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Once upon a time on a dark winter’s night, a little girl ventured into the dark woods in search of flowers, hoping to surprise her mother with a gift. She looked long and hard, but all the familiar places were bare, and her hope was fading. Unwilling to leave empty-handed, she went further and further into the woods, until the trees closed around her, until she could no longer see home.
Just as she was about to give up and go home unsatisfied, a glimmer caught her eye, something shiny half-buried just under a bare rose bush. Curious and excited, the child dug her fingers into the soil to excavate it, revealing a beautiful jewel of silver and blue, pulsing and luminous in the pale light of the moon. Delighted, the child closed her hands around the jewel, wanting to bring it to her mother, but as she touched it, the world was filled with a bright blue light that blocked out all else. When the light faded, her home was nowhere to be seen, and she was somewhere dark and unfamiliar. The trees were gnarled and twisted, the moon low in the sky, thorn bushes rising all around her, and no matter how frantically the girl called and called, her parents could not hear her, and nobody came.
As she stood there, petrified with fright, a raucous cacophony of sound rose from the trees around her, crows shrieking and cawing from every direction, flapping black wings and staring down at her with angry red eyes. They dove at the frightened child, swirling around and around until they coalesced into a rising shape before her, so tall and terrible that it blocked out the moon. A Witch materialized from the mass of black feathers, dark yet regal. She crooked a talon-like finger at the child, raptor-like eyes locked on the jewel clutched tightly in her grasp.
“You take that which does not belong to you.” the Witch hissed, “For your foolish naivety, you will be punished.” The Witch swiped a claw across the child’s face, and the child turned and ran for the safety of the trees, her blood dripping onto the soil below and drawing the attention of the other denizens of the forest. With pounding heart and panting breath, the terrified child fled deeper into the woods, over root and under branch, until the birdlike shrieks of the Witch grew distant behind her. She ran and ran and ran, until thorns tugged at her tattered dress, roots tripped her, and sharp rocks cut at her bare feet. She came to a stop by a pile of stones, sitting heavily down with the jewel clutched to her chest, its gentle blue glow providing her with a modicum of comfort in the misty dark.
Lost and afraid, the child wept for her mother, her father, her warm little home. And as her tears fell to the ground below, the soil began to shift. The girl watched in frightened awe as the very ground itself began to rise, taking the shape of a massive being of sand and blood, dark and crimson-eyed. The Lord of Ruin stared at the girl, weeping and fragile, and felt a twinge of pity in his war-torn soul. He lifted his clawed hand and plucked two strong scales from his magnificent crest, fashioning them into a sturdy pair of shoes that he placed on the child’s scratched up feet with a gruff care.
“Here, child.” he rumbled in a voice like thunder, “May this ease your passage and bolden your spirit.”
The child thanked him gratefully, and ventured deeper into the woods, the Lord’s gift making her brave.
As she went further and further, snow began to fall, and the child began to shiver. The snow was light and melted on her skin, but the wind bit at her like needles and the mist obscured her vision. Shivering and miserable, the child curled up in the hollow of an old tree, hoping the bare bark may provide some protection from the terrible cold. Then, from the shadow of the trees, a figure took shape. Weaving itself together from the very mist itself, the Lady of The Stars appeared, elegant and proud. Her skin shone like sapphires, her head a mass of gently swaying tendrils of purest blue, glittering like diamonds in the misty moonlight. The child watched in awe as she raised a delicate hand and plucked a single tendril from her head, running her fingers over it until it became a soft and beautiful scarf. The Lady wrapped it gently around the child’s neck, and the chill of the dark night was chased away in favor of a gentle, encompassing warmth.
“Here, child.” she sang in a voice like starlight, “May this protect you from winter’s bite.”
The child thanked her gratefully, and ventured deeper into the woods, the Lady’s gift making her warm.
Eventually the child came to a vast river, and despair threatened to overtake her again. It was far too wide to cross, and she had no boat to carry her. She thought of her mother, and the thought that she may never see her again brought her to her knees. She wept at the banks of the river, her tears falling into the dark water below. Then, as she wept, the waters began to swirl, and from the depths below came a stream of bubbles, followed by a flash of green. The Lady of Waterfalls rose from the deep, serpentine and graceful, with eyes blacker and more filled with secrets than the abyss below.
