Work Text:
Yvaine likes being a star.
Of course, there wasn’t anything not to like.
She got to see everything, from her perch above everything and despite the relatively lonely existence–she enjoyed getting to see the lives of kings and queens and empires and cities play out before her.
It was like a game.
Or maybe it was more like a story.
And either way it was centuries before the people suddenly changed –their bodies stayed the same, but their souls became smaller and tended to flit and float outside of their existences.
It’s beautiful and for the first time Yvainne felt a tinge of jealousy.
The jealousy didn’t last long because after all, what use would she have for a little being when she is the northern star .
Yvaine shines for centuries without fault, lighting the night sky and leading the humans and their little beings home. She acts as a constant companion, hanging high above the heads of those who need her. There is comfort in the consistency.
Perhaps, the humans are her little beings.
But then she is knocked from the sky and for the first time in eons Yvaine wishes that she might have one of the little companions–so that when she dies, she will not be alone.
As she falls, she tears the universe apart, clawing at the atmosphere and cloud lines as if she could stop her descendant. She wishes on herself and cries as she leaves pieces of her existence scattered through the firmament.
Yvaine crashes to the ground–a fallen star.
~~~
Tristan is behind the wall, looking up at the sky with Victoria by his side and he wants for nothing other than her love–
“For your hand in marriage, I’d go to Stormhold and bring you back that fallen star.”
The idea rushes past his lips without any true consideration, his eyes trace the shape of Victoria’s features in the low light, her peacock daemon on the ground beside her twitches his feathers in thinly veiled excitement.
Victoria grins, eyes shifting to look at her daemon, then at Tristan’s, and then at the man himself, “You’re drunk.”
Tristan hums and stands, throwing his hands into the air and mumbling poor apologies to Isolde as she is jostled from her usual resting place across his shoulders. She scrambles off of his shoulders and down into the loose collar of his shirt, tucking her ferret-shaped self against his rib cage with claws bared the slightest amount as a threat–
“Yes, I am!” He shouts the words to the sky, as if he could knock another star down from sheer volume.
Victoria giggles and leans back, she tilts her head and bares her long pale neck to the world–eyes tracing the constellations she does not know the names of. “My very own star–Bartholomew, what do we say to that?”
It feels wrong for Tristan–and by sheer closeness Isolde–to lean in and listen to the whispers between woman and daemon, but his drunk self forgets his decorum in the face of sheer curiosity.
Whatever Bartholomew’s reply is is lost to the wind but Victoria turns with an eager look in her eyes, “It seems we have a deal, dear Tristan.”
In his excitement–Tristan shatters his glass when he taps it against hers.
~~~
Almost expectantly–the man who guards the wall has a dog as his daemon.
He’s not a particularly large dog, but unlike his person, the dog is far more observant.
Therefore, as Tristan approaches the wall in a poor attempt to sneak past the man he is immediately clocked by the dog–
“I can see you perfectly well, Dunstan.” Her voice is strong and clear and despite the social custom of not speaking to anyone other than her other half, she looks up at Tristan with thinly veiled disdain.
“It’s–uh–it’s Tristan, actually.”
She blinks, and sits and her person barely reacts to her movements, his eyes are stuck on the break in the wall, his hand shifts where it grips his staff and lantern.
If Tristan had the time, he would be curious about it.
But he shifts his attention back to the dog daemon as she speaks again, “Oh. You do look a bit like your father.” She sniffs the air, “I suppose you want to enter Stormhold as well?”
Tristan nods and straightens up, Isolde shifts from inside his coat to settle on his shoulders. She nudges his cheek, acting as encouragement without voicing it. “As well?” He repeats the words with a questioning tone, reaching up to brush his fingers through Isolde’s coat, “Who else did it?”
Isolde hums.
The dog turns, glancing at her person who grumbles a bit in protest, “No one. It’s nothing. Nobody crosses the wall–no one gets past us.”
Tristan doesn’t believe her, but he nods nonetheless. “Oh, yes. Of course not.” He holds a hand up to Isolde, encouraging her to move to lay across the inside of his arm for more support. “I suppose I should just, head back home then?”
