Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She was standing there waiting for him in all her glory, so similar yet so different from the girl he had just been pulled away from. The darkness embraced him softly, when his blood ran too quickly on the stones for him to stay conscious in the world with his daughter in it. He was instead greeted by the lost love of his life. Lothian. Her shoulder-blade length silver hair shifted without breeze and she wore a simple silver shift. Her eyes were the bright gold he had remembered, had missed, but they now looked upon him in sorrow, as though to say look how far we’ve fallen.

“It’s good to see you, Lothi,” so long, it had been so long since he had called her that. Not since that last night together all those years ago. She approached him slowly and sunk to her knees in front of him.

“I missed you, Tristan,” her smile was sad as she cradled his head in her lap, her eyes glazing with unshed tears.

“Has the Darkness claimed me?” Lothian looked out for a second, before shaking her head gently.

“Not yet, my love. A little while now. But I will be here until the end and after that,” words he had said to her whilst lying together and naked on furs in a cabin in a forest - the place where he said he would make them a home. He almost wanted to ask if that night had given them the child still on Erilea, still living and breathing. She seemed to know what he wanted to ask and nodded a response with the same sad smile.

The next few hours were the most painful hours his mind and body had ever endured. but his soul was here, in the black, with Lothian. She would stroke his hair and when he could hear the interrogation and the screams of himself, she sang. Lothian sang beautiful melodies and soft lullabies, she stroked his hair and brushed the tears from his face with her pale, soft hands.

When he finally fell into the Darkness, his body too broken by his own daughter, Lothian was still there. The second he was gone in the living world he could touch her again and hold her in his arms again. He was shaking when she fitted back into his arms for the first time in a long time and he leaned into her, burying his nose in her warrior-braided silver hair. She still smelled like snow and grass. He still loved her.

“Your mother…” she kisses him into silence before placing their foreheads together.

“I know. But Manon is strong, she’ll bring our people home.”

And so they watched down on their daughter until she did.

Chapter Text

The Blueblood matron had overseen the witchling’s birth, as she oversaw the birth of most Heir’s, no matter the coven. The Bluebood matron had told her that this child was special. Absinthe Blackbeak couldn’t give a shit about the stupid matron, she just wanted this child out of her. For as special as witchlings were, she would give anything to end this pain and have this child be in her arms. Her mother stood above her and just this once, let her squeeze her hand so hard that her iron claws came out. Blood ran down her chin from trying not to scream so hard that her iron teeth had pierced her bottom lip.

Her daughter came screaming into the world but she was yet to have the iron in her.

Absinthe could breathe again as she held her daughter in her arms an hour later. The girl had yet to open her eyes, but her hair was the same silver as her mother’s. The Blackbeak matron flew in and out of the room, going about her business while they waited.

The Matron wasn’t there when Absinthe’s daughter opened her eyes. They were pure, beautiful gold. And for the first time in her life, Absinthe felt something warm beating in her chest. It was the first time she felt love for something other than the open skies above her. Absinthe stroked her daughter’s hair as the girl just stared at her, silent.

“Hey, baby girl, welcome to the world.”

“What are you going to name her?” Her second stood at the door and looked at the girl in Absinthe’s arms.

“Lothian. Lothian Blackbeak,” her second nodded, smiled and turned away, walking back down the hall of Blackbeak Keep, no doubt to tell the Matron the news. Absinthe looked back down at her daughter. The eyes and hair were Absinthe’s, but the nose must have been that of the human male she had slept with (she didn’t remember his name nor did she care.) It was small and delicate, but Absinthe had doubt it would stay that way as she grew and trained.

She looked up at the sound of the throat clearing. The Blueblood heir leaned against the doorframe. Absinthe very subtly hugged Lothian closer, but the heir looked as though she wasn’t going to step any closer.

“She will be the key to bringing us home, Absinthe. My advice would be to let her spirit flourish, don’t stifle it as you yourself have been stifled,” she fronted but her face curled in a scowl.

“Did your god-awful stars tell you that?”

“Absinthe-“

“No, take your insane notions that I would hurt my daughter and get out, okay, Get out,” as if sensing her mothers distress, Lothian began to cry softly, drawing her mother’s attention. “Get out, so I can look after my daughter without your craziness in the way,” the Blueblood heeded her and walk away.

“Come here little one, I’ve got you,” she rocked Lothian until she fell back asleep in her mother’s arms, her perfect face at peace.

Chapter Text

Lothian Blackbeak grew up strong and smart, both a warrior and a leader. But she also grew up kinder than her grandmother would have liked. Even her mother was condemningly silent most days.

The other Ironteeth scorned her, liked to pretend she wasn’t second heir. And then there was what became known as “the incident” when she was 14.

That stupid Yellowlegs cow had called her weak, looked down on her as she did. And not just physically looking down from her taller stature, but… the condescension boiled Lothian’s blood like nothing else. So she reacted.

No one, let alone the Yellowlegs bitch, had time to react when Lothian drove her hand sideways through the witch’s ribs and seized her beating heart, holding it tight and not letting it beat. Her face seemed to go blue. The Yellowlegs matron shouted but was held back by Lothian’s grandmother, a highly interested look on her face. For Lothian to take on the girl who was nearly 20, much more trained than her, it was astounding.

Lothian leaned in, clenched her fist tighter and whispered in her enemy’s ear.

“I am currently the only thing standing between you living and dying, I control every beat of my heart, I’ve definitely shattered some of your ribs and probably some of your sternum holding them. And you didn’t know I was doing it before I did it. So the next time you call me weak, I want you to think about this moment right here, when a 14 year old witchling handed your ass to you on a plate. Learn some goddamn respect,” the girl spat in Lothian’s face.

“If that’s how you want to play it. Stupid of you to forget you have sisters,” and then she squeezed, felt the heart fight against her until it almost gave out, until her grandmother spoke.

“Lothian, your first kill will be a Crochan. Not a Yellowlegs not worth killing,” Lothian halted, before letting go of the girl’s heart and drawing her hand out. She didn’t look at her hand, knew her steely resolve would falter is she saw the blood there.

“Still letting grammy make your decisions for you,” Lothian threw her hand out and punched the Yellowlegs right out. She hit the ground with a bang and Lothian smiled before turning to the Yellowlegs matron.

“Teach your heirs not to mess with me, or I’ll teach them for you, understood?” The Matron nodded and Lothian was gone.

That night, she didn’t let anyone see her throw up (multiple times) or hear her crying as she tried to frantically wash the blue blood off her hands. As much as her mother loved her, Absinthe wouldn’t be on her side in this case. In any cases that involved her training as an Ironteeth.

Lothian Blackbeak may have been strong and smart and a warrior, but she was so very alone. Except for when she looked to the stars. Then she felt warmth and… life.

If she was brave enough to take it.