his hand back out, he produced a needle and thread.

Julia’s eyes widened and she looked at El in horror before springing to her feet. “You’ve lost your damn mind!”

Eliot held the items in one hand and reached for Julia with the other. She pulled away.

“No, no, no. You know, you’re so much like Q, it’s ridiculous. I’m not going to enable you to self-destruct!”

“I’m not trying to,” he replied, getting angry in return. “Please, Jules, I need your help.”

Julia’s face softened and she sat back down on the bed, looking Eliot straight in the face. “Then let me take you to someone who can actually help.”

“You still can’t do magic, right?” Eliot asked in a quiet but serious tone. Julia shook her head in the negative. “Then you’re the only one who can help me right now.”

The girl furrowed her brows. “What do you mean?”

Eliot sighed. “I have to show you.” Then, without waiting for a response, he cautiously pulled his shirt over his head.

Julia’s eyes drifted to the bandaged wound, which was completely red and blood-soaked. Eliot peeled the bandage off with ease, since it was already sliding off from where the wet blood had seeped out the edges. Julia wasn’t surprised to see the angry incision, with irritated and puffy flesh around it, indicating that it might be infected. She also expected to see that some of the stitches were, indeed, torn, leaving the incision open wider in parts, speckled with dried blood.

What did surprise her, though, was the golden amber glow radiating from the area around the wound. She leaned forward slightly, squinting her eyes to study the wound.

To emphasize the oddness, Eliot made a swift maneuver with one hand, making the tips of his fingers spark with bright blue flames of magic. He tapped a finger to his injury and the golden glow reacted, violently. A wave of gold rippled across Eliot’s stomach and a surge shot out to strike his whole hand.

“Ow!” Eliot hissed, pulling his hand back and shaking it, as if it had just been burned.

“El, is that. . .” Julia let her words fall off, not quite sure how to say what she was thinking.

“Yeah,” Eliot answered the incomplete question. “I always knew my body was desirable, but I didn’t realize I was so attractive to parasites, too.” He buried his face in his hands and shook his head, mentally fatigued.

“So, you have some foreign magic source inside you,” Julia stated, although it sounded more like a question because she was so unsure. “Did it enter through the wound? Or was it caused by the wound?”

Eliot shrugged. “Chicken or egg. What difference does it make? I’ve got some other magic in me, and it’s alive, and it is not happy.”

Julia reached her hand out but stopped, leaving her hand in mid-air. She looked to Eliot and he nodded, granting permission. Julia first pressed a finger, gently, on the skin just below the wound. It was hot and felt like it could blister, confirming her suspicions about an infection. Whether that was natural or magical, she didn’t know.

After a few seconds, she put a couple more fingers on Eliot’s abdomen, finally resting her palm across the entire incision area. The amber glow appeared again, brighter this time, and Julia gasped as it seemed to pass from Eliot’s skin to her own, coursing up her arm and radiating through her whole body.

The magic had a magnetic pull to it, so Julia left her hand in place. Eliot didn’t seem to mind. The girl looked into his green-brown eyes. “I can feel it, El.”

“Yeah, me too. I feel like I’m on fire, or like I’m being ripped apart. What does it feel like to you?”

Another surge of magic reeled through Julia and she let out a sharp breath. Finally, she pulled her hand away, wiggling her fingers which were still tingling and warm. She smiled. “It feels. . .” she stopped and let out a soft laugh. “It feels like me.”

Now, Eliot looked confused.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Eliot,” Julia’s eyes darted around the room, searching, as if the words would materialize somewhere for her.

“Just say it,” Eliot said, impatiently.

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re. . .” her eyes finally settled back on Eliot. “God-touched.”

There was a pause. Then, Eliot laughed. It was a harsh, dry laugh, and he immediately had to hunch over in pain, causing a bit of blood to seep out of the still-torn stitching. When Julia didn’t laugh in response, Eliot’s face turned somber. “No.” He shook his head wildly. “No, no, no. Nope. Not happening. Not possible.”

“Of course it’s possible, El,” Julia interjected.

“No, it’s really not,” Eliot told her insistently. “I have no desire to be a god. Besides, I’m a Hedonist, among other things – none of which would make for much of a deity.”

Julia stared at her friend with profound sadness. She hated that he didn’t feel worthy of such power, but knew it’d be pointless to argue with him. Besides, she couldn’t deny the fact: His body was rejecting the seed of power – if she was right in her assumption.

“Julia,” Eliot said, his voice almost a whisper. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned so he was leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “Is it,” he started, with his eyes still closed, “from him?”

The question registered immediately. She blew out a puff of air, knowing that the truth was necessary. “Probably,” she admitted. The look of disgust on Eliot’s face was undeniable. Julia reached out and put a hand on the man’s cheek. “The seed from which I drew my power? It came from Reynard. Every second that I had that power in me, every time I could feel it stirring and I even thought about using it, I wanted to rip my skin off to get it out.”

Eliot opened his mouth to speak, but Julia placed a finger to his lips, shushing him. “I’m not done,” she told him. “When I finally met Our Lady Underground, she told me that the power belongs to the person who is capable of carrying it, the one who can mold it into something more.” With a shrug, Julia stated as plainly as possible, “Once it was in me, it wasn’t Reynard’s anymore.”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” Eliot said, sincerely. “But you’re forgetting one key difference: You were intended to take Reynard’s power and make it your own. You accepted it, and it accepted you.” He gestured toward his wound. “Whatever the hell this is? It’s living magic that doesn’t want me. And it really doesn’t play well with my own magic.”

Julia was trying to think of a response when Eliot’s arm suddenly shot out, grasping her tightly by the shoulder. “You held god-power before. It was meant for you. And you don’t have magic for it to compete with. . .”

“Are you suggesting that you somehow give this power to me?” Julia asked, somewhat incredulously.

“Obviously!” Eliot exclaimed excitedly. Then, he got serious again. “Barring that, I don’t know what to do. And if I don’t do something, I think this might actually kill me.”

Julia chewed the inside of her lip, thinking. She tried to approach the situation academically, like an equation to solve. If they accepted the premise that magic was a living organism and that the Monster really had somehow left something behind, it was possible for that magic to be warring with the magic that already existed within the magician. And as skilled and strong as Eliot may be – which, Julia had always suspected, was far more than he ever let on or anyone ever gave him credit for – the god-borne power of the Monster was stronger. Containing that kind of magic required someone of a certain. . . caliber.

Someone truly god-touched, and chosen.

Someone like Julia.

“We need to get that magic out of you, absolutely. And if it can be transferred to me, that’s just a bonus, deal?” Julia felt like she was making some kind of counter-offer in a bargain whose stakes she didn’t fully know. And she didn’t like not knowing.

“Thank you,” Eliot said with a sigh.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Julia muttered. “My guess is that our only chance of success, or even possibly finding someone who has an inkling of an idea about what to do, lies in Fillory.”

With that, Eliot groaned, slamming his head back and hitting it against the headboard. “That means using magic – which makes this. . . thing. . . angry.”

An idea struck Julia. “Earlier, with Penny? You didn’t do that, did you?”

“No,” Eliot replied softly. "This magic doesn't like me, but it seems to really hate Penny."

“You know what else we have to do, if we go to Fillory?”

“Yup,” Eliot answered. “It means telling Quentin, and involving Margo. Neither of which will go well.”

Eliot and Julia sighed in unison.  “I need to talk to Quentin anyway,” El stated, leaving a heaviness in the air. Nothing else needed to be said on that subject. Had it not been for the solemnity of the situation, Julia might have gotten excited and rushed Eliot out of the room to find her best friend.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first. Then, you can talk to Quentin about whatever you need to. And then, we’ll deal with this.” She reached out and squeezed his hand. “Together.”

Julia held out her hand. “Give me the needle and thread,” she requested. Eliot offered a painful smile and handed her the thread. He let a spark ignite at his fingertip and pressed it to the tip of the needle, sterilizing it, before handing it off.

“I never took Home Ec so this won’t be pretty,” Julia told him as she leaned in closer, poised to stick the needle into the damaged skin. “And it’s probably gonna hurt.”

Chapter Text

After his shower, Quentin brushed his teeth and threw on some clean clothes – a plain pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue Henley. He finger-combed his still-wet hair, trying to get it to behave. After several minutes, he gave up and decided to call it good enough.

As he headed downstairs, soft voices carried to his ears. Bounding off the final step, Quentin saw Kady, Julia, and Penny huddled around the kitchen island. They were talking to each other in hushed tones.

Julia glanced up and saw Quentin. She made an odd squeaking sound toward Kady and Penny, waving her hand.

“What’s up, guys?” Quentin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Julia replied, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, cause that’s not suspicious at all,” he told all three of them with sarcasm.

“Q.” The voice came from the other side of the room. Quentin turned his head in the direction of the sound, where Eliot was standing near the floor-length window. He was once again in jeans, this time a faded pair with twin holes in the knees and a small hole on one thigh. He was wearing a plaid button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up part of the way. It was a look that was very becoming and made Quentin’s breath hitch in his throat.

“Hey, El,” Quentin finally said softly.

Eliot offered a small smile. “Can we talk?” Then, he opened the sliding door leading to the balcony. He waved a hand dramatically through the doorway, encouraging Quentin to step outside. Q obliged, crossing the room and stepping out into the cool evening air. He stood against the balcony railing as Eliot slid the door closed and stepped up to stand beside him, a few feet away.

A moment of silence passed between them as they both leaned on the railing, looking straight ahead at the setting sun. “So. . .” Quentin began quietly, breaking the semi-awkward silence.

The uncomfortable feeling got the best of Quentin and he spouted out the first thing that came to his mind. “Alice came by. She’s the new Librarian. As in, like, replacing Everett.”

El cocked his head to the side with a mixture of shock and confusion. After a few seconds, a loaded “Interesting,” is all he finally managed to say.

“Yupppp,” Quentin replied, smacking his lips at the end of the word, hitting the ‘p’ sound hard and drawing it out. “She accepted the offer. Because apparently, she thinks she can change the Library from the inside,” Q continued. Seemingly unable to stop himself, he rambled on, “She seems like she’s actually. . . happy, about it. I guess she figures that if people can give her a chance at redemption, she can spare the same for the Library.”

Eliot was still staring at Quentin with curiosity. He clicked his tongue and said, “More power to her,” before turning to look out at the horizon again.

Then, somewhat reservedly, Q said, “We’re not a thing anymore.” He pivoted to the side, so he was facing Eliot. “Me and Alice, I mean. We’re basically—well, not basically, actually. We’re totally done.”

Eliot didn’t look at him. He just stared straight ahead, nodding slowly as if processing the information. He held onto the railing and leaned his body back from the barrier in a thoughtful stretch.

“So, that’s that. We’re better as just friends—or whatever we are—anyway.” Quentin added. “Me and Alice, that is,” he clarified quickly.

“Okay,” Eliot replied. He was still nodding, making it seem more like a nervous tic now.

Leaning an elbow on the railing and still standing sideways to face his best friend, Quentin sucked in a sharp breath. “You were wrong, you know,” he stated, focusing every effort on keeping his voice steady.

Eliot peeked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Me? Never,” he quipped playfully.

Q let out a short, soft laugh. Then, serious again, he said, “You were, though. Before. About us.”

The words hung in the air between them. Eliot closed his eyes and sighed. “Quentin,” he began. But Quentin had already prepared himself for protestation and was determined to push onward, desperately needing to say all that he thought and felt.

“You said that it wasn’t a choice,” Quentin reminded Eliot. “But that’s not true. We could have given up on the quest. One of us could've left. We could've fought and not made up, or stopped talking to each other, or. . . or any number of things. It was always a choice, Eliot. And I chose you, or you chose me. . .” his voice faltered slightly. Shaking his head to restore his resolve, he continued, “We chose each other. Every day. For fifty years.” He paused after each phrase, emphasizing the immense weight of their meaning.

“And you were also wrong,” Quentin added, “when you said that we wouldn’t choose each other if we had other options.”

Finally, Eliot turned sideways, matching Q’s stance of leaning an arm against the railing and facing each other head-on. Eliot’s eyes were rapidly searching Quentin’s face, looking for some kind of tell. But Q’s poker-face was perfect – not that he needed it, because everything he was saying was true.

Looking up at the taller man, Quentin sighed. He slowly slid his arm forward across the railing, touching his fingertips to Eliot’s. “Because when it comes down to it?” He nudged his arm forward again, resting his palm on the back of Eliot’s hand. El’s eyes darted down to the physical connection for the briefest of moments, before returning to Q’s face.

Taking a step closer, Q finished his thought: “I don’t want options. I just want you.”

Then, with every bit of courage he could muster, Quentin raised up on the balls of his feet, pressing a kiss to Eliot’s lips. The kiss was soft and sweet. . . but very deliberate. When Q pulled his face away slightly, planting his feet firmly on the ground again, he looked into Eliot’s eyes, scanning for any hint of misunderstanding or doubt or rejection.

“Q,” Eliot whispered, his breath warm and minty in Quentin’s face.

“Don’t,” Quentin whispered back, kindly but with surprising authority. He grabbed Eliot by the shirt collar and, making up the for height difference, tugged to make him lean down. Their lips crashed together again, this time more forcefully. Quentin held onto his fistful of Eliot’s shirt. Suddenly, Eliot’s hands were on Quentin’s waist and he pulled him closer, closing the small amount of distance that had been left between them.

Smiling through the kiss, Quentin ran his tongue along Eliot’s lips, begging permission. El consented, parting his lips slightly to allow Quentin’s tongue to slide into his mouth. The kiss deepened, and they both maintained their tight grip on each other – Quentin on Eliot’s shirt, and Eliot on Q’s hips.

When they finally separated, coming up for air, they kept their foreheads and noses pressed together. Eyes still closed, they stood motionless, just breathing together.

After a minute, Quentin let out a deep breath. “I’m choosing you, El,” Quentin told him. “And I will continue to choose you. To have fucking peaches and plums with you. Every day, for the next fifty or seventy or 100 years. If you’ll let me.”

Eliot opened his eyes and saw that Quentin’s were open, too, staring at him with a look of pure honesty. And burning desire. Finally, Q released his death-grip on Eliot’s shirt, sliding his hands up to wrap around his neck instead.

Faces still pressed together, Eliot gulped hard. “Q,” he said again, this time with a bit more strength, hoping to keep Quentin from stopping him. “I know that you mean everything you say. And that you genuinely believe everything you think about me.” He paused, feeling a swell of emotion bubble up in his throat. “But I cannot for the life of me figure out why.” He pulled back to get a better look at Quentin.

“You’re not supposed to ask why,” Quentin replied, reaching up for a quick kiss, which Eliot allowed.

“I’m not the person you think I am,” Eliot insisted. “I’m broken and damaged. I’m insecure and selfish. I can be shallow and a real asshole most of the time.”

“I know,” Quentin told him. At first, Eliot was going to chastise him for being so cheeky, but then he realized there was no hint of joking in Q’s eyes. “I love you anyway,” Quentin told him with a shrug, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Eliot sniffled, forcing himself not to let emotions overtake him. “And I have no fucking idea why you do.” Quentin opened his mouth to respond, but Eliot silenced him with a hasty kiss. “But I made a promise to myself when I was trapped – ya know, in here,” he raised one hand to tap a finger to his own temple.

“I promised to be braver,” Eliot stated plainly. “And I think the bravest thing I can do right now,” he paused to let out a heavy sigh, “is to let you love me. And to spend every day of the next fifty or seventy or 100 years becoming the person you deserve.”

Quentin pulled back, looking genuinely surprised. He planted his hands firmly on Eliot’s shoulders, more to steady himself than anything. “So, wait.” Q shook his head, almost in disbelief. “You’re saying. . .”

Eliot laughed and wrapped his arms around Quentin, fingers laced together at the small of his back. With a gentle tug, Quentin stumbled even closer to him, so their chests and hips were touching, with no distance between the two. “I’m saying,” he whispered, craning his neck down to nuzzle his nose against Quentin’s. “That I am head-over-heels, undeniably, disgustingly in love with you, Quentin Coldwater.”

With a smile, Quentin tilted his head back and planted another kiss on Eliot’s lips. “'Disgustingly?'” he asked, mouth still pressed to Eliot’s.

“Mm,” Eliot hummed as Quentin rested his head in the crook of El’s neck. “Like, sickeningly sweet. People will be grossed out at what a damn cute couple we are.”

Quentin’s breath tickled El’s neck as he spoke, “A couple, huh?”

Eliot snorted contemptuously. “And I thought I was insecure.”

Pulling away with a laugh, Quentin looked up at Eliot. “Now what?” he asked, shrugging. The two separated and stood facing each other. “I mean, I only planned out my confession of undying love. Never really thought about what would happen after that. Except making sure I didn’t faint.”

A devious glint flashed in Eliot’s green-and-brown marbled eyes and he gave Quentin a devilish grin. “On any ordinary day,” he began, still sounding rather mischievous. “I would throw you over my shoulder, carry you up to my room, slam you down on the bed, and fuck you six ways to Sunday.”

Quentin swallowed hard and let out a shaky breath. “Heh. Re-really? Um. Uh. . .”

The grin faded and Eliot’s eyes turned more somber. “But this is not any ordinary day.”

“So. . . passionate lovemaking isn’t gonna happen?” Quentin asked, frowning but still sounding somewhat hopeful.

“Not today, babe.” Eliot sighed, genuine disappointment in his voice. “Because there’s something else I need to talk to you about. Of the magical Monster, life-or-death variety.”

“Shit.” Quentin kicked the ground and let out a frustrated puff of air. “All right. What is it?”

“You better sit down,” he said, pointing to the small patio set on the balcony. Q took a seat and Eliot settled in the chair across from him, taking a deep breath before launching into his speech. . .

About ten minutes later, Eliot had finished a long-winded explanation of everything that had transpired since waking in the hospital – from the general feeling of uneasiness to the weird, uncontrolled magical events that seemed to take place all around him, culminating to the roaring fire that was currently burning in his abdomen where some alien source of magic had settled and was threatening to tear him apart from the inside out as it fought for control that Eliot was not willing, or able, to relinquish. He also recounted his conversation with Julia, including her theories. He waited in silence for a few minutes, watching as Quentin stared at his shoes in utter silence and stillness, processing everything.

Finally, Q looked up and gave a single, curt nod, as if accepting the information. “If Julia thinks it feels like magic that’s been god-powered, she probably knows what she’s talking about,” he decided. Then, looking across at the general location of Eliot’s wound, he said, “Can I, ya know, see it?”

Eliot crinkled his nose. “Maybe later,” he answered apologetically. “Julia re-stitched it and put a new bandage on. And it’s been pretty. . . quiet since then. Not using any magic seems to help, too.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“Gotcha,” Q replied. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “A Fillorian Healer might be able to help. But I’m thinking this would be a bit extra, even for them.”

“Fantastic,” Eliot mumbled with extreme sarcasm.

“Some other magical beings, though? Or someone less traditional? They might know something.”

Eliot waited for Q to continue. When he didn’t, El patted his hand against the table impatiently. “C’mon, spit it out. Who? Or what?”

“Centaurs?” Q replied, sounding unsure. “Or a witch, maybe?”

Suddenly, the sliding door opened and Julia stepped out onto the patio. “I’ve got an idea,” she announced. Then, her eyes widened and she put a hand to her chest dramatically. “You guys have made it to the part where we try to resolve the latest in a long line of magical complications, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Jules,” Quentin assured her, standing up from the chair. Eliot stood, too, and they both approached the girl. “What’s your idea?”

Julia clapped her hands together in front of her and smiled widely as she told them, “Maenads!” Then she spun on her heel and marched back inside, beckoning them to follow.

Inside, Penny and Kady were sitting on opposite ends of the couch, waiting for them. Obviously, Julia—and maybe even Eliot, while Quentin was still upstairs—had filled them in on the magical dilemma at hand.