The dog nods and Tristan turns.
And he isn’t sure if it’s just sheer force of will or the fact that he is still a little buzzed from the champagne–but he only takes a few steps away before turning back and running, what he thought, was full speed towards the break in the wall.
Both guard and daemon leap to their feet and Tristan is flat on his back before he can really process what happened.
He groans and Isolde giggles at his misfortune.
~~~
Yvaine wakes up with a man perched over her and reflexively–she screams and shoves him away.
“Mother?”
The man, well, boy really looks down at her with a confused look in his eyes and when she starts to shout, he blinks a few times in thinly veiled surprise.
“Mother!?” She looks down at herself, her sparkling white dress and notably young skin, “Mother!? Do I look like I am old enough to be your mother–you’re an complete imbecile–”
“I’m sorry–”
And then she sees it .
Or, more precisely, her.
The boy has a little being, who is sitting a few feet away with an annoyed look on her face as she smooths out her fur.
“You have a little being?” Yvaine cuts herself off, leaning away from the boy and towards it, ignoring the protest that her body gives at the movements.
“A daemon?”
It doesn’t look like a demon.
“I’ve never seen one before.” The words are whispered and her eyes follow the ferret. Yvaine leans closer, a hand reaching out–
“Don’t.” The boy’s hand grabs hers, his voice is far too loud, “And besides, yours is right there how could you not know–”
Yvaine doesn’t hear anything else because her attention is on her little being.
It’s a bird, a hummingbird–she knew the name solely because she paid far more attention to the scholars of his land than she did to her own kind–and he is beautiful.
She reaches for him, smiling as he leaps without hesitation onto her palm.
And then he’s rambling again, speaking to himself as she continues to admire her little being who seems to approve of her eyes on him. “You’re very pretty.” Yvaine whispers it, and the little being ruffles his feathers in response and chirps.
The boy stops rambling, “You’re not even listening to me, unbelievable.” He throws his hands into the air and stalks away from her.
It’s then that Yvaine turns to look at him from her perch on the ground, only slightly amused by his frustration.
He glances around them, frustration shifting to curiosity, “You don’t know what a daemon is, I lit the candle and thought of the star, you’re in this–” The boy's words are mumbled mostly to himself as he ticks off each point on his fingers. He steps towards her, an eagerness to his steps, “Excuse me miss, this may seem odd but: are you the fallen star?”
She doesn’t reply, but she does tilt her head to the side.
The boy grows flustered the longer she looks at him. “It’s just, this looks like where it would have fallen, and here you are with no idea of what a daemon is.”
“Of course I’m a star, look at me ,” She motions to her clothing with one hand, her other holds her bird carefully. She’s dressed in silver, but no longer glowing and perhaps that is why the boy felt the need to question her.
“And–if you’d like me to be even more specific, up there is where I am from–” She points to where she used to belong in the sky, “and that is where a big bloody diamond hit me, knocking me from the heavens. Over there–is where I landed, rather heavily might I add, and right here is where a big oaf crashed into me–”
He steps towards her, “Well, I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused, and for this–”
“For w–” Before the question can even leave her lips he closes the distance between them and wraps a silver chain around her wrist.
It closes and she is, effectively, trapped.
She looks at her little being, who rolls his eyes as well as a bird can.
At least she has company, if not her freedom.
~~~
The boy introduces himself as Tristan and of course this only comes after a few hours of Yvaine complaining about her ankle and wishing that she had never fallen at all.
She flitted between paying attention to the boy–Tristan–and his manic ramblings and admiring her little being who had yet to try to fly.
Tristan’s daemon was called Isolde, she introduced herself after she caught Yvaine staring far too much. After Isolde shared her name, she expected Yvaine’s daemon to share his, but since he just started to exist he didn’t have a voice to speak from, let alone a name to offer.
Yvaine is in a lot of pain, but Tristan doesn’t seem to care.
Perhaps–she shouldn’t have agreed to go with him so easily, but he carried a Babylon flame candle and she carried nothing but the clothes on her back.
