Chapter Text
His luck was bound to run out eventually. He has taken all the precautions he could think of, avoiding being seen by any nobles he met in his childhood, if he could not steer his companions away from their territories altogether. He is all too aware that his parents, knowing his gifts, had intentionally kept knowledge from him, including the whereabouts and identities of various associates of theirs throughout the United Federation of Kingdoms.
It was easier to hide from them while he was learning the healing arts. They'd checked the academies, but he'd had the sense not to be trained in one of those. He'd learned from master healers in several nations, only going to an academy to prove his skills and earn the latinum chain and runed medallion that marked him as a master in his own right.
Then, of course, he joined Ben, and became part of the Family.
Many traveling groups have claimed familial bonds. Some of them are indeed related by blood, and some contain close friendships. Julian has been fortunate indeed in his traveling companions. He calls them the Family in his head, though the full group name is Family Defiant—a moniker only applicable to some of its members—because over the few short years he's been in their company, they have essentially become his family. A family he chose—from Ben, who has won their loyalty through his kindness and generosity of spirit as much as his strength and leadership skills, to Jadzia, with her sparkling personality and hard-earned wisdom, to Kira, as fiercely protective of those she cares about as she is of her homeland, to Miles, who is both Julian’s best friend, and the older brother he wishes he’d had growing up. He’d like to be something more—Miles and his wife have an open relationship, and have already formed a triad with Kira—but he has yet to press any sort of suit. Their friendship, once so rocky it seemed it would never flourish, has become one of the most precious bonds he has in his life, and he doesn’t want to tarnish it, or lose it altogether.
And, of course, there is the matter of the secret, the one that drove him from his own homeland as a boy, and which has followed him as faithfully as his shadow ever since. Miles does not know of it—indeed, only three of their companions are able to see the signs, and none of them have betrayed him since he explained the circumstances. He is grateful to them for that, but dreads the moment when the truth is revealed to those he withheld it from all these years. He is certain they would never forgive him for it.
The summons is ordinary enough—the local baron has heard they're in the area and requested their presence at his keep to discuss "a matter of some importance." It's not an unusual invitation. A lot of nobles have summoned them with similar messages. The fact that the people of this town don't look on their local lord with much favour doesn't arouse suspicion either—far too many nobles take no trouble over being popular with those they consider beneath them.
The baron's keep is forbidding, built on a tall hill overlooking the town, and surrounded by high stone walls. The gates are solid iron, usually a sign of a household who does not much like the fae, but that's not abnormal either. Not all fae are benevolent, and the effects cold iron has on them are well-known. It is no threat to their party—Odo is most at risk but is careful to a fault, while Ben's Fae and human heritage are perfectly balanced, and Dax will only take harm if iron is pressed directly to the rune binding ghem to Jadzia.
The guards at the entrance to the compound take one look at them and turn to open the gates without a word passing between them. Ben leads the way onto the grounds proper, though what Julian can see to either side of the path is hardly more inviting than the outer walls were.
They're about halfway to the castle when another group of guards crosses their path. The leader of this unit barks an order, and the youngest of them breaks away from the rest and goes tearing off toward the castle as though his life depended on it. The remaining guards pass them without a word of acknowledgment.
"This is highly irregular," Worf observes. "We have not been greeted by anyone we have met since we arrived."
"You're right," Jadzia murmurs. "That is weird."
"The problem we're here to deal with may have taken its toll on the guards," Ben says. "I wouldn't be so quick to judge."
Julian would usually agree with Ben on this—their leader's compassion is rarely misplaced—but something about the way the younger guard had run off doesn't sit right with him.
His suspicions, as it turns out, are far from groundless.
They've only walked for another few minutes before a distant movement resolves itself into a third group of guards. The Baron's people had been wearing plain colours—browns and greys. This unit are dressed in uniforms of a deep indigo trimmed with gold, each tunic bearing a familiar insignia upon the breast.
Julian's blood turns to ice. He glances to either side, wishing wildly for something to climb, or some nearby outbuilding to hide in before someone sees him. He doesn't notice he's stopped moving until Miles taps his shoulder.
"Julian, what's wrong?" his friend asks. Then, more concerned, "You're shaking like a leaf!"
Julian swallows.
"I—I'm sorry," he stammers. "I just—Those men. I know their colours."
Miles moves to stand beside him, looking past Ben at the approaching group.
"Where from?" he demands. "I've not seen that crest before!"
"From—From before we met." It's hard to speak. His heart seems to have leapt into his throat and lodged there.
Ben turns to face him, his expression solemn.
"I recognise it too," he says, his dark eyes soft with understanding.
"Ben, what's going on?" Miles demands.
As if in response, one of the guards ahead of them calls out.
"Your highness! Excellent! Their Majesties can't wait to see you again!"
