Chapter Text
Grima is dead, they think. They aren’t sure. Robin vanished but was found alive in a field later. Don’t get her wrong; Selena prefers having two parents instead of one. But Robin was the one capable of containing Grima’s Heart, whatever the hell that meant. Grima’s mark was there at birth, and it grew with Robin. It’s linked to a dragon, but though that dragon is (supposed to be) dead, the mark remains. It’s a part of Robin, forever, and it’s a part of Robin’s children.
The mark on her hand is incomplete: three eyes instead of six, faded in patches as if it were half burned off. Morgan’s is incomplete in a uniquely different way. They’re still Grima’s descendants, and anything with a sense of self-preservation knows it. Animals, faceless, even humans who can’t see the mark- all of them sense something off and leave well enough alone. If asked, nobody would be able to explain why. But it still works, even in Nohr, even worlds away from home.
So Grima can’t possess them. So what? They’re his blood; they’re marked as having the potential to produce a perfect heir. Maybe it won’t be now. Maybe it’ll be centuries in the future. If Grima isn’t dead- then it’s dangerous for her to breed.
But that’s silly, isn’t it? Robin can’t be the only living descendant of the Grimleal; Selena and Morgan can’t be the last of their kind. They aren’t like Yarne or Panne, though. The only thing visibly distinguishing them is the mark. So even if they didn’t-
“Thanks, Selena.” His voice jars her; when she looks, there’s still blood in Laslow’s hair. He looks like he wants to vomit at the very thought of standing, but he’s doing it anyway, swaying slightly on his feet. “I- Odin told me that you saved me. Thank you.”
She can’t see the mark of the Exalt in his eye, just like he can’t see the mark on her hand. Not that it makes a difference; animals and undead still just know.
“We’re friends, dummy. No need to thank me.”
He grins, then winces; he takes a seat beside her gingerly, and then in his most over-the-top voice says, “We’re friends, and that’s why I have to thank you! I know you don’t like… you know.”
“…Are you even supposed to be up?”
“Ha. Well, no. I’m supposed to be resting. But you’re changing the topic, Selena!”
It’s not fair, she wants to say. Naga is, unquestionably, the ‘good’ god. She doesn’t possess vessels like Grima does. She saved all of them. She sent them back so they could save everyone else. Maybe things aren’t clean cut; maybe they can’t say that Naga is the embodiment of good. But she was good to them, and it makes Selena so jealous.
Laslow and Odin are Naga’s blessed and it means little. Creatures know she would never rain godly fire on them, that she will never in person walk the earth. Being hers marks them as royalty and nothing more. There’s no division; their mark is whole when it surfaces.
(Poor Lissa, though- to wonder if she were a bastard and to need a child to prove otherwise.)
But Grima…
Laslow leans against her, full-body, like he’s a second from passing out. She jumps, briefly, and he grins up at her before she glares, pointedly, at nothing. “My hero. Making the best of things. You fight dirty, Selena-”
“Shut up.”
“And we love you for it. Love you despite it.” The words make her pause; it’s too honestly mushy to be Laslow’s usual flirting. She glances down, and his eyelids are drooping. "I know you were afraid she’d send you too far,“ Laslow says, and his words are slow, ponderous with drowsiness. “Naga. You thought she might- send both of you too far. ‘Lose’ you. But she didn’t.”
Was it really that obvious? Did she say it, before?
“So? She’s the good one.”
“No… she could have hedged her bets. Nipped things in the bud. But she didn’t. You’re worth the risk, Selena. A god decided that.”
You’ve got a concussion, she wants to say. Am I supposed to call someone? Xander will kill you. Peri will kill me.
But Laslow’s eyes finally shut, and saying it would be stupid, so she sits, and thinks, and wonders if he meant any of it. If he was reading too far into it, with his brains addled by that rock.
(Can she believe him?)
(She wants to believe him, so, so badly.)