Tristan had a way to get her home.
“So let me get this straight–” Yvaine quite liked being able to talk, especially because using words she could be far more sarcastic than through light, “you think you know we’re going the right way because–and I quote–‘ I just do .’”
Tristan pulls on the thin chain and Yvaine winces in reply as she stumbles her way over another route.
“I do, though.” He at least has the decency to look apologetic when he notices her stumble, “Maybe it’s my love for Victoria guiding me back home.”
Yvaine has never hurled before, but she feels rather close to it–“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes rather aggressively and makes a failed attempt at suppressing a yawn.
“Anyway, we are going North.” He stops for a moment, tilting his head back and looking up at the canopy of trees above his head.
The sunlight shines through the trees and for just a moment Yvaine admires the way it seems to create a sort of golden halo around his head–this admiration is quickly suppressed when she remembers their circumstances.
He points, “Look, if you look up in the sky, even in the day, you can see the evening star and–” Tristan falters, his hand falls to his side, “Wait, that’s–that’s odd?”
Yvaine looks, despite the fact that she knows what is missing.
“Wait.” He turns, squinting at her, “That was you? Seriously?”
She doesn’t dignify the question with a response and chooses instead to start walking again.
The fact that he is so shocked is a bit ridiculous, especially considering the fact that he is currently standing next to a star, with a little being named Isolde on his shoulders, and magic literally tangible in the air.
She considers her regret again and turns her attention to the ground below her feet and relies on the comfort her little being provides.
Tristan and Isolde lead.
Yvaine and her unnamed hummingbird follow.
~~~
Tristan leaves the star attached to a tree and leaves in search of food, only to return maybe two hours later to find her missing.
Well, realistically it was more than two hours–the sun had set and the moon had risen and Yvaine was nowhere to be found.
At first, he thinks that maybe she found a way back to her spot in the sky but an easy glance upwards alerts him to the fact that the Northern Star is not there.
He shouts about it–angrily–and all the while Isolde rolls her eyes and tells him how stupid he is for thinking that she wouldn’t be able to be free.
“You really believed that a star of all things wouldn’t be able to break a measly little chain?” It’s far too sarcastic and Tristan is annoyed that Isolde can see through him so easily.
But that is the point of daemons and souls and Dust and he frowns and tugs her tail to show his displeasure. She hisses at him–all bark and no bite–and bares her teeth against his ear, their teasing game is for show rather than actual harm.
And then the Moon starts to speak.
“ Protect my daughter .”
Tristan looks up and the Moon seems to shine a little brighter.
“ No daughter of mine is safe in Stormhold .”
The air around him and Isolde shifts, the Dust becomes visible, creating images and shapes and though Tristan wishes to protest, he holds his tongue and reaches up to run his fingers through Isolde’s fur for comfort.
In this Dust-made image he sees a falling star– Yvaine his mind supplies.
But when she lands her hair is darker, a black cat daemon lays next to her.
“ Nymphadora .” The Moon shares.
She looks happier than Yvaine, more eager to see the world. The Dust shifts and turns and becomes flashes of Nymphadora among humans, celebrating life and joy and witnessing pieces of humanity that she had never seen from her home in the sky. Her daemon is named, but the name falls on ears that cannot hear them.
Nymphadora does not miss her home.
And then a trio–the Furies–appear on the edge of the mirage, eagerness in their eyes and greed in their hearts.
Tristan grows fearful even if this is just a memory.
The fallen star is stolen again, taken from her place of joy and into a crumbling palace.
The Moon does not show him what takes place next, but when the windows of the palace shine bright enough that Tristan has to shield his eyes–before suddenly dimming.
The star–Nymphadora–is no more.
The Dust fades and Tristan and Isolde are back in the clearing with the Moon shining high above them.
“ There is no time to waste .” The Moon shimmers.
A carriage breaks through the treeline and despite his distraction Tristan leaps out of the way.
“ Save my daughter, Tristan and Isolde .”
The carriage door opens and a man looks down at him with a crazed look in his eyes and a sword in his hand.
He levels it at Tristan’s neck–“Are you a spy sent by my brother to kill me?”
