(Lady) Sunday

In a display of shimmering moonlight, Allenby, Daisy , Dorian , Nuno (Rholor) , Sunday, and Tugark (Retired) appear in the Temple of Selûne in Daring Heights.

“Thanks for the lift, Rholor. Pleasure working with you all again. I need to take care of something.” Still covered in blood and tissue and brain matter from the dragon, Sunday points at the huge sack of gold and platinum. “Let’s make sure this gets distributed properly. The orphanage Mr Frederick is working on with Varis or something. Daring should benefit first before we do.” To the side, Daisy breaks off from tending to Allenby to nod her agreement. “Dorian,” Sunday continues, “see you in the pub later?” She turns and heads towards the north through Daring and out of the city to the countryside beyond.


Without the assistance of eLk, the trek north to Angelbark Woods takes Sunday longer than usual. While setting up camp at the end of the first day, Rholor’s voice manifests in her mind saying something about “Tiamat” and “Mandreth”, but she mentally shrugs his message away. Arriving at the edge of the forest at dusk on the second day out from Daring, Sunday takes a moment to close her eyes and rest her hand against one of the tall trees marking the boundary between rugged countryside and untamed woods. After a minute or two’s silent communion, she moves on, leaving a bloody handprint on the bark of the tree and heading purposefully into the forest.


After five or six hours of travelling through the woods, Sunday comes to a small glade. A ring of golden-green ash trees surrounds a small, mithril-silver pool. Sunday walks towards the still waters, unstrapping the hammers on her back, and unbuckling the dented and charred wooden breastplate as she goes - letting them all drop to the earth. Underneath, her tunic is ripped and torn; huge gashes and cuts mark her skin. The whites of her eyes are stained red - from tears? from rage? from something else? At the pool’s edge, Sunday drops to her knees and, for the first time in her life, starts to pray.


Time passes. The moon gleams overhead. The surface of the water, a silvery-white, is broken up here and there by strings of crimson. The trees rustle gently, but that is the only sound - none of the nocturnal denizens of the forest disturb the fervent devotion for some time. Then, seconds, years later, a voice - soft as an autumn leaf pile and touched with concern - carries across the lake.

“You have seen great pain this day, sister,” Will says. Their tall, bark-covered form is sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water, green willow-like wings wrapped around their form, glowing green orbs for eyes staring straight at - almost through - the Tiefling. Some blood on the surface of the water touches the foot of the angel, but they pay no mind to something so sacrilegious. “Would you find comfort in talking?”

Sunday’s head snaps up - startled at Will’s unheard, unseen, utterly un-sensed arrival. For a long moment, she does not move or speak, remaining on her knees at the water’s edge with blood still dripping from her clasped hands. Eventually, slowly, Sunday gets to her feet. She stands across the lake from Will, looking into their solid-green eyes with golden-green-flecked irises of her own. Finally, she speaks, her voice quiet and saturated with sadness.

“Not just today, Will.” Sunday spreads her arms in a forlorn gesture of hopelessness. “When I returned to Daring earlier this year I felt different. I felt like I had changed. My time here with you had shown me another perspective - another way. I found beauty no longer in blood and broken bone; but in joy and friendship and protecting others. All through the Games and the search for Daisy’s grandmother, I was even counselling peaceful solutions to the problems we faced...” Sunday trails off, looking down at her bare feet, struggling to find the right words to encompass what she has to say next. She looks back up at Will with a look of pure, unadulterated, raw anguish on her face.

“But now I have no choice but to go...home,“ she forces the word out in bitter mockery, “in order to save someone I love. And I felt the protective walls we had built in my mind come crashing down,” Sunday snaps her fingers, “In an instant.” Her hands go involuntarily to the sides of her head. “I’m slipping, Will, slipping back into the haze, into the old ways. It comes to me so easily, so readily.” She looks over to one of the hammers lying in the long grass, and makes a clawing motion towards it with a hand. “Sometimes I worry that they’re in there still. Still around me.”

There’s a slight crackle of power in the air, seeming to arc from her outstretched hand to the haft of the hammer. The atmosphere surrounding the weapon dies as the grass bends in the direction of Sunday’s grasp, and all goes still for a moment… but, after a heartbeat, nothing happens and Sunday drops her hand to her side, relieved as the hammer lays inert on the forest floor.

She hangs her head. “How can I protect others if I can’t even protect myself? Or eLk? He died today. Right in front of me.” Her voice is totally numb.

Will doesn’t speak for a long moment, and silence falls over the pool, save for the lapping of the water, still disturbed from Sunday’s passage. Finally, they speak. Softly, even softer than they had before, like grass blowing in the wind.