“I’m sorry, what kind of 'nads?” Eliot asked, utterly confused.

“Maenads,” Julia said again, enunciating the word.

Penny exhaled deeply and folded his arms across his chest. “They’re, like, roadies for the gods.”

A flash of remembrance sparked in Quentin’s mind. “You mean, like Shoshana?”

Julia’s eyes softened and she gave a solemn nod. Then, quickly recovering as best she could, she continued, “When we found Shoshana, there were tons of other maenads. I would bet they probably have their own culture, where we could find more of them. And they know everything there is to know about gods and their power.”

Kady nodded thoughtfully from the other side of the couch. “Shoshana thought she could help you understand and maybe recover your powers, right, Julia?” Without waiting for a response, she continued, “So, any other maenad should be able to tell us what the hell is going on, and offer some kind of fix for it, right?”

“It took a lot of convincing to get Shoshana to help us though, remember?” Penny chided.

Julia bit her lip. “But, maybe that was because Bacchus had just died. A maenad who didn’t just lose their deity might be more. . .” she searched for the word, finally settling on, “forthcoming?”

“Wait.” Eliot put a hand in the air. Everyone looked at him expectantly. “Bacchus is dead? Like, dead-dead?”

Penny rolled his eyes, rising up from the couch. “Uh, yeah, the Monster tore a hole through him. Just like he did to three other gods,” the Traveler explained bluntly. “Seriously, you don’t remember anything from when the Monster was wearing you like a Halloween costume?”

“I was locked in the Mind Palace, far away from any awareness of current events,” Eliot stated, matter-of-factly. Then, putting his hands on his hips with an air of disdain, he added, “The lights were on but nobody was even in the damned neighborhood.”

Quentin placed a reassuring hand on Eliot’s shoulder. “It’s probably best that you don’t remember. The Monster was a big fan of gore and shock-factor.”

“Hey, um, isn’t the clock sort of ticking, here?” Penny interjected, tapping his wrist, where a watch would be, for emphasis.

“Right,” Julia agreed with a firm nod. “We need to get to Fillory, ASAP.” Then, almost as an afterthought, she said, “And we need Josh.”

“Okay,” Eliot said with an exasperated sigh. “Let’s get going.”

“About that,” Kady started, standing up. “With all that’s going on with the hedges and everything, I think it might be best if I stay behind.”

Quentin stepped forward and patted Kady’s arm comfortingly. “Do what you need to do. Maybe you can manage a kind of home-base for us here?”

Kady gave a confident smile. “You got it. I’ll hold the fort down, and we can always communicate by bunny if something comes up.” Suddenly, her eyes brightened. “Ya know, Alice seemed pretty desperate to prove that the Library actually gives a shit now. Maybe I can convince her to do some leg-work for us, to share whatever intel the Library’s been hoarding.”

“Sounds good,” Q told her.

Penny grabbed Julia’s hand and then looked expectantly at the others. “All aboard. Next stop: Fillory.”

Quentin took Julia’s hand, then held his other hand out for Eliot to take. With a groan, Eliot glanced down toward his abdomen. “I have a feeling Traveling is going to be very painful.” Then, somewhat begrudgingly, he accepted Quentin’s hand. In the next instant, they were gone, leaving Kady standing alone in the living room.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

Margo firmly grasped the bars of the cell and shook, rattling them as hard as she could. “LET ME OUT OF THIS FUCKING CAGE, YOU FUCKERS!” She hollered over the clanging metal. After a few moments, she finally stopped and threw her arms down, letting out a sharp, rage-filled scream.

Josh stood silently behind her in the cell, eyes wide. “Margo, maybe we shouldn’t antagonize them further?” he suggested, as gently as he could.

The woman wheeled around to face her kind-of boyfriend. “Are you taking their side?” she asked, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“No, of course not!” Josh exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry. That was probably not the right wording,” Josh mumbled, backing up to a corner of the cell.

“Damn straight.” Margo put her hands on her hips and let out a long exhale. They heard footsteps and she spun around, her hair – which had all but fallen out from the loose bun she’d had it in – swished around her shoulders. “Tick,” she growled through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing into a threatening glare at the new arrival.

“Greetings,” Tick said pleasantly, ever the diplomat. “I sincerely apologize for these, mm, less than desirable accommodations.” He waved his hands, making a general gesture for the castle dungeon in which they found themselves. “But is there anything I can do for you, at this time?”

“Besides taking a long walk off a short pier?” Margo asked sarcastically. She folded her arms over her chest.

Tick frowned. “I am deeply sorry, Former High King.”

The new title only fueled Margo’s anger. She shook the bars again and then kicked one. Immediately regretting the action, she dropped to the floor, holding her foot. “Ugh! Shit, shit, stupid, dammit!”

Josh hurried forward, kneeling down and offering a hand to Margo. She waved him away and continued rubbing her foot. Josh stood and looked through the bars. “Tick, c’mon man. All we did was show up. Five minutes later, you’re having us thrown in the brig! Is all of this really necessary?”

There was a moment of hesitation, as if Tick was genuinely considering setting the pair free. But he quickly shook away the thought. “A thousand apologies, Master Josh. But the bylaws are undeniable: Everlasting Banishment must live up to its name and anyone who disobeys that is committing high treason.”

“Okay, then why can’t you just let us go? Turn us out on our asses – we’ll leave peacefully!” Josh pleaded, hoping he could appeal to some kind of loyalty or compassion within the man.

Tick sighed. “‘Just showing up,’ as you so quaintly put it, is offense enough. Her Former Majesty had to be detained. And,” Tick bridged his hands together in front of him, pointing them in Josh’s general direction. “You, Master Josh, are now treasonous by association.”

“Bullshit!” Margo shrieked. She had settled into a criss-cross seated position on the floor of the cell.

Offering a tight, exasperated smile, Tick stated, “Our Allies were clear, and quite insistent. Releasing Her Former Majesty would be interpreted as an act of war.”

“Where is Fen?” Margo hissed from the floor. “What, can’t she face me herself?”

“On the contrary, High King Fen is in the midst of diplomatic meetings, discussing this very matter.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Josh asked.

“Well,” Tick began sheepishly. “As I said, Fillory’s Allies are not at all pleased with Former High King Margo’s return, as it involves direct violation of her banishment. They feel that imprisonment is not the appropriate response to such. . .” he paused, glancing up as he searched for the right word. “Insubordination?” he finally said, although he still sounded unsure.

Margo stood up, favoring her foot somewhat, but seemingly recovered. “I saved this place – this Kingdom? The people? They are mine,” she proclaimed darkly, holding out hope that she could hide her pain with anger. It’s not like the anger was totally false, or unfounded, anyway.

“You all would be nothing—scratch that; you’d be less than nothing, because you would’ve been destroyed. Just, fizzled out until you were all so fucking extinct that it’d make dinosaurs seem like they’re only endangered—without me and my friends,” Margo reminded the emissary.

Josh held up a hand. “Hold it for a second, Margo. Tick, what exactly do the Ally forces feel is the ‘appropriate’ response?”

“Well, the banishment was meant to be everlasting,” Tick reiterated. The man swallowed hard before continuing. “It seems, I’m afraid, that they would like, well. . .” he halted, his mouth dry and seemingly incapable of forming the words.

Margo rolled her eyes and pointed a finger at Tick. “I know it’s typically impolite not to swallow, but don’t you dare keep this down. Spit it out,” she ordered.

Frowning, Tick complied with the demand: “They are calling for a formal execution.”

The two prisoners widened their eyes. Margo spoke up first. “I’m sorry. They want to do what, now?”

“An execution, ma’am,” Tick repeated, apparently failing to understand the concept of rhetorical questions. “In fact, there are many who would prefer the execution to be quite public.”

“Tick! You should have led with that, man!” Josh exclaimed. “We need to bust out of here,” he urged Margo, grabbing her by the shoulder.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do!” Margo told him, frustration evident. Josh looked at the locked cell door and began running through Poppers, muttering all the spells he could remember that might serve to unlock something.

“Save it.” Margo sighed, grasping Josh’s hands to stop him. “When I was King, I enchanted these to prevent anyone from escaping. This whole dungeon is basically magic-proofed.”

“A brilliant and long overdue idea,” Tick praised. Obviously, he was trying too hard.

“Except now it’s ended up fucking us over,” Margo stated, glaring in Tick’s general direction.

Tick opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. He looked up to the ceiling thoughtfully, as if waiting for an answer to appear. Then, he held up a finger, signaling the pair to wait a moment, before abruptly turning around and leaving.

Josh quizzically gazed at the spot Tick had been standing. “Um, okay?” He turned to Margo. “So, is he--"

Just as unexpectedly, Tick returned. Now with a huge smile on his face.

“What the hell are you so happy about, Napoleon?” Margo asked, eyeing the man suspiciously.

“It would appear as though some guests have arrived to the castle.”

“Whoop-de-shittin-doo,” Margo droned sarcastically.

“Visitors, Oh-Banished-One,” Tick told her in a sing-song voice. Then, with a wink—or, at least, an attempt at winking—he added, “Perhaps they will be able to raise your spirits.”

Josh and Margo exchanged confused glances. Then, they heard soft footsteps rapidly approaching the dungeon. Fen appeared, also wearing a huge smile.

“You!” Margo shouted, still enraged. “You little crown-stealing, backstabbing shit-stain.”

Fen’s smile disintegrated. “But, you—you told me to overthrow you! I didn’t steal the crown; you gave it to me.”

“Not for keeps, Fen!” Margo groaned. “I thought that was implied!”

Before the argument could continue, more footsteps made their way down the corridor. It sounded like multiple people.

“Please don’t be an angry mob, please don’t be an angry mob,” Josh chanted quietly.

Then, two pairs of representatives from Loria rounded the corner. The four heavily-armored men split like the Red Sea, revealing Prince Ess of Loria.

“Oh, what fresh hell is this?” Margo groaned, meandering toward the back of the cell.

Ess approached, wearing a profoundly smug grin. “Is that how you greet your savior?”

Margo scoffed based on principle, but curiosity got the best of her. So, she turned to glance over her shoulder at the prince of the neighboring territory.  

“Please tell me you’re here to stage a coup,” Josh begged.

It was Fen who answered. “I can neither release you nor allow you to stay in the castle.” Her voice was even and her words deliberate. “But if you escaped from your cells? Well, I have no control over that. And if you should further happen to make it out of the castle – well, that would actually be good news for me because then I’m no longer liable.”

With that, Fen gave Margo an apologetic but hopeful look, nodded to Ess, and whirled around, exiting the dungeon. Tick put his head down and hurriedly followed his High King away from the prisoners and their visitors.

Ess clicked his tongue and jerked his head in the air, gesturing toward the keys that were hanging on a hook on the wall. One of his guards raced forward and grabbed the keys, wasting no time in unlocking the cell.

“We have to hurry. Your King said we have but a few minutes while her guards change,” the prince explained as the cell door swung open with a loud screech of aged metal.

Josh and Margo didn’t wait to be asked twice, charging out of the confined space. “Now what?” Josh asked, expectantly.

“Now, we get out of here,” Ess told them, spinning on his heel to march down the corridor. The escaped prisoners followed him, with his entourage bringing up the rear as they all left the dungeon behind them.

Once back on the main floor of the castle, the group deftly maneuvered through the halls of the expansive structure. Margo gave Josh a questioning side-glance as Ess made an unexpected, sharp turn, leading them down a hallway that was relatively hidden. Margo found herself wondering if they had been duped and were, in fact, being led to the execution Tick had mentioned. If she could avoid that, she certainly would, but at the very least, she didn’t want it to be a total shock.

“Um, where exactly—”

Ess responded with a harsh, “Shhhhh!”

Margo leaned toward Josh and whispered, “Did he just shush me?”

Josh only nodded, but stared straight ahead and continued walking. Margo did the same, conceding to the hopefulness of her semi-boyfriend. They trailed behind Ess through a winding series of narrow, dark corridors. Finally, Ess came to a sudden halt. Margo crashed into the back of him, her nose smacking against the man’s strong shoulder. Beside her, Josh stuttered to a stop. Almost instinctively, he grabbed Margo’s elbow and steadied her after her collision.

“You make a better door than a window," Margo muttered, leaning around Ess so she could see what he was staring at so intently. Her heart sank when she saw that there was nothing but a brick wall. They had reached a dead-end. Either Ess had gotten them lost, or they were about to be murdered. “Oh, balls,” she said with a defeated sigh.

“For once in your life, can you please be quiet?” Ess asked, barely glancing over his shoulder. He then tapped his foot on the floor, impatiently. “Come on,” he mumbled.

Josh leaned closer to the prince to quietly ask,  “Are we waiting for something?”

“Someone, yes.”

The vagueness was infuriating. Margo hated being out of the loop of anything – which was especially true of instances that directly involved her. Just as she was about to rip Ess a new one, not caring how much noise she made, she heard a familiar whoosh. Uncontrollably, Margo let out a surprised but satisfied laugh at the sight of the new arrival.

“Penny!” Josh breathed out, allowing the blood to return to his face. Apparently unable to restrain himself, he raced forward and engulfed the Traveler in a ferocious hug. The force almost knocked Penny backwards, making him stumble slightly, before he reciprocated by wrapping a single arm around Josh and patting his friend’s back.

“What are you doing here?” Margo asked, genuinely surprised.

“Uh, rescuing you?” Penny said in that typical Penny way as he disentangled himself from Josh.

Margo grabbed Ess by the shoulder, tugging on him so he had to face her. “You were in on this?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” Ess answered, donning a smile that showed how proud he was of himself.

“Wait. Won’t this cause some epic civil war or something?”

Ess shrugged. Margo waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t.  

Penny sighed. “Okay, wanna stop looking the gift horse in the mouth and get the hell out of here?”

“Yes, please!” “Hell yes!” Josh and Margo exclaimed in unison, nodding fervently.

Margo stepped forward so that she and Josh were on either side of Penny. “Are the others with you?”

The expression on Penny’s face made Margo’s stomach lurch. “Most everybody,” Penny answered. But there was obviously something else lingering there.

Josh must have picked up on the change in Penny’s demeanor, too, because he asked, “Uh-oh. What new problem do we have to deal with?”

Penny scrunched up his nose. “You’ll see,” is all he replied.

Margo looked at Ess, nodding purposefully in his direction as a means of thanking him. He got the gist because he nodded back and even offered a small wave. Then, he turned away, heading back down the hall with his guards, determined to face whatever consequences might be waiting for him with members of the other lands. Margo made a secret promise to herself to right things with the prince whenever she finally managed to fix her banishment predicament.

Then, Penny placed a hand on each friend’s shoulder before blipping out of the castle.

Chapter Text

Penny released his hold on Margo and Josh once they had reached their destination: A clearing in the woods just beyond the castle’s borders. He could see the disappointment flash across Margo’s face when she scanned the clearing and realized their other friends were not there. The girl-who-once-was-and-would-hopefully-again-be-King covered the vulnerability as quickly as it came.

“Sooooo. .  .” Margo droned, turning to Penny expectantly.

“They’re all here,” Penny assured her. “A little farther into the woods, though. Just to be safe.”

“Excellent, let’s roll,” Margo chirped. She started forward, Josh quick to join her side.

Gently, but with purpose, Penny grabbed her arm to stop her and, subsequently, Josh. It was like the dude was tied to her waist. Penny hoped that wasn’t what he looked like, pining after Julia.

“Um, are we gonna get a move-on or what?” Margo asked, obviously becoming irritated with the fact that they were just standing there. She felt too exposed out in the open air, and also knew that she would feel better once she saw her friends.

Josh glanced from Margo to Penny and back again. He tried to conceal a little shudder of discomfort that rippled through him, unable to shake the feeling that something had gone awry. Par for the course, he thought. Then he wondered when he became such a cynic.

“Couple things you need to know, first.” Penny sighed. He wanted the pair, especially Margo, to be prepared for the group’s latest predicament before walking into it. But he decided to start with the easiest information. “Kady stayed behind in New York, helping out with the Hedges. But if we need her—or them—for anything, she’s only a bunny away. And we’ve all sorta come to this unspoken and weirdly uncomfortable decision that the Library might not be all bad.”

“What?” Josh interrupted, genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, we’re, uh,” Penny thought about the right words and finally settled on the ones Quentin had offered, while they had trekked through the woods. Using air quotes and trying his best to mimic Quentin, Penny said, “‘we’re giving the Library a fair shake. Everyone deserves a second chance.’” Then, in his own voice, Penny added, “Alice is in charge of the Library now.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Of course she is. And of course Q would want to trust them.” Looking at Penny pointedly, she said, “Nice impression of Q, bee-tee-dubs. You really nailed his whole desperate hopefulness vibe.”

A silence fell over the trio. Surprisingly, Josh was the one to break it. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Penny sighed and nodded somewhat solemnly.

“With Eliot,” Josh said. Penny nodded again, although he knew Josh wasn’t asking.

“He needs you,” the Traveler stated.

Margo inhaled sharply. “What can I do?”

Penny shook his head. “Actually, I was talking to Josh.”

“Me?” Josh asked, surprise evident but not fully masking a light happiness.

“Then why are we standing here holding our dicks?” Margo huffed. “Lead on.”

Feeling like he had done his duty of raising awareness, Penny spun around and started into the tree-line.

~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~!MAGIC!~

The trio found the other half of their group waiting about half a mile into the forest, in a thicket of trees just before reaching a road. Julia was sitting at the front of a buckboard, holding the reigns of a pair of horses. Quentin and Eliot sat in the back of the wagon. At first, Margo’s face lit up at the sight of her friends. But Josh saw the smile fade as quickly as it came, and felt the same happen to himself, as they saw that Eliot was hunched over and leaning against Quentin.

Margo ran over and pulled herself up into the wagon. She dropped to her knees in front of Eliot and grabbed his face gently. Josh followed, clambering into the wagon to investigate as well.

“El,” Margo whispered, inspecting her best friend. Eliot was huddled up against Q and shivering – seemingly from pain more than being cold. Beads of sweat pooled on El’s forehead, indicating that he likely had a fever. “What the shit happened?” she asked, louder and looking somewhat accusingly at Quentin.

Julia turned around and leaned back to join the conversation. Josh couldn’t help but feel like they were in some weird open-air pickup truck. “Remember how The Binder said the Monsters had god-powers?” Julia offered. Without waiting for a response, she continued, “Apparently, that aspect is stronger than we thought. Eliot is god-touched.”

 Margo stood up, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at the brunette in the front of the wagon. “And what does that have to do with him looking like he just stumbled out of a quarantine zone for some unknown flu-virus?”

“My body,” Eliot said softly, laboriously lifting his head from Quentin’s shoulder. “It’s rejecting the god-power.” He let out a dark chuckle, which turned into a wheezy cough.

Quentin rubbed Eliot’s back and squeezed him tighter against him. “Don’t talk,” Q told him with a gentle shush. “Traveling here really took a toll on him. We’re wasting time talking,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically harsh, likely from worry. “Josh,” Quentin said, as he looked up to make eye contact. “Exactly how much do you know about Maenads?”

Josh was slightly taken aback by the question. “Maenads?” He repeated. Q nodded and stared at him intently. “Um, well, they’re basically like a god’s entourage. Bacchus had quite a few.”

“Yeah, we know that,” Penny grumbled as he pulled himself up onto the bench to sit next to Julia. “What we don’t know is, where would they be?”

“Well,” Josh started, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “In theory, you’d find them wherever a god is. Or else out on an errand, doing a god’s bidding.”

Julia and Quentin both nodded slowly, mulling over Josh’s words. Then, Penny spoke up again. “Where do they go in their free time? I mean, if we want to talk to them, ask them for help – where would we start looking?”

Josh, in a knee-jerk reaction, laughed. Margo looked over her shoulder with a death-glare. “What the hell is so funny, Chuckles?”

“Sorry,” Josh said, forcing himself back to serious mode. “It’s just, well, you don’t just go talk to Maenads. And you certainly don’t ask them for help with anything.”