Tristan regrets coming on this journey–Victoria’s love be damned.
~~~
The unicorn takes Yvaine and her unnamed little being to an inn.
Yvaine knows that it is an inn solely because of all of the watching and learning she has done and despite her watching–she has never seen what one looks like on the inside.
It’s larger than she thought it would be, and warm .
The Innkeeper is an odd man, but Yvaine doesn’t have enough experience with men beyond Tristan and so she doesn’t feel as though she has enough basis to pass judgement. His daemon is nowhere to be found, but Yvaine doesn’t find that odd, considering him .
The Wife, Lamia, however–she is very sweet, if only a little overbearing. Her daemon slithers around her feet–
“Goodness me! Come in out of this wretched rain, my dear.” Her hands touch–or maybe they grasp–hers and pull her into the inn and out of the rain. “We have food and drink and a warm bed, plenty of hot water for a bath.”
“A bath?” Her exhaustion barely hides her thinly veiled excitement, “I’ve never had one of those.”
“Never had a bath?! Why it’s a treat –you’ll enjoy it I promise.” She is touching Yvaine again, pulling her towards the stairs and offering an arm when she stumbles. “On a cold night like this my love, it’ll make your heart glow .”
And if that doesn’t sound like heaven, then Yvaine isn’t the North Star.
“I’ll have my silly little husband take your horse to the stables. Billy!”
Yvaine winces at the timbre of her voice, she grasps the handrail and leans into it, praising the firmament when she reaches the top of the stairs without fail. Lamia leads her further into the room where a tin tub stands before the fire, filled with water that Lamia immediately brushes her hand across.
The star joins her–and despite her limited experience with water as a whole, she knows that this is what warm water must feel like and immediately takes a shine to it.
“You have a beautiful daemon.” The compliment slips through Yvaine’s lips without really considering it.
Lamia bristles at her words, a strange sort of tension passes through her.
“Thank you dear.”
It doesn’t sound as though she appreciates the compliment and when she turns it’s with a smile that seems a little more malicious than kind. Her eyes glance at the stone around Yvaine’s neck, curious eyes tinged with something that the star cannot recognize.
“Now, get in the tub. We’ll get you nice and warm lovely.”
Yvaine complies–if only with the barest amount of hesitation–and finds Lamia’s words ringing true almost immediately.
Her little being settles on the side of the tub, smiling in a way that only a bird can and looking between the tub, fire, and Yvaine with obvious curiosity.
“Mine is called Mephistopheles, he’s a python.” Despite the tension from earlier, Lamia speaks about the daemon with little hesitation. “What is yours called?”
The question should have been expected, but Yvaine hesitates and turns to look at her little being.
He sits perched on the tub rim, looking at Yvaine with expectand and a little bit of eagerness in his eyes.
“That’s rather personal, isn’t it?”
Yvaine has no idea if it is or isn’t–but based on how Tristan acted earlier when she tried to touch his daemon, she’s almost certain that even if this isn’t an actual rule, daemons are enough of a protected figure that she shouldn’t need to explain herself.
Something twists on Lamia’s face, before it immediately softens. “Of course dear.” She reaches across the tub and brushes two fingers down the back of Yvaine’s little being.
“Don’t!” The protective nature of Tristan over Isolde suddenly makes sense when Lamia’s soft touch feels like a knife.
It’s that exact moment that Yvaine realizes what these little beings are.
She asks for Lamia to leave–and the woman does with only a little hesitation.
Yvaine turns to her little being, her daemon .
“You’re my soul, aren’t you?”
Her daemon doesn’t reply, but he does shift a little closer, leaping from the edge of the tub to her knee. He tilts his head.
“I love you.” She whispers the words, and immediately feels her nature turn in her chest.
She shines, happy for the first time since falling from the sky.
Her daemon shifts on her knee–and something tells her that he is replying in kind, even if he does not have the words to speak them.
His feathers shift, turning for just a moment from the usual multi-colored decorations that they usually are to silver before fading back to multi-color.