"Those aren't Sisko's colours," Miles observes.
"No," Ben agrees heavily. "They're Bashir's."
"House Bashir?" If anything, Miles seems more confused than before. "I know Julian's Aravi, but what does he have to do with House Bashir?"
Julian doesn't look at his friend. He doesn't want to see the moment he loses that friendship forever.
"They're my guards. My name—my full name—is Julian Subatoi Bashir."
A short, shocked silence follows this statement.
"You're bloody joking," Miles says at last.
"I wish I was. I truly do."
"You're the bloody lost prince of Bashir?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, Miles. I'll understand if you don't—"
His friend lays a hand upon his shoulder. The touch is surprisingly gentle.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"He felt he'd have to explain why he ran," Jadzia says, having come up on Julian's other side. She takes his left hand in her own.
"Wait," Miles says slowly. "How come you told Dax?"
"He didn't have to," Ben tells him. "Dax could see it. So could Odo—so can I, when it’s twilight."
"So there's magic involved?"
Julian is still trying to formulate a satisfactory response to that question when the Bashir guards reach them. They split into two groups, moving to flank the Family. Another contingent of Bashir men appears in the middle distance, coming toward them at a brisk pace. As they draw nearer, the two richly-dressed people in the centre of the group become clearly visible.
"Is that them?" Jadzia asks softly.
Julian’s throat has tightened once more. He nods.
Ben moves to stand in front of him, turning to face forward again, and taking a defensive stance.
"Look," Miles says quietly as his parents and their escort advance on them. "If Ben's defending you, that’s all the assurance I need that you had good reason to run from your past. We'll talk about this later, all right?"
You say that now, but you'll hate me for certain when you do find out what I am. What they made me.
Before he can think of a way to express this sentiment aloud, his mother calls out to him.
"Jules! I know you're there!, habibi!"
Behind him, he senses the others closing ranks without being told. Kira moves to stand beside Ben and in front of Jadzia. He wishes they wouldn't—he's feeling more hemmed-in than supported or defended, especially since all his body wants to do is take off running.
"Come now, son!" his father says, a little closer at hand. "Tell that big friend of yours to move aside, and we can talk like adults." He sounds almost jovial, but there is a warning undertone to his voice that Julian suspects he would remember vividly even if he didn't have a charmed memory.
Ben's shoulders tense, and when he addresses the king of Aravain, it is in the deep bass reserved for the few who have made the mistake of arousing his ire.
"I am Benjamin of House Sisko, prince of Orleans, and a Federation Knight Commander. If you wish me to do something, address me directly."
"Step aside, Your Highness," King Richard orders, all trace of joviality gone. "You are in the presence of a ruling monarch—surely your father taught you to respect those of higher rank than yourself."
"My father taught me that respect is earned," Ben says in steely tones. "You have yet to earn any from me."
"You insolent—!"
"Richard!" his mother protests before his father can finish what is likely to be an undiplomatic assessment of Ben's character, and possibly background.
"Ben, let me by," Julian says, his voice surprisingly steady.
Ben turns to give him an appraising look.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his tone softening.
"He won't let up," Julian says. "I don't want things to escalate further if I can avoid it."
Ben frowns, but does move aside, leaving a gap between himself and Kira, into which Julian steps. He's now facing his parents, who have moved to the front of their group.
"Look at you!" Queen Amsha is all smiles, for now. "You're looking well, under the circumstances, Jules!"
"Julian, Mother. I've not gone by Jules for half my life now." He does his best not to inject too much venom into the now-despised petname.
"It would seem the years have not tempered your attitude," his father observes drily.
"What do you want?" Julian asks by way of a response.
"For you to come home, habibi," his mother says, a pleading note in her voice now. "You're needed in Aravain. We've been searching for you for so long, Julian—Your people need their prince."
A humourless laugh bursts from Julian before he can stop it.
"This isn't about the people, Mother! Don't insult my intelligence! You're here because my absence is damaging your reputation the longer it goes on! You want me to come home so you can ensure I never expose what you did!"
"Jules!" In her anger, Amsha has already forgotten his request not to use her favoured name for him.
"Jules doesn't exist anymore!" he snaps. "He stopped existing when you traded his memories to a Winter Fae for a Prince Charming!"
Miles draws in a sharp breath. Julian does not look back at him.
"So." His father's gaze is flinty. "You still feel as you did all those years ago."
"Why wouldn't I?" Julian responds, meeting his gaze direct. "It hasn't become any less true."
"And this rabble you traipse around the countryside with?" Richard glances to either side, and then looks past him at the rest of the group who are present.
None of them speak, but Julian feels Kira bristling beside him, and wonders which of her numerous hidden knives her hand is straying toward.
"I would appreciate it if you didn't insult my friends," he responds pointedly.