“Why?” Julia asked, innocently curious.

Josh sighed and sat down on the edge of the wagon. “Um, well. How do I put this? Maenads,” he closed his eyes, thinking of the proper words. “Their sole purpose in life—literally, their only reason for being—is to serve their deity. They don’t have free time. Just stumbling across one, or even finding one when you’re looking for them, would be pretty rare.” Then, Josh added, “And even if you do meet one, the only way they would help you is if the god they serve allowed, or requested, it.”

“Dammit!” Julia stomped her foot against the base of the buckboard. The reigns in her hands slapped with her movement and the horses reared forward, making the wagon lurch. “Whoa,” Jules said in a softer voice, tightening the reigns. The horses settled and the wagon stopped.

Eliot was wincing and clutching his side. Margo crouched down, resting on one knee, and reached toward Eliot’s abdomen. He pulled back and pushed her hand away defensively. “El, can’t I see what we’re dealing with here?”

With a groan, Eliot turned to look at her as best her could. “I can’t let go. Pressure helps – it’s the only thing that sort of fucking helps.”

Margo nodded solemnly. “Okay. Okay, El,” she cooed, patting his knee instead. She leaned back to sit on her heels. “So,” she said, looking toward their other three friends. “Am I to assume, based on Josh’s lesson on Maenads, that your plan was just shot to shit?”

Hesitantly, Julia nodded toward Margo. Then, she looked to Josh again. “You were friends with Bacchus. So you’ve spent the most time with gods. Who else could we go to for help with god-magic?”

Josh leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees. He stared straight ahead, across the wagon at the forest, racking his brain. He tried to recall something, anything, he’d learned from Bacchus or Shoshana or any of the others he’d spent time with. But nothing really came to mind – whether that was because there was nothing to remember or because his memories were too clouded from booze and marijuana, it was impossible to tell.

Finally, Josh shook his head, almost in defeat. “I don’t know,” he told the group. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know.”

“Par for the course,” Eliot muttered, his voice muffled by Quentin’s shoulder.

“Wait,” Josh said suddenly. “There’s a village – not far from here. Shoshana mentioned it once. She had to go there to get. . .” Josh searched his memory, but couldn’t come up with anything. He shook his head. “. . . something, I forget what. Anyway! She needed some kind of medicine or elixir or whatever. She said she needed to go to this certain village that specializes in Healing magic and are supposed to be the best. I took her there.”

“Do you know where this village is?” Margo asked.

“Yeah, I should be able to find it.”

“‘Should’ be?” Penny snarked with a raised eyebrow.

“Most likely? Probably definitely?” Josh tried instead. The fact that all his friends were staring him down expectantly suddenly made him realize the import of the situation. He felt panicky.

Julia patted Penny, urging him to scoot over on the bench. Then she held up the reigns, in offering to Josh. “Let’s go,” she told him.

With a heavy sigh, Josh jumped out of the back of the wagon and walked around to the front. He pulled himself up to sit next to Julia, scrunched up with three people on a two-seater bench. But Penny obviously had no intentions of leaving Julia’s side, so they would have to make do. Josh took the reigns and gave a light slap, clicking his tongue to get the horses moving. As they rolled forward, he focused all his energy on recalling the trip he’d made with Shoshana some time ago, fully aware of the desperate glare Margo was boring into the back of his head. This was going to be a long ride. . .

Chapter Text

The moment Penny laid hands on him in the New York apartment, the wound in his abdomen spontaneously opened and the bloodletting began. Not to mention the searing pain that ripped through him, starting from his center of gravity and radiating out through his whole body. When they landed in Fillory, he had immediately dropped to the ground, clutching his side, and he could scarcely even stand on his own since then.

Eliot forced himself to focus on the feeling of Quentin’s arms wrapped around him. He kept his own hands putting pressure on his stomach, with as much force as he could muster despite feeling like he might pass out at any moment.

The air in Fillory was full of magic. Which normally would be great. But when suffering from a magical wound that reacted negatively, and violently, to other magic, being in Fillory fucking sucked.

The clattering of the buckboard and the clacking of the horse’s hooves on the dirt road and, once they reached the village, the cobblestone path, was enough to make Eliot feel like his head was going to explode. He could feel the blood thundering in his ears and his head ached in a way it never had before. And this was coming from someone who had extensive experience with hangovers and withdrawal symptoms. The way he felt now made those days look like a walk in the park.

“Is this it?” Margo called from her seat in the wagon, glancing around.

Josh hesitated a moment too long.

“Hoberman,” Margo growled from a place low in her throat.

“Yes!” Josh squeaked, turning around to look at his girlfriend. “Yes, definitely, this is it. This is the place, yeah, for sure.” He nodded his head fervently, clearly overcompensating for his earlier doubt.

“Mm-hmm,” Margo hummed, unconvinced.

Penny jumped down to the ground, making the wagon wobble. “Fuck you,” Eliot groaned, jarred by the movement. “Flip him off for me, Q,” he mumbled.

Quentin let out a nervous chuckle and squeezed El’s shoulder. “What do we do now? I mean, do we just go ask random people for help or what?” Quentin asked the group. His voice was laced with worry.

Julia stood, using height as an advantage while she was still at the front of the buckboard. With a sigh, she finally leaned down and accepted Penny’s hand, as he helped her down. Perhaps the good thing about the shit-storm Eliot found himself in was that it provided Julia with a welcome distraction from her own magic-less-ness. Lucky for Penny, that also meant that Jules wasn’t focused on being mad at him.

“Where did Shoshanna go?” Julia asked, turning back to look at Josh.

“I don’t know. I waited with the wagon.” Josh shrugged and climbed down from the buckboard himself. “But the whole village is dedicated to the practice of Healing magic. So, in theory, we should be in safe hands with just about anybody.”

Eliot snorted contemptuously. He immediately regretted it, as a ripple of pain shot through his side. “Yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I wanna hear: ‘Oh, just anybody’s probably fine.’”

Margo gave a firm nod and echoed Eliot’s sentiments. “We don’t want just anybody. We want someone who knows what the hell they’re doing.” Then, with a softer tone and leaning forward to place a hand on El’s knee, she added, “We need the best.”

Quentin sighed heavily in Eliot’s ear. “Can you stand? Or walk?”

“If it gets me closer to fixing this mess, absolutely,” Eliot answered mostly out of determination and stubbornness than actual ability.

Margo and Quentin supported Eliot, one on each side, and helped him to his feet. They shuffled forward in the wagon, where the other half of their group was waiting. Penny reached forward to help but Eliot hissed and reared back. “Not you, cheese-touch.”

“What the hell, man?” Penny kept his hand out, glaring. “C’mon!” he urged.

Eliot shook his head in spite of its aching. “I’m serious. You can’t touch me. You’re too magical.”

Penny scoffed, but lowered his arm and took a step back. For added measure, Margo shooed him, making him begrudgingly retreat a few more paces.

With a sharp inhale, Eliot allowed Josh and Julia to replace Margo and Quentin, easing him down to stand on the road. Q and Margo both hopped out of the wagon and quickly returned to Eliot’s sides. But he pulled back from them, too. Then he pushed Josh away, who was still supporting him on one side. Quentin tried again to step up but Eliot leaned in closer to Julia.

“Q, please, don’t.” Eliot finally met Quentin’s eyes, silently pleading with him.

A look of hurt flashed across Q’s face but he covered it just as rapidly and took a step away. Against his better judgment, Eliot loosed one of his own hands from his stomach, grabbing Quentin by the sleeve. “It’s not you. It’s magic,” he explained. Then he let go, to continue putting pressure on his injury.

“Do you have him?” Quentin asked, looking to his best friend.

Julia shifted into a better position, so Eliot could lean on her properly. Then, she nodded. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Okay, we’ve got a Healer to find,” Quentin stated, marching forward to lead the troupe.

Julia and Eliot brought up the rear, moving slowly and somewhat laboriously, as they made their way along the path toward the homes that marked the beginning of the village. Some were actual houses while others looked more like huts or lean-tos. Everyone seemed to silently agree that they would be better off with a Healer in an actual house, so they walked past the first couple residences and stopped at the third home they came to.

Before anyone could even move toward the house, though, the door swung open. A middle-aged woman stepped out over the threshold, giving the Magicians a stern look. She didn’t even attempt to cover up the fact that she didn’t trust them and certainly wasn’t about to offer a welcome, warm or otherwise. Her gaze finally landed on Margo, whom she looked up and down at least twice, before looking to the ground with a grunt and obvious disdain.

Of course, the slight was not lost on the King. “Problem?” Margo asked, her voice sharp in the unseasonably crisp Fillorian air.

The woman snorted and looked at Quentin. “What do you lot want?” she barked, sounding straight out of Oliver Twist.

“Oh, um, well. . .” While Quentin was searching for words, Margo let out a snarl.

Josh leaned into her, clutching her wrist in a gesture he hoped was interpreted as reassuring. “Let it go. We need help.”

Margo glanced at him menacingly, but then inhaled through her nose and held it for a minute, closing her eyes before slowly letting the breath back out. She repeated the action, trying to calm herself from the woman’s offense.

“State your purpose ‘ere, or else be on your way. I don’t need no riff-raff dallyin’ around my home and place o’ business.” The woman’s cockney accent contributed to her roughness, leaving no doubt that she was serious.

“We need a Healer,” Julia called, guiding Eliot closer to the house.

“Ya don’t say?” The woman gasped in mockery. Then all pretense faded. “Of course ya want a Healer – why else would you be in the Healer’s Village?” She rolled her eyes.

“Then why did you ask?” Margo sniped, raising an eyebrow and placing one hand on her hip.

The woman acted like she didn’t hear Margo, wouldn’t even look in her direction. Instead, she came forward, hobbling slightly on what must have been a bad leg.

Julia aided Eliot in walking forward, meeting up with the woman. She gave the pair a good once-over. Oddly enough, she leaned toward Eliot and sniffed the air near him. He pulled back slightly, a look of confusion on his pained face. With another whiff, the woman shook her head and stumbled backward.

“Whatever you’ve been meddlin’ with, I want no part of.” She waved her hands dismissively and started turning away.

“Wait,” Quentin said, approaching her. “Please, you have to help us.”

“I don’t have to do nothin’!” The woman spat, making Q back away. She looked pointedly at Eliot. “That wound is dark magic, that is. I wouldn’t touch that wit’ a ten-foot pole.” She shook her head dejectedly and then looked back at Quentin. “And I don’t know anyone else in this village who’d be foolish enough to muck about with none of this either, so you’re better off looking somewheres else.” Again, the woman turned to make her way back inside.

Margo marched forward, holding a hand up in protest. “Hang on just one monkey-fucking minute here.” The woman stopped, mid-turn, peeking at Margo over her shoulder. “We need help. It doesn’t have to be from you, but we do need someone. And we’re not leaving until my best friend’s stomach stops looking like a pile of discarded tampons from a women’s retreat at sleepaway camp.”

Quentin and Julia looked at each other questioningly, each raising an eyebrow, but ultimately both shrugged and decided to shake off this most recent Margo-ism.

The Healer turned to face Margo straight-on, glaring at her. Margo was undeterred. “Now, are you gonna help us or not?”

“Even if it wasn’t dark magic,” the woman started, her voice full of malice, “do you think me fool enough to betray the crown?”

The air fell silent. Nobody moved. Finally, Margo let out a single, harsh laugh. “Listen, Linda,” she began, without any hesitation, “I am the motherfucking crown, mmkay?”

The woman ardently shook her head, stopping Margo’s words. Then, the Healer rushed Margo, grabbing her hands and pulling her arms out straight in front of her, wrists facing up.

The harsh lines of the brands that had been burned into Margo’s flesh – solid X’s with some Fillorian detailing around them – were on display. The older woman looked from the brands to Margo and back again, a fiery hatred in her eyes, before roughly releasing her hold on the girl’s wrists, shoving her backward. Josh stepped forward and caught Margo, firmly grasping her shoulders and giving them a tight squeeze.

“You,” the woman said, pointing a bony finger, “are the disgraced and banished former-King. Being here, or being associated with you, is traitorous. Punishable by death.”

Penny laughed. “So that’s why you don’t wanna help? That’s some dumbass reasoning. It’s actually in your best interest to help us.” The woman snapped her head in the man’s direction, a curious look on her face. “The sooner our friend gets healed, the sooner we leave Fillory,” he told her, enunciating his words purposefully.

This seemed to resonate with the woman, as she looked at Penny thoughtfully. She shot a disdainful side-eye toward Margo, but then focused her attention back on the Traveler. “Fine, then,” she finally told him, apparently deciding he was the only worthy one in the group.

“You’ll help us?” Julia asked, hope filling her voice.

The woman snickered. “Fat chance,” she said, shaking her head as she looked Julia and Eliot over. Then, focusing back on Penny, she explained, “There is one who might help you. He’s a bit of an odd one, kind of outcast from the rest. But he’s a good Healer.”

Penny nodded and stepped forward, trying to show some semblance of authority to appease the woman. “Where can we find him?”

With a snort, the woman nodded her head back toward the main road. “There’s a cabin down the road a ways. Just at the back edge of the village.” She juts her chin forward, indicating a slight angle in direction. “There’ll be a slight fork in the path. Take that and follow it down to the cabin. There, you’ll find ‘im.” As she started to turn away again, she stopped. She glanced over at Eliot, hunched over and clinging to Julia. Something that almost resembled sympathy showed at the very edges of the woman’s eyes, for just a moment, but she quickly shook it away.

Then the woman turned her back to them completely, hurriedly hobbling her way back into her house. “Thanks,” Penny called after her, out of a sense of duty if nothing else.

As soon as the woman was back inside, Margo stomped her foot and let out a harsh noise somewhere between a growl and a scream. She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Margo stood still but tense, her hands in tight fists hanging at her sides. Her jaw was clenched tightly and she ground her teeth together, fighting to hold back what she was thinking of saying. Finally, in an uncharacteristic display of restraint, she relaxed. Without another word, she turned and marched her way back up the road, toward their wagon.

The others all followed suit. Eliot groaned as they did. “Back to the fucking wagon, just great,” he grumbled, limping himself along next to Julia.

“It’s that or Traveling,” Penny threatened, only half-jokingly, from a few feet behind. Eliot huffed in response, but was grateful that the man was at least keeping his distance.

“So, we’re going down the road to this other Healer?” Josh from his seat at the buckboard, holding the reigns of the horses.

“Yeah, and quick,” Quentin answered, pulling himself into the back of the wagon. He helped Julia and Eliot in, as well.

Penny hopped up in front with Josh and, with the other four settled in the back, the wagon rolled forward down the path.

Julia sat next to Eliot, with Q and Margo across from them on the other side. Eliot looked somewhat better, apparently helped by the fact that the person touching him didn’t have magic. That didn’t help Julia much, since she was trying to forget that fact, but she was glad, at least, to be able to help anyway.

Quentin sat with his arms propped on his knees, forcing himself to keep his knees from shaking with anticipation. The anxiety was rolling off him in waves, although he tried to hide it. He decided to focus his attention on something—someone—else. He glanced next to him, to where Margo was sitting in a corner of the wagon. Her arms were folded over her chest, head tilted down slightly. She was staring toward some random spot on the floor of the wagon, although the look in her eyes suggested she was a million miles away. Q scooted over a few inches, closer to her on the bench. He bumped his knee against hers to draw her attention. She didn’t look at him, but she did let out a small sigh and shift slightly, acknowledging his presence.

Quentin decided to forego delicacy and just charge full-steam ahead. “About what she said back there—”

“Don’t,” Margo snapped. She sat up straight and stretched her arms out beside her. The woman stretched, cracking her neck. Quentin sighed dejectedly and slumped back on the bench. Noticing the change in his demeanor, Margo placed a hand on Q’s knee. “I don’t give a shit what some forest wench says. And it’s not worth talking about. I’ll reverse the banishment and be King again, and my success will be my revenge.”

Quentin smiled at his friend, nodding in support and encouragement. The rest of the ride went in silence. It was about another twenty minutes or so before they had made it to the turn-off and followed it down to a cabin.

It looked significantly more cozy than the cottage where they left the older woman. The cabin was a good distance from the village, on the edge of yet another of Fillory’s seemingly endless supply of forests. A stream ran alongside the cabin, giving it the feel of a mountainous retreat. It felt like a good place to be, a good and solid and helpful place.

Quentin had decided on the ride that he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer here. That these Healers would help them, help Eliot. That everything would be all right. So when the wagon came to a stop, Q leapt out and made his way directly to the front door of the domicile.

Quentin raised a fist and knocked on the door. He waited a moment before knocking again. When nothing happened, he leaned forward, listening for noises from within. It was dead silent. Quentin pounded his fist on the door, this time hammering it with severity. “Hello!” he hollered, trying to rouse anyone inside.

“Um, hi?” A soft voice, with a hint of an accent, returned from behind Quentin. He whirled around to see a young man approaching. He appeared to be barely 19 or 20 years of age with short sandy-blond hair. In his arms, he was carrying a few camel-pouches of water that had been filled at the stream. “Can I help you?”

“You better be able to,” was Margo’s response, from beside the wagon. “Are you the Healer?”

The young man shook his head gently. “No,” he answered as he continued up the path, setting the water-pouches on a table outside the cabin door. Now, he was standing right in front of Quentin. He glanced from Q to Margo and then focused back on Quentin. “I’m his assistant, Arrow,” he explained, the accent thicker now and discernible up close, sounding something like an Irish brogue.

He extended a hand to Quentin, who returned the favor, and said, “I’m Quentin. I’m sorry for being short, but I’m not sure that we have much time. My friends and I, we need your Healer right away.”

Arrow nodded, a sympathetic look on his face. Of course, that could have just been the way he normally looked, with his soft, gentle features. Quentin noticed that his eyes were gold and appeared to be sparkling. The thought occurred that he may not be completely human. With a small smile, Arrow said, “So, what’s wrong, exactly?” He cocked his head to the side, giving Quentin a quizzical look.

“Oh, um,” Q pulled himself from his thoughts. “It’s my boyfriend,” Quentin answered without hesitation. It’s only after the word is out of his mouth that he realizes he said it and he has to force a stupid grin from spreading across his face.

Arrow turned his attention to the group of Magicians. His golden eyes settled on Eliot, immediately widening in concern. He gave a firm, curt nod before turning back to Quentin. “Hang on.” The assistant didn’t wait for a reply before turning and heading back toward the stream, disappearing around the back of the cabin, into the edge of the forest.

Nothing had really happened yet, but Quentin still found himself heaving a sigh a relief. He waved his friends over. “I feel good about this,” he said as they gathered together around the front door. They all stared intently in the direction the Healer’s assistant had gone.

Within a few minutes, Arrow reappeared. Another man was at his side, maybe just a year or two older. They were walking quickly toward the group, speaking in hushed tones to each other.

“. . . it feels different,” Arrow was saying as they approached. The other man had been watching him attentively as they walked, only looking toward the group of friends when he was right upon them.

The second man, apparently the Healer, had shaggy dark hair and deep brown eyes. His features were also gentle and pleasant, but significantly more masculine than the almost ethereal androgyny of his cohort. His eyes traveled across the group of friends, taking in each one with care. He started from the end, with Penny, then Josh, and then Margo. His gaze lingered only a fraction of a second on Margo’s arms, where she unabashedly displayed the marks of her banishment. The man didn’t say anything and, in fact, gave Margo a polite smile and what seemed to be a knowing smile. His attention turned to Julia, raising an eyebrow as he scanned the dark-haired woman. Finally, he looked to Eliot, eyes narrowing and then widening again.

Arrow interrupted the inspection by clearing his throat. He was sidled up next to Quentin and put a hand on his shoulder, in a reassuring manner. “This is Quentin,” he told his companion.