It’s exciting, whatever it is and Yvaine reaches out to brush a finger down his back, covering the touch of Lamia with her own loving hands.
~~~
If Isolde had the time–she would lecture her person.
But there is a fire and a daemon trying to get her and her person is holding a candle.
She leaps through the air, covering much more distance than she thought capable and scrambling up Tristan’s pant leg and onto his shoulders.
The star is behind him, looking terrified and absentmindedly Isolde reaches out to nuzzle her face, attempting to provide comfort. Tristan tenses below her but she ignores it.
“The burning golden heart of a star at peace is so much better than your frightened little heart.” The woman who caused the fire is quite literally insane and carries a knife with far too much confidence.
Isolde hisses and the sound is lost to the crackling fire.
“But even so–it’s better than no heart at all.”
Tristan grabs Yvaine with his right hand and holds the candle in his left–“Hold me tight and think of home!”
And even though the words aren’t directed to Isolde, she does. She thinks of the warm bed in the house on the other side of the wall and wishes with all of Tristan’s heart that she was there.
When Tristan shoves his hand into the fire, Isolde cries out, it burns the both of them for a moment before they are gone in an instant.
Isolde is ready to give her lecture.
~~~
“What the hell did you do?!” Tristan is shouting again, but at this point–when isn’t he when his companion on this journey is so frustrating .
They are standing on a cloud of all things, back in the pouring rain and very obvious not in his village.
“What did I do?” Yvaine shoves him, uncaring for the fact that they are on a cloud . “What did you do?!”
Tristan is at a loss, he gestures to the sky around them and the leagues of space between them and the earth.
“‘Hold me tight and think of home.’” She’s mocking him and despite the fact that her daemon is perched on one hand she waves them through the air, “Great plan! You thought of your home and I thought of mine and now we’re halfway between the two!”
“You stupid star!” Tristan has never been this angry before, he takes a step back and winces when Isolde’s claws dig into his neck as a form of protest to his harsh words, “What did you think of your home for?”
As soon as he asks it he knows that it is a stupid question and that thought is punctuated by Isolde biting his ear with a little more force than she usually does.
“Yes Isolde!” He shouts–half in pain and half out of frustration–and grabs her, holding her in his hands and up so that he can look her in his eyes. And despite his anger at her and her actions he is still careful in how she holds her, “What is it?”
Yvaine looks at Isolde with thinly veiled confusion, and Tristan ignores her to instead focus on his misbehaving daemon.
Isolde rolls her eyes and looks rather annoyed at the fact that he isn’t even trying to protect her from the rain.
“You’re an idiot.” It’s stated bluntly and punctuated by her claws digging into his hand a bit too harshly. “And there’s a ship behind you.”
She points and Tristan turns and once again–he regrets his promise to Victoria.
~~~
Despite Yvaine’s rather, limited , interactions with humans–the moment she meets Captain Shakespeare, the real Captain Shakespeare, she knows he is someone she can trust.
Maybe it’s because of his daemon–a pretty little butterfly that he introduces as Romeo.
Or, maybe it’s because of the half-insane plan to pretend to kill Tristan, which is something that amused her more than it should have.
And the final piece to the puzzle, the cherry on the tart, the fire on the candle, is when Shakespeare insists on dressing her in something far more fashionable than the robe that she was still wearing from Lamia’s attempt at killing her.
It was nice to be pampered by someone who did not have an ulterior motive of wanting to kill her.
“I was a nobody, a clerk, an office boy–” Captain Shakespeare liked to spin tales, and at the moment he was fixing up Tristan’s hair and spinning the tale of how he became Captain, “Here–I can be the man I wanted to be. Dress as I wish, create a new identity, learn some new skills. On that side of the wall–”
He shivers and hesitates, pausing his actions with the scissors to instead lean onto Tristan’s shoulder.
“On that side of the wall, they don’t appreciate men having any sort of daemon other than a large creature.” Shakespeare smiles a sad sort of smile and Yvaine feels something tug in her heart. He continues his actions with the scissors. “So years and years ago–when Romeo settled, I had enough of the comments and the critics so I fled to this side of the wall. People are less–rude, I suppose–about having less-than-normal daemons.”