"You call yourselves a family, do you not?" his father presses.
Julian knows he's being goaded, but however brilliant his magically augmented mind may be, his emotions still burn bright when fanned.
"Does that upset you, Richard? That I chose whom I would call family?" He glances in Ben's direction. “Ben’s son is his pride and joy! He loves him, would do anything within his power to make him happy. And despite all life has thrown at them, Jake is thriving! He enjoys the time he spends with his father! Which is more than I could ever say about myself! You saw me as a prized game piece at best! Ben, Miles, Kira—they see me as a person! No, I'm not giving that up!"
"Very well." His father's icy calm is worse than his outrage. "Amsha, he isn't going to come willingly."
His mother sighs, something like genuine regret softening her features as she reaches back toward the nearest guard. He passes her a long bundle.
"We didn't want it to come to this, Jules," she says as she begins untying the cords around what looks like a bolt of translucent black cloth. "I am sorry, habibi, but you cannot imagine we went to all this effort to find you without making some preparation against your stubbornness."
Julian's eyes are locked on the cloth, which Amsha is now unrolling. It ripples in a way cloth should not as he stares at it.
"What is that?" he whispers, afraid to hear the answer even as he craves the knowledge.
His father chuckles darkly.
"Trouble." It's Jadzia's voice, but something about the tone suggests that Dax is speaking through her directly.
"I prefer to think of it as insurance," Richard Bashir says. "You claim to see these people as family. Let us find out how strong those bonds truly are."
"We have to go." That's definitely Dax. Jadzia's voice alone doesn't have that faint resonance. And Dax does not give orders lightly.
"Surround them!" Richard commands, shifting from condescending parent to military leader in an instant.
"Run! All of you!" Dax barks as the Bashir guards begin to spread out, the ones flanking them moving to block their way back toward the gates.
The Family Defiant scatter in all directions, Julian included. He shoves two guards aside as he flees, his enhanced strength serving him well. None of them make it very far before their doom comes upon them, however.
Julian hears the fluttering of fabric, far louder than it ought to be, and a freezing wind lifts his hair and chills the back of his neck. Behind him, several of his friends let out startled yells.
He turns back, scanning the area frantically. He catches sight of Jadzia just as she is overtaken by a now glowing sheet of translucent fabric, which engulfs her in a matter of moments. His eyes find several more cloth-shrouded figures, all struggling.
He rushes forward, wanting to help, hearing Ben calling out to Jake, Worf yelling in incoherent rage, Kira and Miles both cursing colourfully in their native tongues—at least, Julian assumes they’re colourful curses based on their tone and apparent complexity. He can only make out one word in four through the fabric muffling their faces.
He is almost level with Miles when the light flares up around them, so bright that any normal being would be dazzled by it. Julian is not normal, however, and his gifts include keener senses. The next moments are burned into his enchanted memory, and will haunt his dreams for months to come.
Within his column of light, the shroud vanishes from around miles. Julian gets a final glimpse of his friend's face, hazel-green eyes wide with panic. Then the well-loved features distort and shift, and he screams in what might be terror or pain. Julian can see both in his eyes. He cannot look away, even as the first feathers sprout, as the human scream shifts into the cries of something other, as he begins to comprehend the cruel fate his parents had devised for those who had committed the apparently unforgivable crime of caring about him.
It is only when Miles' body has shrunk to the point where his head drops below Julian's line of sight that he is able to turn away from where he'd been standing, and by then the first tears are blurring his vision. His heart breaks anew with every avian cry he hears, not just from Miles, but from several directions. He doesn't want to see the others, yearns to see them, wants to tell them he's sorry, so sorry, Miles, Ben, Jadzia, Kira, I'm sorry, this is all my fault...
He sinks to the ground, curling into a ball of misery and anguish and guilt, and the first of many ragged sobs racks his huddled frame.
Ben's entire focus is on keeping his son in view. Jake was at the back of their formation before they scattered, and has always been a good runner. So has Ben, to be fair, but he is still several paces behind Jake when the flutter of fabric above his head makes him glance upward, just in time to see the black, translucent material descending upon him. It enfolds his head and shoulders immediately, tightening until it clings to him like a second skin. He tries to reach for it, but the cloth is flowing down his arms, wrapping around them in a way it should not be capable of. His hands are bound so tightly he cannot separate or bend the fingers, and he flails fruitlessly as whatever this fabric is continues downward, spreading like fluid, enveloping his entire body.
Distantly, through the layer of cloth over his ears, he hears a startled cry from Jake. He calls his name desperately, but gets no response before it begins.