The Healer snapped his head in Q’s direction at the introduction. An odd expression appeared on his face – something like shock, or a kind of recognition – and he gets a faraway look in his dark eyes. Quickly, he righted himself, literally shaking his head to clear away whatever had crossed his mind. He nods toward Quentin before taking a step back and addressing the whole group.

“I can’t make any promises,” he told them, his voice deep and steady. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more than it already was, before taking a hesitant step toward Eliot. “You’re shrouded in dark magic. And it’s wreaking havoc on every part of you,” he explained solemnly.

“No shit,” Eliot managed to grumble.

The Healer actually smiled a bit at that. “Let me know when you don’t feel up to sarcasm – that’s when we’ll know to worry.” Eliot chuckled and nodded in response.

“So, you do know what’s wrong?” Julia asked.

The man looked Julia up and down before responding. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Something that should never have been there was expelled recently.” He looked at Eliot’s stomach, where Sorrow I had slammed into him, tearing flesh and muscle and even nicking some organs, so that the Monster would finally be released. “It left something behind,” the man finished, his voice low and dark.

“Can you fix him?” Margo asked, suddenly standing right next to them with hands on her hips.

“I will do my best,” was the answer.

Margo let out a harsh, exasperated laugh. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off, this time by Arrow. “This is a unique case, with great difficulty and risk. We will do all that we can.” Then, without another word, he gathered up the water containers he’d had earlier and headed into the cabin. Noises immediately start to rise from within as Arrow must have been making various preparations and gathering required materials.

“Come in, all of you,” the Healer told them, gesturing toward the open door. He made his way over to it, eyeing Quentin curiously as he passed him. “Oh,” he added, stopping and spinning around to face the group again. “You can call me RC.” He flashed a smiled and then stepped across the threshold and disappeared inside.

After only a second of pause, Quentin sighed and followed, encouraging the other Magicians to do the same.

Chapter Text

Arrow quickly gathered supplies within the cabin. By the time RC entered with the Magicians behind him, almost everything that might be needed had been piled next to the metal table in the center of the makeshift procedure room. Arrow grabbed a couple more bottles of assorted elixirs, just in case, and looked up to watch the group as they entered. He immediately noticed the heaviness in the Healer's presence, as he approached.

"Is everything okay?" Arrow asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah. Fine." RC's voice was steady but the two had known each other for some time, so of course Arrow was not fooled. He gave his friend a knowing look, which was returned with an eye-roll. They had a deeper conversation with just that look than they ever could with words. Finally, Arrow sighed and made his way over to a cabinet on the far side of the main room.

"So, how do you plan on handling this?" The leader of the group, Quentin, asked. His voice was hesitant and full of worry. But his eyes danced around the cottage, taking in the collection of magical artifacts, relics, herbs, and whatever else Arrow and RC had collected over the years.

Silently, RC held his hand out just as Arrow handed him a bottle of elixir. The dark-haired girl helped their patient to the metal table, leaning him against it.

"Here, drink this." RC popped the cap off, then handed him the bottle.

"What is it?" He asked, pain evident but also scrunching up his nose at the mixture in the vial.

RC kept himself busy, fiddling with other items around the table, never quite making eye contact. "I know, it doesn't smell great. But it tastes fine and it'll help with the pain."

That seemed to be all the man needed to hear. He grabbed the bottle and tossed it back, swallowing hard. The girl with him looked at RC and extended her hand.

"I'm Julia. And your patient here is Eliot."

RC shook her hand and returned the kind smile. Quentin appeared at Eliott's side, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder. Julia waved in the general direction of her other companions. "That's Josh, and Penny's the one brooding by the doorway. Then there's—"

"High King Margo," RC finished for her. He made a point of turning to look directly at the King. She raised an eyebrow, looking an odd mix of irritated and pleased.

"There seems to be some disagreement about that title around here," Margo stated, her voice cool with a carefully practiced neutrality. She strolled through the cabin with her hands clasped behind her back, inspecting the various items within.

"Well," RC said, tracking the woman's movement with his eyes as he reached for a book. "There are many of us who remain loyal, Your Highness."

Margo paused in front of a hutch of dishes in the kitchen. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes before giving a singular nod. "Keep that attitude, and don't let Eliot die, and there'll be a place for you when I take my castle back." She flashed a brilliant smile, both good-natured and overbearing, before continuing her perusal of the cottage.

The Healer smiled to himself, feeling his loyalty to the disgraced King deepen. Somewhat absentmindedly, he traced a finger across his wrist, just under the loose sleeve of his tunic, where a mark of banishment was branded into his own skin. He shook his head, focusing back on the task at hand. As he looked up, he met Julia's soulful gaze. Her lip twitched in the faintest hint of a smile before she looked back to Eliot. RC was grateful for her discretion.

"Okay, I need you to lay down," RC instructed. Eliot swung his long legs up onto the table and leaned back, but he stayed propped up on his elbows slightly, watching the Healer closely. “Pain better?” RC asked, noticing that the grimace had faded from the handsome man’s face.

Eliot nodded, but he quickly tensed again when Arrow stepped up and reached for the hem of his shirt.

"We need to see what we're dealing with," Arrow explained.

Quentin put a hand on Eliot’s shoulder at the same time as Margo sidled up next to RC, at the foot of the table-bed. She leaned forward, palms on the table, staring at Eliot with ferocious seriousness. “Do you want them to fix this or not?”

Eliot frowned. “Of course—”

“Then grow a pussy and face it, head-on.” She leaned back, straightening up. RC watched in awe as the petite woman somehow managed to loom over everyone in the room, her very presence a force with which to be reckoned.

“Okay, Bambi.” Eliot held his hands up placatingly. Then he raised one of his hands to pat Quentin’s hand, which was still resting on his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and nodded to Arrow before allowing himself to lay flat on his back.

Arrow rolled Eliot’s shirt up halfway, just enough reveal his abdomen. The bandage that Julia had put on was soaked in blood, from the Traveling that had ripped the wound open again. Arrow peeled it off and upon seeing the injury, he couldn’t stop himself from letting slip a gasp.

“That bad, huh?” Eliot mumbled to the ceiling.

“Ehrm, well,” Arrow started. RC punched him in the arm and gave him a stern look. Then, he shoved his friend out of the way to assess the damage himself.

“The rest of you can make yourselves comfortable. Arrow, maybe get everyone some food or something to drink?” RC suggested. Arrow nodded curtly and gave a wave to the group. Josh and Penny both moved from where they’d been awkwardly hovering near the doorway, following into the kitchen/dining area.

Margo patted Eliot’s leg before joining the others in the kitchen. Only Julia and Quentin remained with RC and Eliot.

Just looking at the Eliot, RC could feel the power pulsating from within the wound. He canted his head to the side, struck with curiosity.

“What?” Quentin asked, pulling RC from his thoughts. He looked up and they locked eyes. The combination of desperation and determination in Quentin’s eyes was heart-wrenching. And RC immediately looked away, not able to hold the man’s gaze for too long – not wanting to.

“It’s strange,” RC finally answered. “There’s an intensely dark aura around you, but. . .” he paused. Carefully, he raised his hand and reached toward Eliot. He stopped just before making contact. Hesitantly, he closed the distance and laid his palm flat across the lesion. The Healing Magician closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and slowly.

His hand was warmed – not just from the infected, inflamed skin, but from the magic radiating from within. It was powerful and dangerous and daunting, yes. But it was also strong and bright, almost as though it were full of promise.

RC looked at Eliot, and Quentin beside him. And he suddenly pulled his hand away, as if from a hot stove. He cursed himself silently for the lingering touch, for forgetting. . .

“What is it?” Julia asked, blessedly reigning the conversation back in.

With a heavy exhale, RC answered, “It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.” He twisted his nose and mouth, thinking. “What caused this?”

“The wound itself was from an enchanted axe,” Quentin answered.

“Have some respect – use their names!” Margo hollered from the other room.

Quentin half-heartedly rolled his eyes. “Sorrow I and Sorrow II, Margo calls them.” He nodded toward Eliot. “This was the work of Sorrow II.”

RC’s eyes widened. He leaned forward to get a better look. “This,” he addressed Eliot directly, “is from an axe?”

Eliot sat up slightly. “Yeah, Margo’s got a hell of an arm. She swung that bitch right into me.”

“Um okay. Why?” RC asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

Everyone hesitated. Quentin bit his lip and now it was he who couldn’t make eye contact. Finally, Julia answered: “Did you hear anything about a bunch of gods being killed?”

RC nodded, folding his arms over his chest. Julia sighed. “Well, we may have had something to do with that. . .”

Eliot scoffed. “By that she means, the Monster who was responsible for all of that was wearing me when he did those things.”

The cottage fell silent. RC stared at Eliot, blinking a few times as he tried to process things. “So you were possessed?” he asked, earning a non-committal nod from Eliot.

“By a Monster that the old gods themselves created. And then immediately regretted.” Margo explained, returning to the room. “Then when the gods failed to abort the fuckers ipso facto—”

“Ex post facto,” Julia corrected quietly.

Margo growled in annoyance and rolled her eyes at the other girl. “Anyway, the Monsters were just locked away, and we were the unlucky assholes who set them loose.”

“We’re also the ones who cleaned up the mess,” Penny added.

RC nodded and looked to Eliot. “Now you’re paying for it with whatever it is that this. . . Monster, left behind.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Okay,” RC said. Without another word, he stepped forward. He performed a succession of gestures – which, Quentin noted, were similar to the Poppers taught at Brakebills. But these movements looked somewhat more homemade, almost like something a hedge witch would develop, except for being significantly more elaborate than anything Q had ever seen a hedge perform. He watched RC’s deft fingers and couldn’t contain a soft gasp when the Healer’s hands started glowing. He gingerly put his hands on Eliot’s stomach, closed his eyes, muttered something under his breath – Latin, maybe? – and then—

Eliot let out a piercing cry and curled up on himself in pain. At the same time, a burst of magic shot out, launching everyone backwards – either to the floor, or slamming into the wall.

After a moment, everyone managed to regain their equilibrium. Except Eliot, who was still hunched over in pain. He had stopped shouting, but only because the pain was so great that he was no longer able to make any noise at all.

Quentin raced to El’s side, and Margo charged toward the Healer, who had just pulled himself back to his feet.

“Help him!” Margo ordered, stepping up until she was in RC’s face. RC took a few steps back, and held up a placating hand.

“I’m trying,” he said breathlessly. “Arrow!” RC marched back up to the table next to Eliot.

“What are you gonna do?” Quentin asked. But he received no answer. RC and Arrow looked at each other, apparently having some silent conversation. “Hey!” Quentin said, grabbing RC by the arm.

RC jumped at the touch, ripping his arm away. His eyes were wide as he finally met the Mender’s gaze. When they locked eyes, something caught in Quentin’s throat. Suddenly, inexplicably, he leaned forward and softly asked, “Have we met?”

But there was no time for an answer, or anything else. Arrow slammed down some utensils, letting them clatter on the table. “RC, we need to do this now,” he implored.

“Right.” RC nodded.  As Arrow moved to the end of the table, by Eliot’s head, RC sorted through the items and picked something up. A scalpel.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Josh and Penny exclaimed, both approaching.

“Whatever was left behind is manifesting itself – I think it’s a magical artifact,” RC explained quickly. “I need to get it out.”

Margo’s eyes darted back and forth, before she finally huffed and rolled her sleeves up and sidled up next to the Healer. “How can we all help?”

RC regarded her for a moment, considering the offer. Then, he sighed. “Hold him down.” Margo grabbed Eliot’s legs and pushed on them. RC looked to Quentin and jerked his head toward the body on the table. Q hesitated, but then reached forward and leaned down. He pressed a quick kiss to El’s cheek before pushing himself down across Eliot’s chest and holding him in place.

Arrow was about to place his hands on Eliot’s head when Julia stopped him: “Wait, what are you doing?”

“He’s a psychic,” RC answered in his assistant’s stead.

Eliot groaned and wriggled under Q and Margo’s holds. Penny stepped forward. “Um, yeah, that thing in him? It doesn’t like psychics.”

Arrow shrugged. “No better way to keep him unconscious long enough for RC to do what he’s got to do.”

Without another word, Arrow placed two fingers on each of Eliot’s temples. He hissed, as though there was some kind of resistance. But he held firm and soon, Eliot’s entire body went slack.

“You’ll still need to hold him. Tight.” RC instructed to Margo and Q. They both dipped their heads in agreement.

Then, without hesitation, RC cut the stitches that were left and reopened the wound. With a sharp inhale, he reached for another tool. It was comparable to a rib spreader, but much smaller. He looked at Arrow, nodding to confirm that his assistant was still keeping Eliot under.

“Um,” Julia piped up, stepping forward. “What exactly are you gonna do with those?”

RC’s eyes flicked back toward the young woman only briefly. “I told you,” he said through gritted teeth. “That Monster left something behind. I need to get it out.”

He positioned the device and used it to widen the wound. Eliot jerked, causing Margo and Quentin to scramble to push him down.

“Hang in there, El,” Q mumbled.

Arrow inhaled sharply and fidgeted at Eliot’s head. RC looked at him. “You good?”

“Aye,” Arrow replied tensely. “Proceed.”

RC didn’t need to be told twice. He spread the injury a little wider. Blood was pooling out. RC reached behind him, grasping for strips of cloth that could be used to sop up the blood. Julia rushed forward, taking the cloths in hand and handing him a few pieces at a time.

“This is going to be. . . unpleasant,” RC said apologetically, unsure if Eliot could really hear him or not but feeling the need to say something just the same. He inserted a tong-like instrument, trying to navigate the gash.

There was another jolt of magic, which apparently targeted Arrow, causing him to stumble backward. Eliot immediately tensed up and let out a shout.

“Hold him!” RC barked. Margo clamped down on her best friend’s legs, aided by Josh. Quentin was practically laying across Eliot’s upper body, pushing all of his weight on his boyfriend’s shoulders.

Arrow rushed forward, repositioning his hands on Eliot’s temples. As RC made to pushed the tongs in again, Arrow yelped and let go once more. “Feck!” Arrow shook his hands vigorously in front of him.

“What the hell?” RC asked, setting the tongs down and pressing a sponge to the bleeding wound.

“It’s burning me,” Arrow snapped.

Suddenly, Penny shoved Arrow to the side with a growl. He held a hand up and looked at RC pointedly. “We don’t have time to fuck around. Get in, get the thing, and get the hell out.”

RC nodded. Penny swallowed hard before placing his palm on Eliot’s forehead. Then he put his other hand on top of the first one, applying pressure – to hold El down as much as to keep his grip and focus.

Meanwhile, RC ripped away the bloody bandages, letting them fall to the floor at Julia’s feet. Feeling suddenly desperate, he stuck his fingers in the wound and started digging.

Arrow put his hands on top of Penny’s, mumbling a spell that sounded like some form of old Celtic, repeating it over and over under his breath.

“C’mon,” RC muttered, hunching forward to get a better angle. He hooked his fingers under Eliot’s skin, ignoring the writhing body and the groans from him and his friends.

Finally, RC felt something solid. He pushed his hand forward a bit further, quickly but as carefully as possible. He pinched his fingers together to grab the object and, making sure he had hold of it, pulled his hand out.

RC settled the item into his blood-covered palm. Julia leaned forward to take a look. It appeared like some kind of stone, almost like onyx – black, smooth, and oval-shaped.

“Ow!” RC suddenly shouted, dropping the stone onto the table. On his palm where it had been sitting was an angry, red mark – a burn, at least second-degree. He took gasping breaths and blinked rapidly, trying to focus despite the searing pain in his hand. “Arrow,” he panted his friend’s name. “Stop the blood. Sew him up.”

Arrow darted around the table and got to work on trying to clean up and close up from the impromptu surgery. Penny let out a growl from deep in his throat, hands still on Eliot’s forehead.

“Come on,” the Traveler snarled.

Quentin straightened up and tried helping Arrow to stop the bleeding and seal up the now-gaping hole in Eliot’s abdomen. The burn on RC’s hand was festering, showing how damaged the skin was. Laying on the table, the stone sat unmoved, but ominous as it dripped Eliot’s blood. It started to emanate a golden glow.

For reasons unknown to her, Julia felt drawn to it. She stretched out her hand.

“Don’t touch it,” RC managed to say in a hoarse rasp.

Julia hesitated, pulling back a fraction of an inch. But the pull was too strong. Her hand shot out and grasped the stone, clutching it tightly in her fist. It was warm against her skin, with its glow showing through the holes between her fingers. She opened her hand and looked at the stone, with a combination of awe and curiosity.

Then, Julia’s eyes fluttered closed, everything faded to black, and she dropped to the floor.

Chapter Text

Julia opened her eyes and instinctively threw her arm up over her face, squinting as she tried to block out the blinding light. She took in a shallow breath – it was so bright. She squeezed her eyes shut then put a hand over each eye. The darkness was comforting, or at least comfortable, and Julia was able to breathe without feeling like her eyes were being seared out of her head.

It was quiet, though. Way too quiet. Unearthly silent.
And gravely still.

“Am I dead?” Julia asked aloud to no one in particular.

She felt an odd sensation. It was like a breath of wind across her skin, through her hair, whipping in the air around her. There was a tingling feeling, giving her goosebumps. Somehow, Julia just knew that she wasn’t alone. There was still no noise, or movement, or anything really, and yet she knew. She could feel—sense—the presence of someone else.

“Who’s there?” she called. When there was no response, Julia cautiously lowered her hands from her eyes. They were still shut tight and even after taking a deep breath, she found herself unable—or unwilling—to open them.

That gentle breeze swept over her again, this time carrying with it a sense of ease. It felt like being wrapped up in a bear hug. Comforted by the peaceful feeling, Julia allowed her eyes to open slowly.

Blinking, the magic-less Magician looked around. She was still in the bright, white space, although the light had dimmed to a reasonable level.

“Julia Wicker,” a woman’s voice said softly from behind her. Julia whirled around to face the source of the voice. It was a young woman in jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot, with cropped blonde hair and twinkling green eyes that made Julia immediately think of Tinkerbell on a bender.

There was something about her presence—bright but grounded, ancient and brand new all at once.

“Who are you? And where am I?” Julia asked.

The woman smirked. “You’ve always been a curious one. Strong-willed. Stubborn.”

She opened her palm to reveal the godseed—onyx, glowing faintly orange. Julia instinctively stepped forward.

“Eliot,” she murmured. “Is he okay?”

“Not yet,” the woman admitted. “We need to talk first.”

Julia’s eyes narrowed. “Talk about what?”

“About you. About what’s next.”

The setting changed suddenly—they were in a forest clearing, logs positioned like a campfire circle. The woman plopped down and gestured for Julia to sit.

“You’ve been here before,” she said.

Julia nodded slowly. “When I called for Our Lady Underground.”

“Right. You were different then. Still clinging to the idea that being a goddess meant answers. But what if it means questions?”

“Still cryptic,” Julia muttered.

“You like cryptic,” the woman teased. “It’s practically your love language.”

“Try me,” Julia said, crossing her arms.

“You’re god-touched, Julia. You always were. Power wasn’t a gift—it was a calling. And now? You’ve earned it again.”

She placed the godseed in Julia’s palm. Warmth surged. Light bloomed. Julia gasped as energy pulsed through her, healing every fracture inside her soul she hadn’t even realized was still broken.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

The scene shifted again—they were in the white void. The woman leaned back in a café chair across from Julia, sipping from a floating cup of coffee.

“You can call me Sara,” she said casually. “No ‘h.’ Titles optional.”

Julia blinked. “Okay, Sara-no-H, you said we need to talk about the future?”

Sara set her cup down and leaned forward. “The old gods are pissed. You and your friends? You embarrassed them. You exposed their failures. Killed their Monsters. Fixed their mess.”

“Sorry for being competent,” Julia muttered.

“They don’t see it that way. They see it as rebellion. They want to reassert dominance—and erase the ones who made them look weak.”

Julia’s blood ran cold. “So what happens now?”