“You cannot,” Will says. “Of all the lessons you will ever learn as a warrior and champion of life, this is the hardest to accept.” They stand, and step out across the water’s surface to drop to one knee in front of the small Tiefling, head now level with hers. “So I will say it again. You cannot save everyone.”

The great wooden head cocks, “Nor can you create a perfect piece of art, or ensure every tree in your forest is without blemish or parasite. But this does not mean you should not try, and strive with all your might, creativity, and love to do so. You recall that you are one of the few who has seen the very core of me, and of my failures? You have seen this seraph afraid and, sadly, insane. I have failed many times over in my duties to protect. But that does not mean I fall to darkness still further. We are warriors, Sunday. When we fall, we rise.”

“I remember, Will. It isn’t something I’ll ever forget. And I hear your words - I truly do. But have you fallen like that since? At the moment, all I seem to do is fall when I try to protect. I lost control tonight against the dragon that threatened Dorian - and she is somehow linked to Tiamat; I lost control when Taffeta told me she killed a Rakshasa probably belonging to my family. I’ve made enemies of half of the Fey Courts after they killed or controlled others...and...it turns out that the River King was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of innocents in that plague, so we can probably add him to that list soon. I make enemies wherever I turn.”

“The time we met was me falling a second time,” Will answers, just a hair too quickly to be totally above emotion. “The first was when I was trapped by an ancient god of madness. I have not fallen again since that second time, Sunday. But I am immortal, and it has only been a short time since we met.” They shift, uncomfortably, which is a disconcerting look on an angel.

Those brilliant green wings spread out suddenly to their full span and Will gently raises a few feet above the surface of the pool, moon shining behind their form. “But we rise,” they reiterate. “And sometimes, Sunday, we only rise because others lift us up. You and your companions have lifted me up twice now, as has the wondrous Corellon. A warrior must be indefatigable, but when they do grow weary, what a warrior must never be is alone. Such is the infinite joy of the devout, that we never need know this weakness.”

Sunday sits down on a rock at the edge of the pool, looking up into the angelic, timeless face. “And what about eLk?”

“Be at peace, paladin. You know as well as I do that your companion’s spirit awaits your call in the Feywild.”

Sunday shakes her head slowly. “Does he even have a choice to answer my call for aid? It doesn’t feel right to drag him back time and time again to die over and over.”

“You fear enslavement over a beast you have bonded with over months? Then ask!” The exclamation is slight, but the water below ripples like a stone had been dropped in it. “When you next commune to summon this creature, ask if it will consent to return to fight with you. There is no doubt in my mind that eLk will rejoin you and gladly.”

Sunday looks somewhat heartened by that. “Thank you, Will. You know, I never thought to ask him. I just took his appearance for granted. I always asked if he was alright when we were fighting, but I never asked if he even wanted to come. And you’re right: I have my companions to pull me up when I fall. I should have greater faith in them and their light. It shines so brightly from so many of them that I often lose sight of that.”

She gets to her feet and bows low to them. “I will never forget that again; nor will I forget the faith and trust you and Corellon have placed in me. I need to remind myself what is important: what is duty and what is adventure; what is personal gain and what is public service. I have been too caught up in running after every little thread. Thank you for reminding me.” She meets their gaze again. “If it is alright with you, I’ll stay here a while?”

Will gestures to the glade and pool beneath their feet. “Of course, Sunday. This forest will always be a haven for you, even if I am not there, as it is for those others who have pledged themselves to the service of Corellon and the ancient ways.” They glide down to a tree and put their hand to it, as if one would a door, and the bark immediately begins to ripple like the water behind them. “Be well,” is all they say before stepping into the tree and vanishing, the undulating bark returning immediately to its solid state, leaving no trace of the celestial’s presence.

For a long while, Sunday stands where she is by the edge of the pool. The Tiefling is barely breathing, hardly moving. Her eyes are locked onto the place where Will departed. Eventually, she stirs - breathes in deeply… four… five… six… seven seconds; and out… four… five… six… seven...

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” She mutters in a drawn-out whisper.

Running her hands through her long hair, she makes her way over to her equipment and tidies it into a neat heap. She kneels beside the pile and, with one hand on the symbol of Corellon in the middle of her breastplate and the other pressed firmly into the earth, she raises her face in silent communion with the forest around her. The golden-green starburst of Corellon starts to gleam and the grass around her hand starts to glow a similar hue. After a while, a rustle sounds from the edge of the clearing. Sunday opens her eyes - the whites now restored to their unblemished splendour - to see a familiar sight: the high, proud features of her Fey companion emerging from between two gracefully waving trees; the sweeping antlers bedecked with flowers; the huge mossy wings down either flank. Sunday’s lips curl into a half-smile as eLk approaches, lowers his head, and nuzzles against her shoulder…


(co-written with andycd )