The Lady dried the child’s tears, and gently lifted her into her elegant hands, cradling her close as she began carrying her across the dark river. The Lady’s hands were careful and just slightly chilled, and she quietly urged the child not to peer too deeply into the darkness below, lest she fall in and drown. She deposited the child on the other side of the river, safe on the rocky soil, and lifted a hand to her head, painlessly breaking off one of her two horns. She filled the horn with water from the river, smiling a secretive little smile as she pressed it into the child’s hands, watching her joyfully drink of the crisp, cool water.
“Here, child.” she murmured in a voice like a babbling brook, “May this fill your belly and lift your spirit.”
The child thanked her gratefully, and ventured deeper into the woods, the Lady’s gift making her strong.
She walked until she reached a moonlit clearing, and as she crossed it the cacophonous squawking of birds made itself known once more. Shadows writhed, feathers flew, and the Witch appeared before her once again, rage in her dark eyes. At her command the sky was filled with ravenous birds, blocking out the moon with black wings, all staring at the child with hungry eyes. The Witch spoke then, her voice like the creaking of dry boughs, the last breath of a dying autumn.
“There you are.”
The Witch reached for the child with clawed hands, and the child was filled with a sudden burst of courage. The gifts from the Lords of the woods bolstered her spirit, and she lunged forward to bite the Witch’s hand with sharp teeth. The Witch screeched, recoiling, and midnight blue blood dripped onto the soil below, the stinging taste lingering on the child’s tongue like the wild berries in her mother’s garden.
“Foolish little beast.” the Witch hissed, “You invade my home and take what is mine, and then have the gall to attack me? Your blood will soak the soil and feed the trees, your corpse will be a reminder to all that I am not to be trifled with.”
She reached for the child again, but this time she was blocked. The Witch and the child both watched with wide eyes as the other Lords appeared before them in a swirl of mist, placing themselves between the two and staring them both down with disappointed gazes, regal and resplendent. Even the Witch seemed to flinch away.
“The child was brazen, but the fault is your own, O’ Witch.” the Lord of Ruin said, “For leaving your treasure unguarded was a foolish mistake.”
“The child was naive, but you must not be cruel, O’ Witch.” the Lady of The Stars said, “For she is young and knows nothing of the world.”
“The child was foolish, but we must welcome all strangers, O’ Witch.” the Lady of Waterfalls said, “For they bring knowledge yet unknown to us.”
The Witch was displeased. She argued with the Lords. The child had stolen from her, she said, the child had trespassed, attacked her, and now she made her look a fool in front of her kin. The Lords were unimpressed, the reasoning of their sister finding no purchase, and as they argued the child looked down at the jewel in her hands, still pulsing a gentle blue light despite the darkness all around her. She approached the Witch then, and the Witch turned furious raptor-like eyes upon her. With shaking hands she held out the jewel, trembling but brave as she looked the Witch in the eyes.
“I am sorry for taking your treasure.” she said to the Witch, “I did not understand its significance. I should not have simply assumed it was mine for the taking.” The Witch was startled, and at the child’s earnestness, her fury began to fade, embarrassment beginning to rise in its place. Slowly, she knelt down before the child, reaching out to carefully pluck the jewel from her tiny hand, tucking it safely away in her vast robes
“Then… I apologize for my rash reaction.” she replied in a voice like the rustle of bird feathers, “I should have spoken to you as an equal, rather than assuming the worst.”
“I am sorry.” the child said, and the Witch bowed her head.
“I am sorry too.”
—-
“The Witch and the child took each other’s hands, the moonlight shining softly down on them.” Scott murmured, his voice soft and gentle so as to not wake the sleeping angara children tucked around him like lizards on a warm rock, “And together with the other Lords, they walked into the unknown as friends, the forest no longer frightening or dark. It is said that on moonlit nights, if one was to peer into the deepest parts of the woods, they may yet catch a glimpse of a smiling little girl, dancing hand in hand with four beings of dark beauty. A denizen of the forest, forevermore.”
The children snored quietly, and the older siblings stared up at Scott as the story finished, Teviint with raised eyebrows and Lathoul with rapt attention. Jaal’s heart was full, his chest warm and his spirit singing, and his love only grew as Scott laid a gentle hand over one of the little ones, soft and protective and so paternal Jaal ached. Scott’s voice was made for nights like this, soft and dulcet like a lullaby, painting beautiful scenes with all the skill of an artist, using only his words. He’d make a wonderful father.
“I think they liked it.” Scott murmured with a smile, gesturing to the soundly sleeping children, and oh how Jaal adored him.
“An intriguing tale.” Jaal said, quiet and fond, curled up at Scott’s side with his youngest siblings tucked safely between them, “The child was very brave.”
“The child was a fool.” Teviint rolled her eyes, though she kept her voice low, “A fool to explore so deep and a fool to touch the unknown.”