Sara’s eyes glittered. “A compromise. Sort of. Trials.”

“Trials?”

“Each of you will face one. A test, designed by a pair: one old god, one new. If you pass? The new god’s ideals take root. If you fail? The old gods keep their hold.”

Julia swallowed hard. “And if we refuse?”

“Then the gods go to war. Earth becomes collateral.”

“No pressure,” Julia whispered.

Sara reached into the air and pulled out a feather. She pressed it into Julia’s hand.

“A reminder. A key. A calling card.”

Julia raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”

“That you’re not alone. And that even gods need help sometimes.”

Sara smiled, then leaned in and booped Julia on the nose. “Go save Eliot. And then get your friends ready. The world’s going to need you. Again.”

Before Julia could ask more, Sara pressed a palm to her forehead—

—and Julia was back in the Fillory shack.

Chaos surrounded her, but Julia stood tall, alive and glowing with divine energy. The godseed had found a home.

Time to get to work.

***

When Julia came to, the room was still chaos.

Despite everything that had just happened inside whatever that glowing-white mind palace had been, barely a breath of time had passed here. The others were frozen mid-action, mid-yell, mid-panic.

RC was half-crouched beside her, eyes wide as if someone had hit pause on his face.

Julia blinked.

Then, with startling calm, she pushed herself to her feet.

“Whoa,” RC breathed, stumbling back a step. “You good?”

“I’m better than good,” she said, voice steady, but buzzing just a little. “I’m... me again.”

She didn’t wait for reactions. Her eyes went straight to Eliot, sprawled on the table, pale and still. Quentin was pressing down on his side while Penny muttered a focus spell to keep him under.

“Step back,” Julia said gently.

Quentin looked up, startled. “Jules, what are you—”

“Trust me.”

He did. Of course he did.

She pressed both hands to Eliot’s side. Golden light burst from her fingers—not violently, but like sunrise over water. Warm. Slow. Sure.

The wound sealed beneath her palms. The bruising faded. Blood disappeared like it had never been spilled. Color returned to Eliot’s cheeks.

And then he inhaled, sharp and startled, and sat up with a gasp.

“Holy shit-balls, Batman,” he croaked. “What the actual—”

“You’re okay,” Quentin whispered, already wrapping him in a hug, one hand in Eliot’s hair, the other around his back.

“I’m... okay?” Eliot echoed, blinking. “I think I’m better than okay.”

From across the room, Margo—arms crossed, trying not to show how worried she’d been—grumbled, “Show-off.”

Julia smiled faintly, turning to RC and Arrow, who had been standing back near the door, watching with equal parts awe and concern.

Arrow leaned in to RC. “Told you she had the glow.”

RC was still staring. “What... what are you?”

Julia held his gaze for a long beat, then gently stepped forward. “Let me see your wrists.”

RC frowned, confused. “My—?”

But she was already taking his hands. The moment she touched the marks—still faintly glowing with the magic of his banishment—they shimmered and dissolved like smoke in sunlight.

RC stared. “How did you—?”

“I’ll explain,” Julia said. “But not just to you.”

She turned back to the group, now all gathered and focused on her. Penny crossed his arms. Margo raised one eyebrow. Josh looked like he wanted popcorn.

Julia took a breath. “Okay. So, remember the part where I touched a godseed and collapsed?”

RC raised his hand. “Vividly.”

“Well,” she continued, “I met a goddess. Kind of. Sort of. She goes by Sara. No H.”

“Like Beyoncé, but celestial,” Josh offered.

Julia ignored that. “She said... the gods are pissed. At us. Because we did their job better than they did.”

“Typical,” Penny muttered.

“And now,” Julia said slowly, deliberately, “they want to reset the board. Erase us. Or worse.”

“Define worse?” Margo asked.

“Trials,” Julia said. “Each of us will face one. If we pass, the new gods gain ground. If we fail...” She trailed off.

“The old gods win,” Penny finished for her.

“Right,” Julia said. “But Sara—she’s on our side. Sort of. She helped me heal El. She gave me... this.” She held up the feather. It shimmered faintly, as if vibrating on a different frequency.

“And she said we’re not alone.”

Quentin cleared his throat. “So, we’re what? Magical champions now?”

“Cosmic guinea pigs,” Eliot muttered, still catching his breath.

Arrow finally stepped forward. “Sounds like you’ll need backup.”

RC nodded. “We’re in. You trusted us to help you, which is more than most have done. And if she,” he nodded toward Julia, “really just lifted my banishment, then I owe a debt.”

Margo squinted at RC. “What’s your angle?”

RC looked sheepish for the first time. “I was banished, too. Different reasons. Complicated ones.”

Arrow added, “Technically, he shouldn’t exist.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Wait, what?” Quentin said, brows furrowing.

RC held up his hands. “Long story. But let’s just say... magic got weird, and I slipped through.”

Julia narrowed her eyes. “You’re a temporal anomaly.”

RC shrugged. “That’s the nice way of putting it.”

Quentin stared at him, something flickering in his expression. Recognition. Echoes of something he couldn’t quite place.

Arrow watched the two of them, then leaned into Julia. “He’s felt familiar to Q since the moment you all arrived. It’s why we helped.”

Julia filed that away for later. Right now, there was a world to save. Again.

And this time, the gods were watching.

Chapter Text

RC cleared his throat. “So, um... I know world-ending revelations can be a lot before lunch, but Arrow made stew. Real food. Sort of.”

Arrow raised a ladle and grinned. “It won’t kill you. Probably.”

“Comforting,” Eliot muttered, letting Quentin guide him toward a slightly less cluttered corner.

RC pulled a couple crates toward the makeshift table and gestured for everyone to grab a seat.

As Quentin sat beside Eliot, Julia stayed standing. Margo hadn’t moved either.

The High King stalked across the room, stopping directly in front of Julia. “Okay, Wicker. You un-banished Pretty Boy over there. Now do me.”

Julia blinked. “Do you what now?”

“My wrists,” Margo snapped, holding them out. “Banishment. Fillory. Ringing any bells?”

Julia’s brows knit as she reached for Margo’s arms. She focused, calling on that same golden heat she’d used with RC. But nothing happened. The marks stayed stubbornly in place.

Margo yanked her hands back. “What the hell?”

Julia frowned. “I... can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. There’s a difference,” Julia said. “RC’s banishment was exile from community. Yours is magically encoded into Fillory itself. It’s... deeper.”

“Oh, so it’s special banishment?” Margo snapped. “Cool. Love that for me.”

“It’s probably because he’s...” Julia paused, glancing at RC, who was currently pouring soup into mismatched bowls, his hair falling in his face just like Quentin’s. “...different. Temporal anomalies are basically magical catnip.”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Margo huffed, folding her arms.

Julia gave her a look. “Since when has anything ever been fair?”

There was a long pause before Margo exhaled through her nose and muttered, “True.”

Julia softened. “Look, I’m willing to bet whatever trial they throw at you? Your crown’s gonna be the prize.”

Margo’s lip twitched. “It better be a damn throne with lumbar support.”

She stomped off toward the food and started demanding seasoning.

Meanwhile, Quentin had gently pulled Eliot up against his side, almost into his lap, on one of the crates. He was running his fingers along Eliot’s ribs like he expected to find broken pieces still there.

“I’m fine, Q,” Eliot said softly, leaning into the touch. “I promise.”

“I watched you die,” Quentin whispered. “Or almost. Again.”

Eliot shifted, turning to face him, forehead against Quentin’s. “Then maybe it’s time to live again. Loudly.”

Quentin chuckled. “Is that code for—?”

“I want you,” Eliot said, tone dropping a few octaves. “All to myself. Preferably horizontal. Possibly restrained.”

Quentin made a strangled noise. “I mean... the apocalypse could probably wait a few hours—”

Penny groaned loudly from the other side of the room. “We are literally all still here.”

“Right.” Quentin cleared his throat. “Boundaries. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for your deeply erotic survival bonding,” Josh chimed in, ladling stew into bowls. “But also, Penny’s right.”

Everyone finally settled into place around the table. The smell of something vaguely spicy and vaguely edible filled the shack. Arrow plunked down beside RC, who found himself across from Quentin.

The two of them reached for their spoons at the exact same time. They both used their left hands. They both absentmindedly tucked the same lock of hair behind their ears.

Julia blinked. “Huh.”

RC raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, except now she was staring. “Just... familiar.”

Josh, mid-chew, pointed between the two. “Is anyone else seeing this freaky funhouse mirror thing?”

“I’m choosing not to open that can of worms,” Penny mumbled.

Before the moment could fully spiral, there was a sharp knock at the shack door.

Everyone froze.

Then the door creaked open on its own and Sara stepped inside like she owned the place, holding a feather quill like it was a conductor’s baton.

“Sup, weirdos,” she said brightly.

Josh pointed a spoon. “Sara-no-H, I presume?”

Sara simply sing-songed, “Who’s ready for their destiny?”

Penny sighed. “Do we have a choice?”

“Nope!” Sara beamed. “But I brought snacks.”

She conjured a cupcake and took a bite.

Then pointed dramatically at Julia.

“You’re up first, Goddess Redux.”

***

Sara didn’t wait for a response. Or applause. Or whatever she might have been expecting. She spun on her heel and headed for the door, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like “Bohemian Rhapsody” played on a sitar.

“Let’s go, kids,” she called. “Destiny waits for no mortal.”

Josh looked down at his barely-touched bowl. “But the stew—”

“You can bring it,” Sara said from beyond the doorway.

He brightened, grabbed the bowl, and trotted after her. “Anyone want seconds for the road?”

“No, but I want you to stop talking,” Margo said, pushing past him.

They filed out one by one, Penny grumbling about not even getting to sit down, RC and Arrow sharing a loaded glance before stepping into the light.

Julia was the last to leave, pausing for one breath at the doorway.

As her foot crossed the threshold, everything changed.

The shack was gone. The forest with the stream and their wagon – all gone, too.

They now stood in a vast, endless void that shimmered with starlight and shifting colors—like a galaxy had exploded and then been frozen in motion. Beneath them was no visible ground, but they didn’t fall. Time itself felt... elastic.

Waiting ahead were two figures.

Sara stood with her hands on her hips and a mischievous smile. To her right, a tall, robed man stood absolutely still, his form flickering between old and young, mortal and ethereal. His eyes were pure silver. Time radiated from him like heat from the sun.

He didn’t blink.

“Gang,” Sara announced, sweeping her hand with dramatic flair, “this is Chronos. Keeper of Time. Collector of Clocks. Destroyer of Vibes.”

Chronos inclined his head without expression.

“And I,” she continued, “am Saraswati. Goddess of Wisdom, Music, Chaos-Inspired Creation, and the Whisper Behind the Truth.”

“So, a little bit more than just Sara,” Josh muttered, slurping stew.

Chronos finally spoke. His voice was deep, layered, like every grandfather in existence speaking at once. “The first trial belongs to Julia Wicker.”

Julia straightened, her jaw tight.

“This is a test of Balance,” Chronos said. “Especially in the presence of Power.”

“Especially especially,” Sara echoed, “when that power comes with divine strings attached.”

Chronos continued, “Julia must choose between rewriting a moment of her past to preserve herself—or allowing history to stand unchanged, maintaining the balance that protects the world.”

“She’s not doing this alone,” Eliot said sharply.

“She is,” Chronos replied.

“But she’s not unobserved,” Sara added, grinning. “You all get front-row seats. Look under your chairs—just kidding, they’ll appear in a second.”

Suddenly, seven floating chairs shimmered into existence in a perfect row. The gang had barely blinked before they were pulled into them as if by invisible seat belts.

“This is really fucking weird,” Margo muttered.

“Not entirely, based on our scale of weirdness,” Penny shot back.

Sara stepped toward Julia and smiled softly. “Ready, Jules?”

“No,” Julia said honestly. “But let’s do it anyway.”

“Excellent,” Sara said, and tapped Julia lightly on the forehead.

The stars went dark.

***

When Julia opened her eyes, she was standing in the back room of the safe house. She knew immediately where she was. This first memory was The Fox.

The walls were the same awful green. The candles flickered. There was the metallic tang of blood—hers, she realized. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

She was watching herself. Sitting. Crying.

And him.

Reynard.

He stood in front of her, back turned, laughing softly. He hadn’t seen her yet.

Not this version of her.

Above, the “audience” chairs shimmered into view in the air—like opera boxes suspended in nothing. The others were seated, watching.

Quentin leaned forward. Eliot looked physically ill. Margo was whispering something to Josh with a clenched jaw.

Julia stepped forward, but the floor didn't creak beneath her feet. She wasn’t really here.

Chronos materialized beside her. He didn’t look at her.

“You could change this,” he said. “Strike him down. Stop what’s coming.”

Julia’s fists clenched. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You wouldn’t lose your spark,” Chronos said. “Only your suffering.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered.

Sara appeared on her other side, cross-legged in midair like she was meditating in a dream.

“You could take this pain away,” she said gently. “But the path changes. No Reynard means no invocation. No transformation. No path to Our Lady. No goddess.”

“No Quentin. No Eliot,” Julia added. “No monster hunt. No me.”

She turned away just before the memory unfroze. She didn’t need to watch it again.

A murmur from above. Penny was muttering curses. Kady, if she’d been here, would’ve screamed.

But Julia kept walking. She didn’t look back.

Darkness returned, and the scenery changed again.

This time, it was the cliffs of Fillory, where she sacrificed herself, her power, for her friends.

The wind ripped through her jacket like claws. Quentin stood a few feet away, shouting her name. Eliot lay on the ground, his eyes glassy with pain, chest barely rising.

“You don’t have to do this!” Past-Quentin’s voice cracked.

“I do,” memory-Julia said. “It’s me or all of you. Easy math.”

Julia watched her past self reach for the divine tether—the last thread of godhood tethering her to power.

She remembered how cold it had been. How scared she’d been to be ordinary again.

Chronos stepped forward. “You may choose differently here. Retain your divinity. Save yourself. The others will survive... some of them, anyway.”

“Some,” Julia echoed, voice flat.

Sara floated down beside her. “What’s the point of power, if not to protect those you love?”

“Exactly.” Julia stepped forward again. “And that’s why I gave it up.”

Memory-Julia pulled the thread.

Her power shattered.

Quentin screamed.

Present-Julia winced. “God, I looked so dramatic.”

“Grief usually is,” Eliot’s voice floated from the chairs above. “Also? You were a badass.”

Julia smiled up at Eliot, as darkness returned. When the next memory was revealed, it was a dark apartment. Quiet.

Julia remembered this silence well. The kind of silence that echoed in your teeth.

She stood in the center of the living room, watching as Penny-23 packed a small satchel with deliberate care. Like if he folded one more t-shirt, he wouldn’t cry.

She stood across from herself—exhausted, aching, barely holding it together.

“I’m sorry,” Penny had said. “I can’t be with a goddess. I don’t know who that makes me.”

“I didn’t ask to be this,” her past self whispered.

“But you are,” he said. “And I’m not ready for it.”

He walked out the door. Past-Julia didn’t stop him.

Present-Julia watched from the window.

Chronos murmured, “You may ask him to stay. Alter nothing else.”

Sara added, “But that version of him doesn’t become the man who comes back.”

Julia swallowed hard. “He needed to leave. And I needed to become someone who didn’t fall apart when he did.”

She looked at her past self, then back toward the gods. “We found our way back. I’d rather fight for something real than cling to something broken.”

A soft click.

The door shut again.

And this time, Julia smiled.

***

Back in the void, Julia stood alone in the center.

Chronos and Sara both stepped forward.

“Well?” Julia asked. “Was that what you wanted?”

Chronos gave a slow, respectful nod. “You passed.”

Sara beamed. “And not just because you made the ‘noble’ choices. But because you knew why you made them.”

Above, the chairs began to lower.

The others came running.

Quentin hugged her first. Eliot followed with a fierce, wordless look of awe. Penny didn’t say anything—he just slipped his hand into hers and held tight.

Margo muttered, “Well, damn, Jules. No pressure for the rest of us or anything.”

Josh nodded solemnly. “That was... a lot. Also, I dropped my stew mid-memory. So, thanks for that.”

Sara clapped her hands. “One champion down. Seven to go.”

The first trial had ended.

But the reckoning had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Sara had vanished as casually as she’d arrived, muttering something about “trial logistics” and “divine spreadsheets.” Chronos had simply blinked out of existence. Classic.

Which left the gang standing in a post-trial haze outside RC’s shack, everyone vibrating with varying levels of existential stress.

“Well,” Josh finally said, “that was horrible and beautiful. Like a breakup song with a brass section.”

Margo rolled her neck with a crack. “I say we blow off steam by hexing a god’s car.”

“We’re going back to Earth,” Julia said, ignoring Margo. “We need Kady. She’s next.”

Penny perked up immediately. “You’re sure?”

Sara’s voice echoed from nowhere: “Very sure.”

“Great,” Quentin said. “Then let’s go find her before another cryptic riddle shows up with feathers and judgment.”

He turned to RC and Arrow. “You’ve come this far. I don’t think this train’s got any exits. Come with us.”

RC opened his mouth, closed it, looked to Arrow.

Arrow smiled. Soft. Unapologetic. “I’ll stay here. Hold the shack down.”

“You sure?” RC asked, brows furrowing.

“I’ve been a hundred things in a hundred places,” Arrow said. “But I’ve never been a homebody until I met you. So yeah. I’ll wait.”

Margo leaned toward Quentin, stage-whispering, “Ugh. The way he looks at him. It’s disgustingly sweet.”

Penny nodded. “I haven’t seen anyone that lovelorn since, well...” He side-eyed Q and Eliot.

Eliot blinked. “Why do I suddenly want to hug both of them?”

“Because they’re giving twin energy and emotional repression,” Julia deadpanned, not taking her eyes off RC and Arrow.

Quentin clapped RC on the shoulder. “Let’s go save the world. Again.”

Arrow smiled. “Try not to break him.”

“No promises,” Eliot called as they all clasped hands, connecting with Penny, as he Traveled them out of Fillory.

***

RC staggered forward, stumbling into the living room like he’d been hit with a sensory grenade.

“Holy shit,” he whispered. “We’re in the real world?”

He touched the fridge like it might bite him. “There’s electricity. And so many smells.”

Josh nodded. “Yup. Welcome to Earth, buddy. We have cell towers and crippling rent.”

“I’ve never been outside Fillory before,” RC said, almost reverent. “It’s... loud.”

Quentin chuckled. “Sorry we can’t give you the full tourist experience. There’s sort of a divine coup happening.”

They shared a brief look. Same half-smile. Same slight shoulder shrug. And at the exact same moment, both reached up and flicked their hair out of their eyes.

Julia stared.

“Huh,” she said.

Eliot, watching from the couch, frowned. “I feel the need to knit you both matching sweaters. And read you a bedtime story.”

Quentin shot him a look. “Please don’t.”

“Too late,” Margo said. “I already ordered them monogrammed mugs. 'World's Weirdest Temporal Twins.'”

The door opening cut the moment short.

Pete walked in first, all swagger and sarcasm, followed by Kady, who immediately clocked everyone in the room and narrowed her eyes.

“Okay,” she said, arms crossed. “What the hell’s going on?”

***

“We’re fighting gods,” Julia summarized. “Again.”

“They’re making us do trials,” Penny added.

“Like magical American Ninja Warrior,” Josh said.

Quentin leaned in. “But for fate.”

Eliot added, “With trauma.”

Kady looked at Pete, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “So, just another Tuesday?”

Suddenly, a crackle of blue-white light sparked in the corner.

From it stepped a woman with wild auburn curls, a cloak made of green silk and embers, and eyes like hearthfire. She held a bundle of herbs and a dagger—and wore combat boots.

“Brigid,” she said simply before nodding to Kady. “It’s time.”

“Oh,” Kady said. “I’m up? Well, fuck. No pressure.”