Yvaine didn’t realize that there was something odd about Captain Shakespeare’s daemon and the confusion must be obvious on her face because the Captain chooses to explain.
“You my dear–you haven’t been here long enough to know all of the idiosyncrasies and you’ve only been on this side of the Wall–where magic runs free and people have larger concerns than what form a daemon takes.” He points with the scissors behind him and then pats Tristan’s shoulder, “On his side of the wall, people like men to be men and to be rather strong willed and their daemons must match that idea.”
Yvaine nods like she understands, but in truth the idea surpasses her. She looks at her little daemon, who has a smattering of feathers that seem to be remaining silver. She smiles at him and he nuzzles her cheek in reply.
The Captain continues his ministrations, humming to himself about what all he needs to change about Tristan for this ruse to work.
“Daemons are a reflection of the soul.” It’s Tristan who says it and when Yvaine looks up he isn’t looking at her, but rather Shakespeare’s butterfly daemon as he flits through the air. “Your soul looks very kind.”
It’s not the first time that Tristan has been sweet like that and still Yvaine finds it rather nice to see him be kind rather than frustrated. She smiles at Tristan, and nods in agreement, “I think he’s very handsome.”
Captain Shakespeare shrugs and attempts to hide a bashful sort of smile, “I suppose he is rather darling.”
His daemon lands on his nose before flitting off again.
~~~
The Captain’s lie pays off–to the utter shock of everyone involved.
And by their second day on the ship the other sky pirates trust Tristan enough to hand him a sword and send him on his way–swashbuckling and training him for greater adventures.
Tristan takes each instruction in stride, twisting his sword in hand with an ease that he never thought he’d be capable of. Shakespeare shows him and Yvaine his collection of maps and plays and costumes and delights in the fact that he can be himself to someone else.
On their third night on the ship–Tristan spins his sword with ease and feels as though he is ready to take on Humphrey and his badger, should he need to.
And on night four–Tristan forgets about Victoria as he watches Yvaine dance with Shakespeare.
They are whispering to each other, and despite the stars hanging around them in the sky– she shines the brightest, with her unnamed daemon on her shoulder who seems to glow as well.
When she throws her head back and laughs, Tristan feels as though he is witnessing a sunrise–the sublimity found in Yvaine’s happiness feels like something beautiful and unique that he will never see again.
“May I cut in?” He doesn’t remember stepping up to them, or offering his hand, but when Yvaine smiles and takes his hand in hers he finds he doesn’t regret it.
“Of course–of course.” Shakespeare steps back, and passes her hands to Tristan.
She is glowing again, emanating a warm sort of light that has Tristan smiling and leaning in to appreciate it more.
“He was offering names for my daemon.” Yvaine mumbles it to the man, “That’s why I laughed.”
The word daemon sounds holy on her lips–“Really?” Tristan smiles, glancing down at his feet as they continue to sway, “What did he offer?”
“Cloten–” She smiles, “And Bardolph.” She laughs again, “I think his goal was to make me smile.”
“I think he was successful.”
She looks up at him, eyes shining with a light that Tristan finds beautiful. “What will you name him?”
It’s odd for a daemon to live without a name, but Yvaine is not a normal situation. Her existence has been for centuries above the earth and it is only recently that she has fallen and been given one of her own.
“He suits you.” Tristan nods to the hummingbird perched on her shoulder.
Yvaine looks down at Isolde who is curled up so that just her head pops out of his pocket, “And she suits you.” She smiles thoughtfully and leans into him, “I think I’ll name him Laertes.”
The hummingbird–Laertes–chirps on her shoulders, as if agreeing with her choice of names. Tristan nods, “I think that’s perfect.”
And they dance and smile and Tristan forgets about her in favor of admiring Yvaine. Isolde shifts in his pocket, tapping his waist to get his attention. She nods in approval–always aware of his thoughts–
Isolde likes Yvaine too .
~~~
Yvaine admires the role that the Captain plays even more so on their last day.