“When the little ones begged to hear a human fairy tale,” Lathoul blinked slowly, “I did not think it would be so long. Are they all like that?”
“Depends on the fairy tale.” Scott said as a child shifted, snuggling further into the warmth of his throat with an adorable little warble, and oh how Jaal wanted to give Scott children of their own, to see him read them stories and snuggle them and teach them love, “Some are long, some are short, and some are so old we can’t even tell how long they are.”
“How old was this one?” Jaal asked absently, head dancing with visions of family dinners and bedtime stories, days of sunlight and warmth and nights spent cuddling together, tired but happy after putting the children to bed.
“That one was actually a pretty recent one.” he said, oblivious to Jaal’s intense longing, “Less than thirty years old… or I guess much longer now. It’s about a historical event.”
“Truly?” Teviint cocked her head, “Which one?”
“Humanity’s first contact with the turians.” he said, shifting slightly to let a little one nuzzle sleepily into his fiery hair, not knowing what it did to Jaal’s poor heart, “There were hostilities due to misunderstandings, but it got worked out in the end. In the story, the child represents humanity, and the other species are represented by the Lords. The Lord of Ruin was the krogan, the Lady of The Stars was the asari, the Lady of Waterfalls was the salarians, and the Witch was of course the turians.”
“And the child’s mother is Earth, or your species?” Lathoul asked eagerly, “And the woods is the galaxy?”
“Yeah, probably.“ Scott replied, clearly having no idea.
“And the jewel the child took?” Lathoul pressed, “Surely it represented something?”
“Great.” Teviint chuckled softly, “He’s going to be analyzing this story for weeks. Thanks, human.”
“The jewel represents the mass relays we were activating all willy nilly.” Scott laughed quietly, “That’s what made the turians fire on us in the first place.”
“That’s… fascinating.” Lathoul marveled, and Scott smiled.
“It’s wildly inaccurate, is what it is.” he admitted, “The turians, the Witch, were actually the first and only race we encountered for a while. We didn’t even know about the others until they stepped in months later to end the hostilities, and they certainly didn’t give us any gifts for a long time. But that wouldn’t really work for a fairy tale, I guess.”
“Do you think they’ll write one about the angara?” Lathoul asked enthusiastically, and Scott thought about it for a moment.
“Maybe.” he said with a smile, “Maybe your grandchildren will tell the tale of five curious children wandering far from home, bickering the entire way.“
“And they meet a wise old woman who asks for their help.” Lathoul grinned, “Wise and strong, but cautious, and together they destroy the beast that has long terrorized her village.”
“A marvelous tale of friendship and adventure.” Jaal chuckled, lifting Scott’s hand to press a kiss to it, careful not to dislodge any children, “But I already know how the real fairy tale will go.”
“Oh?” Scott quirked his lips, “Do tell.”
“Once upon a time.” Jaal rumbled, “There was a lonely warrior who spent his days longing for freedom, longing for something more than the dreary life of conflict he led. Then, one day, the sky took pity on him, and sent him a gift. A ball of flame descended from the heavens, and from it stepped a man with eyes of vivid green and a wreath of fire upon his head, red as the flame he’d emerged from.”
“Jaal.” Scott laughed, flushing bright pink, and Jaal nuzzled his hand as his heart swelled with love.
“The luminous being took the warrior’s hand.” he continued, and Teviint rolled her eyes as Lathoul beamed at them, “And took him into the heavens with him, showing him worlds he could never have envisioned, a life he never knew he wanted. A love he never imagined he could feel.”
“Do they live happily ever after?” Scott asked softly, and Jaal kissed his hand with all the fervent devotion of a knight to his Lord.
“They do.” he murmured, “Together, ever after.”
His dreams were wrapped in velvet darkness that night, filled with gnarled trees and wild thorn bushes, a silver moon hung low in the sky. The woods were dark and vast, lit only by pale moonlight, but the unfamiliar depths held no danger. If Jaal peered deeply enough into the heart of the forest, he could see a little boy with red hair and a bright smile, dancing with four other children to music only they could hear. If he watched long enough, a sixth child would appear, lingering among the trees with cautious longing in their big blue eyes. The other children would startle at his presence, but soon open their arms with welcoming smiles, and the sixth child would leave the comforting familiarity of the treeline to grasp their hands. He would dance alongside them in the light of the moon, a smile on his face as he was welcomed like a brother, and the mist would envelop them all like a mother’s veil.
Together, hand in hand, the forest was no longer frightening or dark.