And then shadows peeled off the far wall, folding in on themselves until a tall man with a crown of bone and charcoal eyes stepped into view.

“Hades,” he said, voice like winter’s breath. “Your rage has been noted.”

Kady’s jaw tightened.

Brigid and Hades stepped to either side of the room. The others were once again sucked into chairs—though this time, they weren’t distant.

“Unlike the last trial,” Brigid said, “you get a voice.”

“Judge her,” Hades said. “As she decides how to use her power.”

Josh looked giddy. “Do we get paddles? Like Dancing with the Stars?”

Margo slapped him on the side of the head. “No, we’re like the fucking emperor. This is Gladiator, you stale baguette.”

“Judge wisely,” Hades said darkly. “Your feedback will matter.”

The room shifted. The chairs lifted.

Kady stood alone in the center, facing illusions of those who’d wronged her—Brakebills, the Library, betrayal, abandonment.

Sara’s voice whispered from the shadows.

“What will you do, Kady Orloff-Diaz? Lead the Hedges with justice... or vengeance?”

***

The trial space transformed into something harsher—darker than Julia’s, more tangible. Concrete, steel, flickering fluorescent lights. Magic crackles along the edges. This is a memory-turned-battlefield.

The air shifted.

Kady blinked—and suddenly, she was alone in the Library.

Not a library.

The Library.

Those endless sterile halls, the too-bright lighting, the crushing silence.

But this time, she stood in front of the central desk, where her mother once pleaded for her life. Where Kady watched the cost of magic measured in blood.

The others—Julia, Quentin, Penny, Margo, Eliot, Josh, Pete, and RC—appeared in the gallery seats above, looking down. Floating opera boxes again. Classic divine theatre.

Pete leaned forward, concerned. Julia reached for Penny’s hand.

Below, Hades stood silently at one end of the atrium. His presence was like a pressure system. Cold. Dense.

At the other end, Brigid glowed with a gentle, molten light—firelight on worn wood and open hands.

Brigid nodded. “Welcome, Kady Orloff-Diaz.”

Kady crossed her arms. “What is this? Therapy?”

“More like sentencing,” Hades said, voice cool.

Brigid shrugged. “It’s a trial. Of your rage. Of your justice. Of your heart.”

With a flash of light, three scenes shimmered into view around Kady like ghostly projections.

The first scene lit up, as if by cosmic spotlight. Kady stood outside the Dean’s office at Brakebills. A younger version of herself sat on a bench nearby, arms bandaged, eyes hollow.

The Dean’s voice echoed from inside the office.

“She’s unstable. Dangerous. Best to let her go.”

Present-day Kady clenched her fists.

Memory-Kady didn’t cry. She just left.

Above, Margo hissed, “They sucked.”

Josh nodded. “Total snobs. We’re better than them.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Speak for yourself. I was fabulous.”

Quentin leaned forward. “Kady—this isn’t your shame. It’s theirs.”

Penny said nothing. His expression was tight.

Brigid appeared beside her. “You may burn it. Rewrite history. Take them down.”

Hades added, “You were discarded. As your mother was. This is your right.”

Kady hesitated.

“I’ve wanted to destroy this place since the day I left.”

She turned toward the doors, her hands flaring with magic.

Then she stopped.

“No,” she said. “Let them rot in irrelevance. My power doesn’t need their permission.”

The scene faded, then the light shifted to the moment she’d nearly destroyed the Library’s branch system—when she’d fought off librarians with blood on her knuckles, ready to torch everything.

“You were seconds from vengeance,” Hades said. “Why did you hesitate?”

Kady looked up at Pete in the gallery.

“You,” she said softly.

Pete smiled. “You said you wanted to fix things. Not just break them.”

Below, Brigid handed her a key. “Rebuild it. Make it yours.”

Hades extended a torch. “Or raze it to ash.”

Kady stared at both.

Then knocked them both to the ground.

“I’ll build something better. Without their bones."

Finally, she stood in the aftermath of Julia’s godhood—the moment Kady had learned Julia lied, had kept the truth from her, had chosen Penny over her.

Quentin stood nearby in the memory, quietly offering support but never quite reaching out.

Present-Kady exhaled. “God, I hated you both for a while.”

Julia flinched in the gallery. “I know. I deserved that.”

Penny opened his mouth. “I—”

“No,” Kady interrupted. “Don’t explain. You both left me. But…”

She looked around.

“I’m still standing.”

Brigid smiled. “Exactly.”

Hades frowned. “So you forgive?”

“I live,” Kady said. “That’s more important.”

* * *

Back in the center of the trial space, the echoes faded.

Brigid stepped forward. “You chose mercy over revenge. Leadership over destruction.”

Hades studied her. “And yet, you carry your anger still.”

“Yeah,” Kady snapped. “I just don’t let it choose for me.”

He nodded once. “Then you have passed.”

From above, Pete cheered.

“Hell yeah, Boss-Bitch!” Margo shouted.

Eliot threw up jazz hands. “Kady, breaker of chains and low-budget infrastructure!”

Julia grinned through tears. “You did it.”

Penny finally smiled. “Proud of you.”

Pete added, “You don’t have to be angry forever, Kady. I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

She smirked. “You mean with mild tolerance?”

He grinned. “I’ll take it.”

Chapter Text

In the apartment, the gang was decompressing post-trial with junk food, couch sprawls, and the lingering tinge of emotional vulnerability in the air.

Josh was the first to break the silence.

He raised his soda can high and declared, “To Kady—our emotionally unavailable, metaphorically combustible, surprisingly merciful Hedge Queen!”

Margo clinked her own bottle against it. “You’re all right, Orloff-Diaz. For a rage witch.”

Kady grunted from where she was half-sprawled on the arm of the couch. “I feel so seen.”

Quentin plopped down beside her and nudged her shoulder.

“You did good,” he said. “I mean it. I saw the gooey center. It’s there. It’s real. It’s nice. You should let it out more often.”

“Bite me, Coldwater,” she said, but with a smirk and zero venom.

Quentin grinned. “So, are you and Pete gonna figure your shit out next? You’ve got, like, a healthy-relationship B-plot brewing.”

She snorted. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ll let him sweat a little longer. He looks good nervous.”

Quentin opened his mouth for a smart remark—but the air shimmered and pop!

Alice appeared, clutching a small stack of books and looking frazzled in that very specific “magical administrator having a day” kind of way.

She looked around at the mess—couch cushions askew, Eliot perched cross-legged on the rug petting a cat that had come in one day from the balcony and just stayed, someone’s socks (probably Josh’s) hanging from the ceiling fan.

“Oh my God,” she said. “What now?”

“Hi, Alice,” Julia said sweetly.

Alice ignored that. “I’ve been in the Library trying to stabilize dimensional frequency spikes and track rogue arcane signatures, and surprise! they all lead back to here. To you people.”

"I take offense to that phrasing," Penny quipped.

Josh raised his hand. “To be fair, this time we only partially broke the fabric of reality.”

“Gods,” Alice said flatly. “Again?”

“New ones and old ones,” Quentin offered helpfully.

Kady gestured broadly. “There are trials now. Trial season. Very divine. Julia passed. I passed. We’re basically running a cosmic game show.”

Alice opened her mouth to object again—but her eyes caught on RC.

She blinked. “Um. Quentin?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you have a mini-you?”

Kady put both hands up. “THANK YOU. Someone finally said it.”

RC shrank slightly in his chair.

Julia sighed. “That’s RC. He helped us in Fillory. There’s some kind of temporal weirdness going on, but we don’t exactly have a full picture.”

Quentin stared at RC for a moment longer. “Wait. You mean we actually look that alike?”

RC didn’t answer. Just took a sip of water and avoided all eye contact.

Josh whispered to Margo, “So... we are raising Q’s clone, right?”

Before anyone could dig deeper into the time-baby elephant in the room, there was a blinding flash of heatless flame—and suddenly, the living room plant burst into crimson petals and molten ash.

A figure stepped forward from the smoke. Dressed in gold and red armor, with feline eyes and braided hair like fire, this goddess did not come quietly.

"I am Sekhmet," she announced. Her eyes scanned the group, zeroing in on Alice with surgical precision.

Sekhmet opened her mouth but was interrupted by a second figure shimmering into view—perched casually on the counter, legs crossed, sipping something that looked suspiciously like a matcha latte in a coconut shell.

Winged shoes. Sunglasses. Vibe like a chaotic bisexual disaster who could solve a Rubik’s Cube in one hand while stealing your boyfriend with the other.

“Heyo,” the newcomer said. “Hermes. You know, that Hermes. Messenger, chaos courier, guide to the afterlife, occasional party planner.”

Alice squinted. “So, you’re the... what, co-host of this trial?”

“I prefer divine wingman,” he said with a wink.

Sekhmet stepped forward, all business. “Alice Quinn. You are next. Your trial begins now.”

“Wait—I’m next?”

“Control. Logic. Arrogance disguised as precision,” Sekhmet said, pacing like a lioness ready to strike. “You will be tested.”

“And judged,” said Hermes.

Alice sighed, rubbing her temples.

Sekhmet and Hermes snap their fingers in sync, and the entire apartment disappeared.

* * *

Alice and the others stood at the entrance to the edge of a massive glass labyrinth suspended in a starless void. The maze pulsed with magic—walls shift slightly, impossible geometry warps the space. Control is an illusion here.

Sekhmet stepped forward first, voice like a wildfire in slow motion. “This is the Maze of Meaning.”

Hermes leaned casually against a wall of the labyrinth. “Basically, a trust fall, but with existential consequences.”

Sekhmet explained, “It shifts to test your greatest flaw—your need to control, to understand, to hold the reins even when the horse is bolting."

"Meaning - what, exactly?" Quentin piped up.

"It shifts with thought. Reacts to fear. Punishes control.”

Alice frowned. “So... like my worst nightmare?”

“Exactly!” Hermes beamed. “Gold star.”

“Charming,” Alice said dryly.

“For this trial, the rest of you won't get to watch. But,” Hermes added, “you don’t have to go alone.”

He gestured to the group behind Alice.

“You may bring one,” Sekhmet said. “One companion, whose presence may test or temper your worst instincts.”

Alice didn’t hesitate.

“Eliot.”

He blinked. “Me?”

“You’re honest. And also the most unpredictable person I know,” she said. “Which is exactly what I need.”

“Wow,” Eliot muttered. “That’s either a huge compliment or a character assassination.”

* * *

The two stepped into the maze—and instantly, the rest of the group vanished.

The walls around them pulsed and flickered, rearranging like thoughts Alice couldn’t quite pin down.

“Any idea what we’re supposed to do?” Eliot asked.

“Find the center,” Alice replied. “That’s how mazes work.”

They started walking.

At first, it was simple—glass corridors and faint illusions of magical symbols flickering across the walls. The first few turns felt manageable. Alice kept her steps measured, her eyes scanning for patterns, pressure plates, energy flux. Every time the maze shifted slightly, she adjusted course.

Then things began to get tougher.

The floor beneath Alice’s feet turned to quicksand for a moment—only to solidify again when Eliot grabbed her hand.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she muttered, too sharply.

“Your trial,” he said, “feels a lot like my hangovers.”

Alice pushed her glasses up on her nose and looked around. “Okay, if we go left, then backtrack at the mirrored wall—”

Eliot groaned. “Alice.”

“What?”

“You’re doing that thing. Being all - Alice-y. Trying to logic your way out of a labyrinth made of emotional trauma and magic.”

“I’m trying to find a safe path,” she snapped.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Alice. There is no safe path. There’s just forward.”

She hesitated. “And if forward is wrong?”

“Then we dance through it anyway.”

She took a breath.

And, for once, let him lead.

* * *

The maze responded immediately.

The floor trembled. Walls blinked in and out of existence. Paths opened only to collapse again.

Images began appearing in the glass: moments from Alice’s past. Her father. Her guilt. Her resurrection. The time she abandoned Quentin to hunt for knowledge. The time she let herself believe the Library was the answer.

Still, Eliot pressed forward—at one point, literally pulling Alice into a sudden left turn that looked like a dead end until the wall shimmered and melted.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

“Nope,” Eliot said. “This is trust. Your absolute least favorite thing.”

“Shut up.”

“Say it with love.”

They rounded another corner—and stopped. The maze opened into a wider room. In the center stood a pedestal. Behind it: a choice.

A golden door. And a shadowed one.

Hermes appeared in the reflection of the glass wall.

“One door leads to victory. The other, to loss.”

Sekhmet’s voice echoed behind them. “To win, you must eliminate your greatest obstacle.”

And then—suddenly—Eliot vanished from Alice’s side and reappeared on the pedestal.

Alice spun around. “What the hell?!”

Hermes leaned against the wall. “You want Quentin back? Choose the golden door. Say Eliot didn’t make it through the maze.”

Sekhmet’s voice added, “His death is plausible. The magic here is volatile. The others will believe it. Quentin will be yours again.”

Eliot’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Okay. I definitely did not volunteer as tribute for the emotional Hunger Games.”

Alice didn’t speak.

She stepped toward him slowly, eyes locked on the pedestal.

Then she looked past him—toward the shadowed door.

And she smiled. Small. Sad. Real.

“No,” she said. “I already knew, a long time ago, that Q’s heart belonged to Eliot. Even when it hurt, even when I denied it... I knew.”

Eliot swallowed, stunned silent.

Alice stepped up beside him and turned to face the gods’ voices.

“I was always fighting for something I could never win. But I had to fight. Because I loved him. Because I had to say that I tried.”

She looked at Eliot now.

“But now I see... in my losing, you two win. And that matters more.”

She extended her hand toward Eliot. He reached out and took it.

The pedestal dissolved.

Eliot squeezed Alice's hand.

The blonde sighed, looking to Sekhmet and Hermes. "I'm done trying to control what was never mine in the first place." Together, they walked toward the shadowed door and when Alice turned the handle, the maze shattered like glass hit by sound.

* * *

Alice and Eliot landed in the center of the apartment with a thud—the others rushing forward.

“You’re both okay?” Quentin asked, wide-eyed.

Alice looked at him and gave him the softest smile he’d ever seen from her.

“I am,” she said. “Really.”

Eliot nodded, accepting a hug from Margo.

Sekhmet appeared one last time. “Balance. Humility. Grace. You have passed.”

Hermes grinned. “Not bad, Bunny.”

And then, like always, the gods were gone.

Alice took a breath and turned to the others. “That was... intense.”

Kady smirked. “You look like someone who just did six months of therapy in twenty minutes.”

Alice raised an eyebrow. “Accurate.” She turned to Eliot. "Thank you."

He smirked. “Next time, I get to drag you through a psychological hellscape.”

“Deal.”

And Quentin?

He stepped beside Eliot and took his hand without hesitation.

Alice watched them, her heart no longer aching—but full.

“Three down,” Julia said. “Four to go.”

“Who's next?” Josh asked, mouth already full of popcorn.

Margo cracked her knuckles. “I hope it’s me. I’ve got a kingdom to reclaim and an entire revenge playlist locked and loaded.”

Chapter Text

Julia stood near the window, arms crossed, looking like she was doing long division in her head.

“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ve done three trials. Back to back to back.”

Josh held up three fingers solemnly. “Hat trick.”

“Which means,” Julia continued, “I think we deserve a break.”

"You don't have to convince us," Margo said, holding her hands up.

“I was talking to the gods,” Julia said, glancing upward. “Who are all undoubtedly watching us right now. Hey, celestial creeps—just give us, like, a bit before trial four, okay? Maybe grab some food?"

"Or a massage and hibernation," Alice muttered.

There was a pause.

Then, like wind through a harp:

“You right, you right. Respite well earned.”
—Sara’s voice. Everywhere and nowhere at once.

Everyone collectively shuddered.

Margo glared up toward the ceiling. “That shit's not funny. Or cute.”

Everyone scattered throughout the apartment, finding places to lounge. Or searching for food.

* * *

Kady was sitting on the windowsill, picking at a torn string on her sleeve, when Pete flopped onto the space beside her in the window nook.

“You were amazing in that trial,” he said casually.

“Was I?” she asked without looking.

“Yeah,” he said. “Also terrifying. But mostly amazing.”

A beat.

He cleared his throat. “So... dinner?”

Kady turned slowly, brow raised. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. You know. Like, a date. Just one. No stakes. No divine judgment. Just... you and me. Table. Food. Possibly wine if the gods allow it.”

She stared at him.

“Well,” she said at last, “I have to eat sometime. So, I guess if you wanted to buy me something nice and we end up talking and shit, that wouldn’t be horrible.”

He grinned. “In my head, I’m interpreting that as an emphatic yes.”

“Don’t push your luck.” She shoved him, but smiled.

* * *

Quentin and Eliot settled down on either side of RC on the couch. He was flipping through an old herbal manual of Marina's, but his eyes weren’t really reading.

“Hey,” Quentin said gently. “We’ve gotta talk.”

RC didn’t look up. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You sure?” Eliot asked. “Because the ‘mini-Q but haunted’ vibe is kind of screaming otherwise.”

RC sighed and set the book down.

“I left home when I was sixteen,” he said. “Went to the Healer’s village. Wanted to learn to fix things.”

He ran a hand through his hair. Familiar. Painfully familiar.

“Few years in, some elders show up. Say I’m a temporal anomaly. Say I shouldn’t exist. Their solution? Execute me before I disrupt the balance.”

Quentin’s jaw clenched.

“But then I met Arrow,” RC continued. “He convinced them to spare me. Got them to banish me instead. Said exile was kinder. We’ve been... together since.”

There was a long silence.

“Mmhmm,” Quentin said slowly. “And you and Arrow are...?”

“Friends,” RC said quickly. “Just friends.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Nope. Saw the way he looks at you. That’s not friendship. That’s operatic-level longing.”

Quentin nodded. “Do you have feelings for him?”

RC’s face tightened. “Doesn’t matter. We’re too different. It wouldn’t work. And I’m not even supposed to exist, so what’s the point?”

He got up and walked to the window, arms folded, gaze distant.

Eliot looked at Quentin. Quentin looked heartbroken.

They both stayed seated, giving RC space—for now.

* * *

Julia found Penny in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’d been waiting for her.

“I didn’t say it before,” he said, “but you were incredible.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You, too. With Eliot.”

“Yeah, well, he’s really fucking hard to kill.”

Julia smiled faintly.

They stood in silence for a minute.

“I’m sorry,” Penny said quietly. “For not being ready. Back then.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know how to wait,” she replied.

Another beat.

“So,” Penny said, “what now?”

“We wait,” Julia said. “We talk. We try.”

He reached out and took her hand.

“Okay.”

* * *

Margo sat on the rooftop, staring out at the skyline with a death grip on a soda can. She didn’t notice Josh approach until he sat beside her and handed her a cupcake.

“It’s lemon,” he said. “Cleansing.”

“I’m not in the fucking mood for baked therapy,” she muttered.

“Cool. I brought three,” he said, unwrapping his own.

They sat in silence for a while.

Finally, Margo spoke.

“I’m scared.”

Josh blinked. “What?”

“I want my throne back,” she said. “And I’m scared I’ll fail. Again.”

Josh took a deep breath. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“How do you know?”

He looked at her. “Because you’re Margo Fucking Hanson. And when you want something, the universe generally learns to move.”

She stared at him.

Then leaned her head on his shoulder.

Just for a minute.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

* * *

The apartment hummed with the quiet of people trying—to connect, to heal, to be ready for what came next.

And somewhere above, the gods watched.

And waited.

* * *

Later that evening, Eliot excused himself quietly and padded upstairs, muttering something about sweat, grime, and spiritual residue he swore he could still feel on his skin.

Quentin gave him about thirty seconds before following.

He found Eliot in the bedroom, shirt off, toweling his hair as though he'd just run a marathon through a sauna.

“You good?” Q asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

Eliot glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve been possessed by a Monster, stabbed in the gut, emotionally flayed by several gods, and watched a glass maze dissolve around me. So yeah—I just needed fresh socks and maybe a hug.”