She stands on the gangplank, looking up to Shakespeare and his butterfly Romeo and she promises–if only to herself and Laertes–that she will be back to visit Shakespeare and his crew. No matter how difficult it is.
Maybe Tristan will come–
And then she remembers Victoria and that she is the only reason they have even met and a little bit of sadness passes through her.
Yvaine shifts where she stands, and watches as the Captain pulls Tristan in close and whispers something that she isn’t privy to hear–but that Isolde is smiling after hearing.
Tristan steps back.
“Well, give my regards to England. It was a pleasure to meet you both.” Shakespeare’s persona suddenly shifts, he squares his shoulders and makes his voice more gruff–“Mind you don’t wear that wench out, Captain Tristan!”
She stiffles a laugh and Tristan does the same and it isn’t until they are at least fifty feet away from the ship that the both of them finally crumple and laugh.
Yvaine leans onto him as she laughs and wishes that he didn’t have someone else. Tristan’s face is bright, almost star-like in the way that it shines.
She asks her question after they both straighten and start down the road, “What did he say to you?”
He squints and glances at her, Isolde looks smug in his pocket, “What did he say when?”
Yvaine is fully aware that he is being purposefully obstinate, so she shoves him and doesn’t bother to clarify.
Laertes speaks up–“When he whispered to you.” His voice isn’t particularly strong or loud, but it’s there and Yvaine yelps in excitement.
“Laertes!” He jumps on her shoulder, flapping his wings to match her excitement and Tristan looks at the pair with barely hidden happiness. “You spoke!”
“I spoke.” Laertes smiles and Yvaine copies him and the question is forgotten.
She wishes she could live the rest of her life just like this .
~~~
It’s the combination of the confession of love that Yvaine gives when they are in the carriage–and Tristan is a mouse, but that’s unimportant–and the rest of their teasing conversations that makes Tristan realize that the Captain was, in fact, correct.
The true love you seek is right in front of you .
Tristan spends the night with Yvaine at an inn and knows that she is the one for him–
But he owes Victoria an explanation, so he leaves Yvaine in bed in the morning with the now suddenly silver hummingbird that is the newly named Laertes and makes the last bit of his journey to the wall alone.
The guard isn’t there and neither is his old daemon dog so Tristan crosses the wall with little issue.
There is a new sense of swagger to his steps, one that Isolde teases him for but in reality she is quite proud of.
He carries his lightning on one shoulder, and his sword on his hip and both are definitely for show but he likes the bit of confidence it brings.
Tristan throws rocks at her window–an echo of the night that Yvaine fell from the sky.
She peeks out, frustration clear as day on her face, “What?” When she sees him, the frustration shifts to shock and curiosity, “Tristan!”
And then she is gone from the window, running down the stairs to meet him and despite the fact that he has already planned what he is going to say he feels a sense of fear at the thought that he has to actually, say , it to her.
Victoria stands there, Bartholomew just behind her, “Did you bring me my star?”
It’s that–the question about the star and not about his safety that makes Tristan realize that this, whatever this was, was all for show. She only cared if he was going to benefit from the relationship.
“No, I didn’t.” It was the truth.
And immediately the joy that was on her face shifts to an ugly sort of anger–“Why not ?!”
But she doesn’t deserve any real sort of answer, so he makes thinly veiled references about his journey, with little comments that Isolde chimes in and despite the anger that Victoria has at all of it, he knows he made the right decision.
When Humphrey shows up–Tristan definitely doesn’t take any enjoyment when he gets to use his new sword-skills to show him up.
~~~
Yvaine wakes up without Tristan.
And, although she walks to the wall without him–Laertes is there, which is a comfort despite her broken heart.
When she is taken, stolen from the sights of Tristan–she isn’t alone. A woman is with her, Una. And Una carries a spider daemon named Viktor in a protective carrier.
And then–when Yvaine is chained to a table, a knife is poised over her and Laertes is held in a painful grasp–
She wishes she were without him, despite the joy that he brings.
Yvaine shuts her eyes, and prays for peace.
~~~
Tristan nearly dies.
Isolde comes close as well.
And one of the princes–don’t make him guess which– does die .