Quentin smiled.

Then tackled him onto the bed.

Eliot let out a surprised oof as they landed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Their mouths found each other instantly—familiar, hungry, and full of everything they still hadn’t had time to say.

“I want more,” Quentin murmured, breathless against Eliot’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Eliot said, hand sliding under Q’s shirt. “Same.”

Eliot's mouth moved to Quentin's neck and Q's fingers started working at Eliot's jeans.

But then Eliot abruptly stopped kissing Q's collarbone. Quentin pulled back enough to look into El's wide eyes.

He cleared his throat. “So, um, are the gods watching us? Like, right now?”

Quentin flopped onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s a major buzzkill.”

Eliot groaned and rolled away, standing up and reaching for a shirt—something button-down and boring enough to reduce his temptation level by 40%.

Quentin sat up, running a hand through his hair.

“So. RC.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow.

“Are we thinking like... multiverse situation?” Q asked, chewing his lip.

Eliot scoffed. “He’s not you.”

“But we look similar. Act alike. And when I’m near him, I get this weird instinct to protect him. Like I know him.”

Eliot looked down at the floor, thoughtful.

“I feel it too,” he admitted. “Like he’s... part of us. Somehow.”

They shared a look. Quiet. Heavy. Charged.

Then, hand in hand, and the with the thought of being watched by their cosmic gameshow hosts doing more than a cold shower ever could, they headed back downstairs.

The group had reconvened in the kitchen area and descended into a sort of madness as they argued about what to eat. RC was standing in the middle of the kitchen with Josh, eyeing a tray of cookies with polite disinterest.

“Do you have anything with fruit?” he asked.

Josh blinked. “Uh, maybe some apples?”

RC tilted his head. “Any peaches?”

Quentin stopped mid-step.

RC added, thoughtfully, “Or plums?”

Quentin launched himself forward, leaning across the kitchen island.

“What,” Q asked slowly, “did you just say?”

RC turned, startled. “I asked if there was fruit?"

Eliot gripped the back of a chair and gritted out, "No. Specifically, what fruit did you mention?"

RC chewed his lip before saying, "Peaches or plums. Why?”

But before anyone could answer—a chime rang out, clear and crystalline, like a bell tolling across dimensions.

“Damn it!” Margo snapped. “I just sat down.”

A shimmering ripple passed through the apartment. Everyone straightened—bracing.

Julia glanced at the ceiling. “Who’s it for?”

Another chime echoed, followed by a voice like a thousand echoes collapsing into one:

“William Adiyodi.”

Penny blinked. “...I hate that they used my full name.”

Margo launched to her feet. “Ugh! I wanted to go next! This is divine discrimination.”

Pete deadpanned, “Maybe they’re scared of you.”

Kady added, “Yeah, your vibe is aggressively trial-ready.”

Margo narrowed her eyes. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Penny sighed, already reaching for his jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”

Josh put down the tray of cookies. "Our door-dasher isn't even here yet with the takeout."

RC sidled up next to Julia, “Does this mean more gods?”

Julia nodded. “Yup,” she answered, popping the 'p.'

RC sighed. “Cool. I’ll just be over here, processing this fruit situation.”

Chapter Text

Penny slipped his jacket on and put his hands in his jacket pockets like he was going to grab coffee, not face metaphysical judgment.

"You good?" Julia asked, brushing his arm.

He shrugged. “As I’ll ever be. I've been a few Penny's already. Guess we'll see if this one makes it out.”

Quentin mumbled, “Dark." Then added, "And that's coming from me.”

Suddenly, Sara popped into the center of the room, totally uninvited and entirely undisturbed by that fact. She wore leggings, a sweatshirt that said SORRY, I’M DIVINE, and no shoes.

“Time to go, Penny,” she said simply.

Julia blinked. “Go? It's not happening here? Or, y'know, magically transporting us somewhere?”

"Nope," Sara answered with a smile. Then she looked down at her wrist, tapping where a watch would have been (but wasn't). “Ooh, and you better go now, or you'll be late. The gods are impatient. It’s adorable.”

Josh offered, “Want a granola bar for the road?”

“Dude,” Penny said, “I’m going to meet with gods.”

“So… chocolate chip?”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, looking to Sara. “Do I get a plus one?”

Sara shook her head. “This one’s solo, Traveler. You have to do this alone. That’s the whole point.”

Everyone looked at each other nervously.

“Do we get to watch?” Quentin asked.

“Nope,” Sara chirped.

Julia frowned. “We don't even get a chance to—”

“You’ll see him again," Sara interrupted. "If he passes,” Sara added with an infuriating wink.

Before anyone could argue further, the wall behind Sara shimmered and peeled open—revealing a long, endless corridor of stars.

The doorway wasn’t made of wood or stone or magic.

It was made of intention.

Penny exhaled. “Well. That’s not foreboding.”

Margo called, “In case you don’t come back, can you tell me where your secret chocolate stash is hidden?”

Kady smirked. “Too late - I already found it. And ate it.”

He sighed. “Bitches,” he murmured fondly.

And then he stepped through the door.

* * *

The corridor wasn’t really a hallway. It felt like a galaxy paused mid-spin—threads of light stretching like constellations, with every breath creating echoes.

At the far end, two figures waited.

The first was vast—taller than thought, cloaked in cascading layers of silk and shadow. Her face was hidden behind a silver veil that shimmered like ancient starlight. When she moved, time seemed to bow.

“I am Ananke,” she said. “Goddess of compulsion. Of the chains that bind all things. You, Traveler, are a threat to order. But also… a test.”

Penny tilted his head. “Nice to meet you, too?”

The second figure sat cross-legged on a floating lotus, surrounded by flickering candles and the faint scent of cardamom.

He smiled, wide and warm, as he offered a small wave.

“I am Ganesha,” he said. “Remover of obstacles. Opener of doors. God of insight, wisdom, and vibes.”

Penny blinked. “Okay. I like you.”

Ananke said nothing.

Ganesha chuckled. “Your trial is simple. You will walk the corridor, among your possible lives. Choose a thread. One leads to a life of your choosing. One to doom. One to endless running. One to peace. One... to sacrifice.”

Penny snorted. “That’s five threads. And also, not simple.”

Ananke added, “Fail, and you fracture—into every version but yourself.”

Penny rubbed his temples. “Right. So, Kady was right - it’s just Tuesday, then.”

The corridor unfurled around him. Five threads of light. Five paths.

And only one true way forward.

“Choose wisely,” Ganesha said gently. “But not safely.”

"Dope," Penny muttered. Then, he took a breath and stepped forward.

* * *

The first thread led to a quiet, sun-dappled street.

He found himself in a tidy little house with ivy on the walls. A bookshop next door bore his name on the glass. Inside, soft music played. The scent of coffee and old pages drifted through the air.

Kady entered the vision with a bag of groceries and kissed his cheek.

It felt... good.

Safe.

But as Penny stood there, watching himself shelve books and smile too easily, something inside him twisted. He wasn’t meant for easy. He wasn’t even meant for still.

There was no magic here.

And no spark.

He turned his back on it and stepped out.

The second thread was a world of fire.

A resistance, blood-soaked and desperate, with Penny at the helm. He stood on a rooftop, shouting orders, sigils burning in the sky. The gods had claimed the world, and the Hedges had risen to fight.

Kady was beside him again—older, harder, beautiful in her fury.

He was feared.

But he was tired.

He stepped through a burning wall, heart pounding, and felt the weight of every decision on his shoulders. There was no time to think. Only to lead.

Only to burn.

It was too much.

He let it go.

The third thread was almost dizzy-making just to look at.

He didn’t recognize this version of himself at first.

It flickered in and out—him, lost between timelines. Faces changed. Names. Worlds. One second he was standing in a black void, the next on a train with no destination. Alone in every place. Never landing. Never home.

It was the path of the runaway.

He could feel his mind breaking just from watching.

“Nope,” he whispered, backing away quickly.

The next thread almost escaped his notice.

It barely glowed. It looked wrong. Dull.

But when Penny stepped onto it, he felt something shift.

He was standing in the apartment again.

The others were there—talking, laughing. He looked down and saw Julia holding his hand. No grand mission. No explosive battle.

But real.

Messy. Present. His.

The others didn’t seem to notice him, but he felt their weight. Felt what it meant to have a place—not as a pawn, but as a person.

As himself.

He smiled. He didn't need to see the fifth and final thread. He kept walking forward along the fourth thread.

In a moment, he arrived back in the center of the corridor, heart steady for the first time in what felt like years.

Ananke tilted her veiled head. “You did not consider all options."

"Didn't need to," Penny answered, shoving his hands in his jacket pocket and shrugging.

"You chose a path hidden in plain sight,” Ganesha

“I chose my path,” he corrected.

Ananke's form began to fade into light. “That will be enough. For now.”

Ganesha rose and stepped closer, placing a hand on Penny’s chest. “You are not just a traveler, Penny Adiyodi. You are a decider.”

Light flared—and the corridor vanished.

* * *

The ripple of returning magic made the lamp on the end table flicker.

Penny stepped back into the apartment like no time had passed. The others looked up instantly.

Kady was on her feet before he could say anything. “You okay?”

He nodded, rolling his shoulders. “Think I just ghosted four versions of myself.”

Josh handed him a juice box.

Penny took it. “Thanks. Got any aspirin for fate fatigue?”

Julia came over and took his hand. “You did it.”

Quentin raised a glass. “Four down.”

Penny collapsed into a beanbag with the juice box like he just passed a cosmic SAT.

Everyone was mid-congratulations when the air snapped again—this time sharper, colder. A chime rang out like a gavel strike.

And this time, Margo stood before anyone else could move.

She raised her hands and shouted toward the ceiling: “YES. FINALLY.”

The others blinked.

“Wait,” Josh said. “Is it actually you?”

The shimmering portal opened before he could finish.

“Margo Hanson,” the voice announced—measured, ancient, and not at all prepared.

“Buckle up, bitches,” she said, cracking her knuckles. “Mama’s got business.”

Chapter Text

A portal opened in the apartment and Margo stepped through without hesitation. The others followed her, all emerging into a grand stone amphitheater surrounded by firelight and stars. Everything was carved from obsidian and lined with gold.

At the center stood two gods.

One looked ancient, regal, tall as a monument. Falcon-headed, robes ink-dark and covered in divine sigils. He carried a scroll longer than the history of Fillory and looked like he wanted to audit Margo's entire personality. "I am Thoth," he stated plainly.

Next to him, a goddess who was wild-eyed and barefoot, hair pulled into a braid tied with a quiver string. Her cloak shimmered like moonlight over wolf fur, and she carried a bow that hummed with quiet power. There was mischief in her smirk. "And I," she said, "am Artemis."

Thoth cleared his throat. “You are here to stand trial for your imbalance. For recklessness. For pride.”

“And don’t forget leadership,” Margo said, hands on her hips. “Also: charisma. Tactical brilliance. Hair that matches literal goddesses.”

Thoth blinked slowly. “Your trial is not a resume.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

Artemis chuckled softly, like a wolf catching the scent of a hunt. “This one’s got bite.”

Thoth continued, undeterred. “You are here to be judged for the ways you disrupted divine balance—particularly your claim to a throne you were never meant to keep.”

That did it.

Margo stepped forward, chin high. “Okay, bird-brain. Let’s skip the trial script and go straight to what I want out of this - my throne back, and completely undo my banishment.”

Thoth’s head tilted. “This is not a negotiation.”

“Damn right it’s not,” Margo said, eyes blazing. “I’m not negotiating. I’m demanding.”

Eliot, who had followed into the chamber with the others (the peanut gallery now well-practiced in divine trial seating), cleared his throat and leaned in. “She means... bargaining. She’s a shrewd bargainer. You should’ve seen her at the Fillorian marketplaces. Once talked a merchant down five gold and got a free scarf.”

Artemis grinned. “Oh, we saw.”

Margo turned. “And?”

Artemis stepped forward, lowering her bow. “I respect a warrior who knows what she’s worth. So yes. If you pass the trial—your throne is yours again. Ban lifted.”

Margo folded her arms. “And my people?”

“You’ll have to earn them back,” Artemis said. “But yes. You’ll have a shot.”

Margo’s eyes burned with firelight. “Then let’s begin.”

* * *

“This trial,” Thoth intoned, “will test the legitimacy of your claim—not only to your throne, but to your identity. You must prove that you are not who you were, nor who others tried to make you. You must show us who you are now.”

Margo rolled her eyes. “Cryptic and dramatic. You really are gods.”

Artemis smirked. “Oh, honey. We haven’t even started.”

With a single clap, the amphitheater shimmered and reshaped itself—stone walls folding inward like a blooming flower until Margo stood alone in a vast, coliseum-style arena. Sand beneath her boots. The firelight above became harsh daylight.

And then… the air shimmered.

Two figures stepped out of the mist.

Margo’s breath caught in her throat.

The first was a teenage version of herself—dark lipstick, a chip on her shoulder, and trauma barely hidden behind cat-eye eyeliner. High school Margo. Before Brakebills. Before Fillory. She radiated defiance and insecurity in equal measure.

The second was Margo in regal armor—her old Fillory crown gleaming. Not the one she’d forged through friendship and grit—but the version of herself who’d tried to rule through fear, perfection, and distance. The queen who almost broke everything by trying to fix it alone.

They stood across from her in silence.

And then… they drew swords.

And next to Margo, a sword of her own appeared, hovering in the air.

This was the trial.

Margo had to face—and fight—the girl she was, and the queen she pretended to be. She grasped the hilt of the sword and took a ready stance.

The rest of the gang had been magicked into seats along the upper wall of the arena, seated like reluctant VIPs at a divine UFC match.

Kady squinted down at the scene. “Wait. I had to take a trip down Worst Memory Lane. Why does she get a cage match?”

Pete nudged Kady. “You thinking of asking for a do-over?”

“I mean… maybe.”

Julia, without even looking away from the arena: “Shh.”

Down below, swords clashed.

Teen Margo lunged first—fast, reckless, raw. Her attacks weren’t refined, but they were desperate. Survival-based. She fought like someone who had to prove she mattered. Like someone who’d been hurt way too early.

“You think you’re better than me now?” she spat, blade swinging hard. “Just because you wear a crown?”

Margo ducked the blow and twisted away. “No. I think I am you. But sharper.”

The younger Margo slashed again, furious. “You forgot where we started.”

“No,” Margo growled, parrying. “I just stopped letting it define me.”

With a quick feint, she disarmed her younger self. The sword clattered to the ground.

Margo looked down and shrugged. "Honey, I've outgrown you."

The girl vanished in golden light.

* * *

The armored queen didn’t rush.

She stood with poise, the picture of cold regality.

“You failed them,” she said, voice dripping disdain. “Your people. Your court. You were banished. And now you think you can demand it all back?”

Margo’s jaw clenched. “You’re not me.”

“I’m everything you tried to be. Everything they needed you to be. And you? You weren’t enough.”

They fought.

And this battle was harder.

Every blow carried shame. Every clash of swords echoed the choices she regretted—every moment she pushed Josh away, every time she hid behind perfection, every time she didn’t say what she really felt.

They locked swords, faces inches apart.

“You’re weak,” the queen hissed.

“No,” Margo panted. “Just human.”

Margo pushed away from her other self, sword at her side and teeth bared.

The Queen she used to be charged her one last time, sword raised like divine judgment incarnate.

Margo didn’t flinch.

She pivoted, planted her foot, and kicked her armored self square in the chest.

The blow sent the figure flying backward, crashing to the ground.

“This. Is. Fillory, bitch!” Margo shouted. She charged toward the Queen on the ground, sword raised.

But a stern shout of "Bambi!" made her stop.

Margo turned and saw Eliot, standing from his seat, eyes wide. "You're better than her, Bambi. Prove it."

Margo nodded and looked back at herself on the ground, unarmed and braced for impact. And with a sigh, Margo dropped her sword.

The Queen shattered into shards of gold light.

Silence fell in the arena.

Then, from above, a soft glow descended.

A crown—not the one she once wore, but a new one. Simpler. Worn, not polished. Forged from magic, grit, and growth.

Artemis descended beside her, eyes shining.

“You’ve earned your place,” she said. “Not by conquering others. By conquering yourself. And by doing so with mercy.”

Thoth spoke next. “The throne is restored. The banishment revoked. You may return to Fillory. And rule—as who you are.”

Margo took the crown and placed it gently on her head.

“Finally,” she whispered. “Queen of Everything.”

* * *

The group reappeared in the apartment, Margo holding her newly-earned crown with suspicious reverence, like it might vanish if she blinked too long.

Julia stood in the center of the room. "Okay," she said. "Warm-up's over." She shook her hands out, her fingers starting to glow faintly with celestial energy. "Let's see how this baby handles on the road."

She held out both hands, eyes glowing orange-gold. A shimmering ring of symbols spun around her like a divine transit system.

“Everybody hold hands or think happy thoughts or whatever.”

Josh grabbed Margo’s hand. Penny sighed dramatically but touched Quentin’s shoulder. RC hesitated—until Quentin offered his hand.

“Trust me,” Q said.

RC swallowed. Nodded. Took it.

The apartment rippled.

And in the blink of an eye—

The air shifted instantly—denser, wilder, warmer.

They were back in Fillory.

The flowers still sang faint lullabies. The trees still buzzed with ancient magic. And, just on instinct, Margo looked at her wrists.

No banishment marks.

She exhaled.

But didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

And that’s when someone called her name.

“High King Margo?”

Margo turned, eyebrows raised, only to see Fen hurrying down a garden path—bow in hand, cloak fluttering, followed by…

Sara.

Who was floating about two inches off the ground and waving like a theme park princess.

“We had this… like… magic ripple,” Fen said breathlessly. “And then this woman showed up. And you’re back? You’re king again?”

Margo folded her arms. “I mean, yeah." She chuckled. "Huh. Guess the scroll dork and the moonlight wolf actually upheld the deal.”

Sara grinned. “Classic Margo. Never trust a god until you’ve triple-checked the paperwork.”

Behind them, Tick Pickwick entered the scene, wringing his hands in disbelief.

“High King Margo!” he gasped. “It’s true?! You’ve returned! And no longer banished? Oh, truly a joyous and momentous day, indeed.”

“Easy, Pickles,” Margo said, but softer than usual.

Tick’s eyes swept the group and then landed on RC.

He blinked.

Twitched.

“Why is he here?” Tick asked. “He’s a temporal anomaly. That boy should’ve ceased to—why is he alive?”

Julia stepped forward, glowing just enough to make it very clear she was not asking anything.

“Because I permit it.”

Tick paled.

Margo stepped beside her and added, “And so does your High King.”

Tick straightened, adjusting his vest nervously. “Yes. Yes, ma’am - goddess. And King. Obviously. Of course.”

Josh whispered to Penny, “Dude, Fillorian politics are terrifying.”

Everyone was catching their breath when Alice finally spoke.

“There’s only two trials left,” she said. “Eliot and Quentin.”

A beat of silence.

Then Sara, lounging midair with a glowing peach in hand, casually tossed it to RC—who caught it, startled—and the goddess turned to Eliot and smiled.

“Oh, right! You’re up, Buttercup.”

Eliot blinked. “Shit. Now?”

Sara winked. “Time to face yourself, El. And no mirrors this time.”

Chapter Text

"Hey, can we have, like, a minute?" Quentin asked Sara.

She smiled, her eyes soft, and nodded.

They were standing in one of Fillory’s quieter gardens—overgrown and humming with soft, nostalgic magic. Eliot followed Quentin to the edge, away from the others. Eliot looked at the foliage, hands in his pockets, quiet for once.

Quentin placed a hand on the small of El's back. “You okay?”

Eliot didn’t answer at first. Then, softly: “They’re going to make me look at everything, aren’t they?”

Quentin reached for his hand.

“I think they’re going to make you feel everything,” he said. “But that’s okay.”