His body is used as a marionette and Tristan has never seen anything like that–it makes him a bit sick just to witness it and despite the three times that Tristan stabs the princes body he won’t fall down dead–
It’s disgusting and Isolde says as much.
Tristan beheads the prince and somehow that is what finally stops him.
If he had the time, and maybe a good therapist, he could recount exactly what happened, but after Yvaine breaks free from the table and wraps her arms around him all thoughts other than her touch are forgotten.
Lamia is standing above the pair–a knife poised and a smug grin on her lips, “I owe you thanks, boy .” She spits the word as an insult, “What use was her heart to me when it was broken?”
“Hold onto me and close your eyes.” Yvaine wraps her arms tighter around Tristan, reaching up to push his head into her shoulder, “You too Isolde.”
Tristan protests her hands, “What are you going to do?”
She looks a little smug and Laertes looks the same–his feathers shine silver, “What is it a star does better than anything else?”
Despite his confusion, he lets her push his face into her shoulder.
“ Shine .”
The word is whispered with reverence, and even through Tristan’s shut eyes he can see the light that she lets off. It’s brilliant and Tristan falls all the more in love with her.
When she lets him go–it’s the barest amount, just enough so he can lean back. Her hands touch his face, brushing around his eyes as if she was looking for something.
She reaches for Isolde–all sense of social order forgotten in favor of making sure she is okay.
Tristan shivers when her hand brushes through Isolde’s fur. She is the first to touch his daemon and he finds comfort in the action.
“I couldn’t have done that without you.” Yvaine speaks the words to Isolde and for just a moment, Tristan idiotically thinks that he isn’t talking to her. But then she looks up, shimmering eyes meeting his, “No star can shine with a broken heart. I thought I’d lost you, but you came back.”
“Of course I did,” He sets a hand on her cheek, and brushes his thumb across her cheekbone, “I love you.”
And, again, Tristan cannot be sure how exactly the events transpired, but the woman–Una, his mother–pridefully shares that he is a King .
It feels like he has been an observer to his own life–Una explains it with words that are far too complicated for an exhausted Tristan to follow along with.
He’s King .
“The last surviving heir of Stormhold.”
And he definitely doesn’t faint.
~~~
A coronation is not a small affair–that much Yvaine knew–but she never could have expected this .
The hall is filled with hundreds of peoples and daemons from all walks of life and if Yvaine did not have a formal role in the event she would spend every moment admiring each little being.
But she is seated at the front of the room, on a throne next to Tristan and he looks more embarrassed than regal–“You’re doing great my love.”
That is her favorite thing about being a human–she gets to love .
She already has a crown upon her head and the red stone around her neck and she is dressed in silver because she is a star and stars shine best when dressed in silver. Her crown resembles the moon–it was a request she made.
Yvaine may be more human than star now–her daemon on her shoulder can attest to that–she is still a daughter of the moon.
Tristan is dressed in red, it is the color that looks the best on him, and his crown is golden because again he looks best in it.
The people in the crowd cheer when he is crowned and the stars join in above them all–shining brighter to show their support of their sister, fallen or not.
Una approaches, bowing a little as she does, with a prideful smile on her face–“A gift, for King Tristan and Queen Yvaine.” She offers a box to Yvaine and a wink to Tristan, “I’m proud of you darling.”
Yvaine opens the box, and does not bother to stifle her joyful laugh–she tilts it so Tristan can see, and his joy matches hers–a Babylon Candle.
“Aptly given, Una.” Yvaine thanks her, grasping her hand as if it could convey her thanks more surely.
It’s a promise that she can always go home, but when she looks over at her husband all she cares for is to live forever–happy–at his side.
~~~
But no one can live forever–though they certainly give it a try.
But Tristan holds claim to the heart of a star and Yvaine had given hers to Tristan completely.
So, when their children, and grandchildren were grown, it was time to light the Babylon Candle.
And they still live happily ever after–though their constellation has grown–Tristan and Isolde, and Yvaine and Laertes can be seen in every night sky.
Yvaine is not alone, the wish she made came true.