Eliot scoffed. “No, it’s not. I don’t do feelings. I repress them, make snide comments, and seduce my way around them.”

“I know,” Quentin said. “But I also know you.”

He stepped closer.

“I love you, Eliot. I know you don’t always believe that. Or think you deserve it. But carry it with you—into this trial. Let it be your sword. Or shield, or whatever you need. Be brave.”

Eliot looked down. His throat bobbed.

“Okay,” he whispered.

* * *

When Eliot and Quentin returned to the group, Sara was waiting, holding a glowing bottle of wine and two empty glasses.

“Not gonna lie,” she said. “This one’s going to sting a little.”

Behind her, two divine figures materialized.

Sara gestured to one. “Old god: Dionysus."

Dionysus stood with his shirt half-buttoned, vines in his hair, taking one of the wine glasses from Sara, now full, and giving Eliot a lazy smile. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Then Sara nodded toward the other. "New god: Eros.”

Eros was not the chubby baby from Valentine's Day but tall, elegant, and radiating intensity. Arrows on his back. Eyes like the inside of a heart cracking open. "We are all about that guilt, self-worth, and love, baby."

Eliot inhaled sharply.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

The garden shimmered, the space in front of Eliot transforming, like a giant movie screen.

On it, scenes played out.

The mosaic timeline. Quiet. Familiar.

The little cabin.

Eliot was sitting at a table across from Quentin. They were laughing. Drinking tea. One of them reached across the table to brush hair from the other’s face.

Time passed in the scene. Eliot watched himself slice a peach.

It was so mundane. So devastatingly domestic. Quentin appeared in the frame next, barefoot and smiling, tossing a plum in the air and catching it with ridiculous flair.

Their shared wife—warm eyes, hair twisted into a braid, humming softly—appeared behind them with a toddler dawdling along after her, gripping a wooden spoon like a weapon.

Eliot blinked hard.

He could smell the kitchen. The warmth. The magic woven into the everyday.

“Didn’t even know I liked plums,” he whispered.

Dionysus stepped beside him, swirling a goblet. “You did. But you never let yourself have them. Not in this life.”

Eros, watching quietly, added, “You chose love. Even then. You were happy.”

“God,” Eliot breathed. “We really did it, didn’t we?”

“You did,” Eros said gently from behind him. “You loved. You lived. You made a life.”

“And you lost it,” Dionysus added. “You drank it away. You ran. You decided it didn’t count.”

Eliot shook his head. “No. I couldn’t hold onto it. I wasn’t—”

“Enough?” Eros offered.

The vision shimmered again.

A new moment: Quentin holding a child - their child. Laughing as he showed him the stars.

The boy looked about six.

Dark hair. Wide eyes.

And then a teenage version.

Taller. Hands like Quentin’s. A knowing, devious smile like Eliot’s.

Eliot’s knees buckled.

He stared. “No. That’s not— That can’t be—”

“It is,” Sara said, her voice quiet now. “You didn’t just build a life. You built a family.”

Eliot clutched his chest. “I left him.”

“You didn’t,” Eros said gently. “You’re just not done with him yet.”

The scene shifted—

It was that moment.

Quentin, awkward and raw and brave, sitting beside him, after they completed the quest.

“We work,” Q had said. “We know it 'cause we lived it. Who gets that kind of proof of concept?”

And Eliot—

He saw himself hesitate.

Saw himself shrink and say, “I love you, but. . . that’s not me. And that's definitely not you. Not when we have a choice.”

He watched Quentin’s heart crack.

Dionysus leaned in. “This skin still fits. You could put it back on. The man who doesn’t feel. Who numbs. Who chases only his base pleasure instead of making the hard choices that mean anythhing.”

Eliot closed his eyes. “I hated that man.”

When he opened his eyes, the scene had changed again.

Eliot saw himself, possessed. Watching through his own eyes, powerless.

The Monster wearing his body. Using his voice.

And in the Mirror Realm—he had made a vow.

“If I get out of here, I promise I’ll be braver,” he’d said.

The scene rippled, like water. And Eliot saw himself standing on the balcony of their apartment with Quentin, just earlier that day (or was it a few days ago?). Before they'd gone back to FIllory, when he was still bleeding from the wound in his abdomen.

Eliot watched himself say, "I think the bravest thing I can do right now is to let you love me."

The scene froze.

Eros tilted his head. “Huh. Look at that.”

“You already passed the trial,” he said. “Before we even got here.”

Dionysus gave a grudging nod. “Painfully poetic.”

Eros stepped forward. “Do you stand by your choice?”

Eliot didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

* * *

The projection faded away, and Eliot blinked a few times, taking in the sights of the garden. And he turned to Quentin, surged forward, and kissed him—desperate, real, and whole.

They broke apart just long enough for Alice to exhale behind them.

“Wait,” she said. “You had a whole life together? Like… already?”

Everyone turned, expecting the bitterness.

Instead, Alice smiled softly. Warmly. Accepting.

“Obviously. It was always meant to be.”

That was when Eliot’s gaze slid to RC.

“Okay,” he said. “So. You." Eliot inhaled sharply. "RC is - a nickname?”

RC swallowed. “Sort of.”

Everyone turned.

RC’s voice was small—but clear.

“My real, full name is Theodore… Teddy… Rupert Coldwater-Waugh.”

Silence.

Josh almost choked as he said, “I’m sorry—THE WHAT NOW?”

Margo scoffed. "What in the actual fuck?

Kady ran her hands through her hair. “Nuh-uh. No. This is like a crime of emotional whiplash.”

Penny sighed and looked at Julia. "I mean, are we even surprised, at this point?"

But Julia was too busy staring at her best friend, and the man he loved, and his literal son. And she blinked, teary-eyed.

Quentin finally broke the tension with a dry, “So... yeah. We probably should’ve mentioned the whole mosaic timeline thing.”

Josh blinked. “Run that by us again?”

Eliot and Q exchanged a look.

“It was one of the quests,” Quentin explained. “Jane Chatwin devised this time puzzle. We had to figure out the correct sequence to restore magic.”

“We didn’t realize it was going to take... fifty years,” Eliot added.

“We lived,” Q said, voice gentler now. “We built a home. Grew our own food. Raised a son.”

“We laughed,” Eliot added, his eyes flickering toward Teddy. “We cried.”

There was a pause.

“And then... I died,” he said quietly.

The words dropped like a stone in a still pond.

Quentin cleared his throat. “And the moment I buried him, the magic clicked into place. The spell was complete. I got the key... and just like that, we were back in our own time. Same age. Same bodies. Only the memories stayed.”

“And the feelings,” Eliot muttered. “Which I shoved way down. Like a champ.”

“And I didn’t know any of it was real,” Quentin said, turning to RC - to Teddy. “Not really. I didn’t know you were real.”

Teddy nodded slowly. “I came home once. But you had vanished. I thought I’d just gone on a supply run too long or missed something with the magic. But when I came back again... you were still gone.”

His voice cracked slightly.

“I thought you died. And I wasn’t there.”

Everyone stood still.

“When I left the cabin again,” Teddy continued, “it was like the world had changed. The air felt different. Off. Like something had snapped. And then, not long after... the elders said I was an anomaly. That I wasn’t supposed to exist.”

Quentin looked sick. Eliot looked wrecked.

“And when they tried to kill me,” Teddy said, glancing at the others, “Arrow saved me. Talked them down. Convinced them to banish me instead.”

Tick, who’d been silently processing the timeline bombshell, squinted. “Well, of course he was considered a temporal anomaly. That timeline was never meant to be stable. It was constructed purely to test magical endurance. He’s a side effect.”

Margo’s head swiveled toward him.

Julia didn’t even look—just snapped, “Read the room, Pickwick.”

“Thank you,” Margo growled.

But Teddy held up his hands. “Yeah, no—it’s okay. I get it. I mean... I figured something weird and magical had happened. It's Fillory, after all. I didn't understand it, not entirely, but I'm not even supposed to exist."

Eliot stepped up beside him. “You existed. You matter. And we didn’t know. We didn’t even think to look, because we didn’t think anything from that place was real.” Eliot's eyes welled up. "Fuck. We owe you, like, a million apologies-"

Teddy's eyes widened. "No, you don't. I’m not mad. I thought I’d abandoned you. Left to live my own life and didn’t come back in time. I thought that you both died... and I wasn’t even there.”

His voice shook.

“I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No,” Quentin said immediately, stepping forward. “There is nothing to be sorry for.”

Julia’s voice cut in gently. “But why didn’t you say anything? When you met us again?”

Teddy sighed.

“I recognized you both right away,” he said. “But you were younger. Alive. And—I didn’t think you knew me. Or remembered. Or maybe it hadn't happened yet, or at all. I didn't want to freak you out. I thought... I thought maybe it would be better if I just helped however I could.”

Quentin looked at him, eyes shining. “You helped. You saved Eliot. You helped all of us.”

Eliot stepped closer, voice low. “We were never gone, Teddy. Just missing for a bit. And now, you found us again.”

They pulled him into a hug. Not tentative. Not awkward.

Just… family.

Margo looked away, wiping at her eyes and muttering something about allergies.

Even Kady crossed her arms a little tighter.

Pete whispered, “I swear, if y’all start singing Cat’s in the Cradle, I’m leaving.”

Chapter Text

The warmth of the garden hadn’t faded when Julia glanced up toward the Fillory castle.

“One trial left,” she said.

Margo nodded solemnly. “Pick. Fen. Hold things down at the throne.”

Fen saluted. Tick blinked. “Wait—you mean we're—?”

“In charge? Yes. Temporarily,” Margo said sharply, removing her crown and all but shoving it into Fen’s arms. “Hold my crown. Try not to declare war while I’m gone.”

Tick started to respond, then saw the look on her face and just… nodded.

Julia turned to the others. “But first…”

She held out both hands.

The air shimmered.

And then—they were back outside the healer’s shack. Teddy’s home.

Julia stepped forward. “Quentin,” she said softly, “you’ve got some parenting to do.”

Quentin blinked. “Oh. Right. Okay.”

He turned to Teddy, who was suddenly very interested in the ground.

“Hey,” Q said gently. “Look… it’s obvious Arrow loves you.”

Teddy’s head jerked up.

“I think you love him too,” Quentin continued.

Teddy opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then muttered, “You don’t understand.”

He rubbed the back of his neck—classic Quentin tic—and said, “Arrow’s a Púca. An immortal shapeshifter. He’s duty-bound. He’s not here because he wants to be.”

“No offense,” Margo whispered to Eliot, “but your kid has your flair for denial.”

“None taken,” Eliot murmured.

Teddy kept going, steamrolling his own panic. “Even if either of us did want more—which I am not admitting to—he’s immortal. I’m not. That’s not a love story. That’s a tragedy.”

Eliot stepped forward. “Then make it a comedy. Or a messy dramedy with magic. Just don’t let it slip away.”

He looked Teddy in the eyes. “Take it from me. Don’t run from something good just because you’re scared of the ending. Instead, appreciate the time you do have.”

Teddy looked at them both. Then sighed.

Behind them, they heard the door creak. Arrow had stepped out onto the porch. His golden eyes swept across the group.

“Welcome back, all,” he said softly.

Then his eyes found Teddy.

“Hi,” he said, like it meant everything.

Teddy froze.

Then muttered, “Fuck it.”

And marched forward and grabbed Arrow by the shirt, kissing him like the fate of the multiverse depended on it.

Everyone let out a collective gasp.

Josh fist-pumped the air.

Margo put a hand over her chest and said, “I don't know why, the sexual tension just really does it for me.”

Even Kady smiled and reached down to squeeze Pete's hand lightly.

Sara, who had absolutely appeared without warning behind the doorframe, clutched her chest. “OMG. So precious.”

The gang jumped. “We… forgot you were here.”

Sara shrugged. “Happens.”

“I thought you left with Dionysus and Eros,” Julia said.

“Nope,” Sara beamed. “Like you said. We’ve got one more trial.”

Her face sobered.

She turned to Quentin.

“Your turn. And I won't sugarcoat it - you're not gonna have a good time.”

Quentin’s smile was tight. “Yeah. Figured mine would probably be horrible. Saving the worst for last and all that.”

Sara tilted her head and gave him a half-smile. “There’s that catastrophist we all know and love.”

She held out her hand. “This one, like Penny’s, must be done alone.”

Quentin stepped forward.

Eliot stopped him gently, cupping his face in both hands. “Come back to me.”

Quentin nodded and leaned in to kiss El's cheek.

Julia gave his shoulder a quiet squeeze as he walked past her.

Quentin took a deep breath—and took Sara’s hand.

The world spun.

* * *

Quentin stood alone, in an empty, black space.

The air was thick with memory. And regret.

Before him, two figures emerged from the light.

One was regal, composed, balanced. "I am Maat," she said. "Goddess of justice, truth, and overseeing the weight of every soul."

The other god was solemn, shadowed, and grave. "I am Yama, the god of death, judge of the departed."

Maat stood in front of a floating scale. A single feather hovered above one side, waiting.

Yama stood beside her—still, silent, as if time bowed to him.

And Quentin Coldwater stood alone.

Sara was off to the side, a step back. Watching.

Maat’s voice was like truth given form. “You have already lived a life of meaning.”

Yama’s voice was lower. Final. “And a life of suffering.”

Sara looked uneasy. “Guys—ease in, maybe?”

But the gods continued.

Maat: “You’ve saved worlds.”

Yama: “And longed to leave your own.”

Then Maat said what no one had said in a long time. What everyone always danced around.

“What if we offered you peace?”

Quentin blinked. “What?”

“True peace,” Yama said. “No pain. No grief. No ‘making it one more day.’ Just… quiet.”

Maat extended a hand. “You don’t have to fight anymore, Quentin. You don’t have to earn your place.”

Quentin stood still. "Wait," he said softly. "So, what's my trial?"

Yama shook his head. "No trial. Just a choice."

"We offer you the thing you've always wanted. The freedom from all the suffering and the pure chaos it is to just be."

"That depression that lives at the base of your skull is still thrumming, even now," Yama reminded Quentin. "But it can all end right now. And you don't have to do anything."

Sara’s eyes flicked toward Quentin. “You’d just... be gone. But softly. No fuss. Just…”

“Done,” Yama finished.

And for one terrifying moment—

He thought about it.

Sara's voice cracked out a concerned, "Quentin?"

And Quentin squeezed his eyes shut and barked, “I’m thinking!”

Because he was. He was really thinking about it. Which scared him more than anything.

Because it would be so easy.

No more noise. No more fight. No more constant voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe everyone would be better off.

No pills. No rope. No scar tissue. No mess.

Just... gone.

And yet—

He started to shake.

Because he remembered—

The times he tried before.

And the times he failed.

The shame. The ambulance. The fog in his parents’ eyes.

He remembered how the pain. . . had made room for magic. How despair cracked open wonder.

He remembered the quests. The Monsters. The thousands of times he could’ve died. Should’ve died.

But didn’t.

He remembered Eliot. The look in his eyes when he had said, “Come back to me.”

He remembered Julia. Kady. Penny. Margo. Alice.

Teddy, who found him again.

His hands were shaking, but his voice came clear.

“No.”

Yama’s eyes narrowed.

Maat’s expression softened.

“I don’t want peace,” Quentin said. “I want mess. I want grief. I want magic and heartbreak and mornings I have to force myself to even get out of bed—because it means I’ll still be here when the good mornings come too.”

He looked at the gods. At the offer.

“I always had reasons to want to die,” he said.

Then he closed his eyes.

“But now… I have more reasons to live.”

Silence.

Then, softly, Sara smiled. “Atta boy.”

The scale in front of Maat tipped. The feather lowered gently, perfectly balanced.

Yama stepped back and nodded. “The trial is complete.”

Sara reached out. “Time to go home.”

Quentin took her hand.

* * *

The group was waiting. Quiet. Tense.

And then Quentin Coldwater stepped back into the world.

Eliot rushed forward first, grabbing Quentin by the shoulders like he needed to make sure it was real.

Quentin kissed him. “I stayed. I chose life. I chose you.”

Eliot’s eyes welled up. “You brave, stupid bastard.”

Julia pulled him into a hug next. “You did it.”

Margo grinned. “Of course he did. He’s the main character.”

Josh gasped. “Wait… does this mean—?”

Alice clapped her hands together and nodded. “The trials are over.”

Sara hovered nearby, floating slightly above the floor like a smug celestial dandelion.

“You passed. All of you. You’ve tipped the scales.”

Pete grinned. “So... you guys saved the world. Again." He nudged Kady's shoulder.

"It's becoming a terrible habit. Love that for us," the Hedge Witch muttered with a grin.

Teddy looked at Quentin with new understanding.

“You chose to stay.”

Quentin looked back at his son.

“So we all get to move forward.”

The shack still crackled faintly with magic. The final trial’s energy hadn’t quite faded, like the aftershocks of a quake that had cracked the cosmos wide open and gently sewn it shut again.

Sara floated higher in the center of the room, gleaming like moonlight personified. She looked at them all—bruised, healed, triumphant.

“The new gods are proud,” she said softly. “You didn’t just pass the trials. You changed the story.”

She gave them a smirk. “And if we ever need the world saved again… well. We know who to call.”

With a wink and a nose-boop in Julia’s direction, she vanished.

Gone.

Like stardust with a deadline.

A beat of silence.

Then Margo barked out a laugh. “Hold up. Did she just say we’re on cosmic standby?”

“Like the divine equivalent of the Avengers?” Josh offered.

Alice grinned. “I mean… that's kinda badass?”

Penny groaned. “We’re never getting a vacation, are we?”

* * *

Back in New York, Kady ran her fingers over a map of hedge territories, now untangled and connected. She barked orders like a general—but she smiled more now. Especially when Pete brought her coffee.

"You know, you’re a total boss, right?” he asked.

Kady smirked. “Boss-bitch," she corrected. Then smiled, "And damn right I am.” And she didn't even flinch away when Pete kissed her cheek.

Meanwhile,

Margo returned to Fillory with her crown on and her sword sheathed—for now. Josh stood beside her, organizing feasts and being adored by woodland creatures.

She ruled with fire, sure. But also with laughter. And a surprising amount of patience.

She took advice from Fen, and Ess. And she didn’t kill Tick. That was growth.

Alice stepped back into the Library, shoulders square. She accepted help from junior librarians. Even joined a book club.

Sometimes, she wrote letters that she never intended to send. Usually to Quentin, but to others, too - sometimes, herself. Not about regret. Just… observations. Shared memories. Moments of peace.

She was learning to be okay alone—but also learning she didn’t have to do everything herself.

* * *

Penny and Julia sat on the roof of their apartment, watching the city hum.

“I can hang here if you need to fly off and smite something,” Penny offered.

Julia leaned on his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looked skeptical.

She smiled. “I can be a goddess and be Julia. We're both allowed to sit still, Penny.”

So, they stayed there. Quiet. Still. Together.

* * *

Teddy organized the shack, Arrow helping without being asked.

There was no pressure. No timeline.

Just quiet understanding.

They sat together and talked, about everything and nothing. Their hands found each other, and their lips.

“I need time, to understand all of this. What we are. Who I am,” Teddy whispered one evening.

Arrow nodded. “I have nothing but time.”

Quentin and Eliot stopped by often. Brought fruit. Stayed for tea.

“You’re still our kid,” Quentin said, squeezing his shoulder.

Teddy smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

* * *

The apartment was still.

No gods. No monsters. No emergencies.

Eliot changed into soft clothes and flopped onto the couch. Quentin joined him a moment later, practically crawling onto his lap.

They kissed.

Slow. Sure.

The kind of kiss that rewrote timelines.

“Do you think we’re finally allowed to be happy?” Eliot murmured.

Quentin looked at him.

“I think we fought the gods for the right to be.”

Eliot brushed his thumb along Q’s jaw.

“In any timeline…”

Quentin smiled. “I’ll always choose you.”

They kissed again.

And the world, for once, didn’t end.