Light fills his world, and the bonds around him vanish, though their absence brings no relief, for in their place is a biting cold that cuts him to the bone. The chill, however, is nothing to the pain that follows. It feels as if he were being set aflame, frozen, and struck by Mage lightning all at once. The agony is so intense that he hears his own scream only distantly, and though some part of him registers something is happening to his body, the pain overwhelms the sensations of whatever that might be. All thoughts are driven from his mind, save the desperate plea to Make it stop, it's too much, make it STOP!
At some point, his scream rises into a shrill register, a distinctly inhuman shriek.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the pain ceases, leaving him in shock, and slowly becoming aware of how utterly foreign his body feels. It is difficult to process what his senses are telling him right at first. Nothing hurts anymore, but his stance is all wrong, his body bowed forward in a way that should have unbalanced him, and isn't. His face also feels unusually stiff, the nose and mouth oddly compressed. He tries to reach up to touch it, and the sensations that motion produces send a shiver through him. Whatever just responded to his will feels too long, too broad, and doesn't bend the right way to be an arm at all.
... What have they done?
He has to know. Not knowing will mean he continues to sit here while potentially deadly foes rally their forces. He is also afraid to look.
He is steeling himself to do so anyway when he realises, with a start, just how sharp his vision is now. Colours are vivid to him in a way they have never been before, and the distance his sight can cover has increased dramatically. His range of vision is narrower, and he can't move his eyes much to widen it, but within that range, what he can see is remarkably detailed.
He turns his head, the better to examine his surroundings, and stares in growing wonder. He can take in so much at a glance—the sloping lawn, punctuated with garden beds and frankly hideous water features; several distant outbuildings; the wall of the compound far to his right, sunlight glinting off the iron gates. Movement in his periphery catches his attention, and he shifts his focus, his gaze finding and tracking the Bashir guards, scattered around him in small groups. They’re milling about as if unsure how best to proceed—and is it his imagination, or is he having to look down at them rather more than he should? Some of them had been close to his height, but now, it's as if he were surveying them from atop a raised platform. Which is assuredly not the case.
He averts his eyes from the guards, turning his head farther to the left. He’s almost looking over his shoulder when a glint of latinum chain catches his eye, drawing his attention to a familiar figure, huddled on the ground not far behind him.
Julian.
But Julian as Ben has never seen him. Julian is not usually so visibly distressed, not even by a patient in dire straits, not even when someone dies in his care (a rare thing), not even when Ben told him, a few months after they began traveling together, that he could see the marks of a number of faerie gifts on him at dusk or daybreak.
He is halfway through wondering what has so deeply upset his younger friend when several things fall into place at once.
He has not seen any of his other traveling companions in the process of looking around himself.
He just experienced horrendous pain, and now his body no longer feels like his own.
The king and queen of Aravain had acquired something that made Dax react with rare urgency.
Julian, a man best known for his sometimes-irritating levels of optimism and his ability to keep his head about him in most crises, is now crumpled on the ground as if his whole world has just fallen apart.
He can't put it off any longer. Bracing himself against what his sharp eyes are about to reveal, Ben tilts his head to one side, then the other, rotating it as far as he can at each angle.
He cannot see everything—he is physically unable to look down at his front, and there is no convenient free-standing mirror he can make use of—but he does have a clear enough view of his back and sides to get the general idea.
Black feathers cover every visible inch of his form. Half-furled wings rest against his sides. His feet are obscured from view, but a few careful movements bring with them the sensation of the turf sliding between ...
Talons. He's too big for any other word to be applicable.
Benjamin of Sisko does not panic. Not for himself. But the moment he fully comprehends that he has become a large bird-of-prey, his mind flies to his son.
"Jake!" he shouts frantically. "Jake, where are you?"
In the next moment, he berates himself for trying to communicate in this condition; but then he fully registers what he heard—his own words, in his own voice, as clear as if the mouth forming them had still been a human one. There is another sound as well, however, less prominent than the words, but noticeable. He remembers the wild shriek he uttered as the pain of the transformation reached its peak. Those cries must belong to the kind of bird he has become. He shivers—the reality of his inhuman shape is truly sinking in.
Then he is distracted from that disturbing line of thought by a clear, blessed answer to his call.
"Here, Dad! I'm over here!"
In front of him, and a little to the right, there's a flurry of movement that draws his raptors' eyes immediately. He watches as another bird, much smaller than him and appearing to be some form of corvid, rises unsteadily into the air.
The ascent is wobbly, but the flight toward him is surprisingly smooth, and almost straight. Then the bird tries to slow down, flips two summersaults and crashes headlong into the turf in front of Ben with a cry that's a mix between startled—raven. He's almost sure of it—and his son's voice.
He tries to reach down to him without thinking, and feels both wings spread, the muscles straining to comply with his will despite not being capable of moving that way.
Damn it! he thinks in frustration. I already miss my arms ...
"Are you all right?" he asks Jake aloud, concern colouring his tone.
"Yeah, I'm fine." Jake's already picking himself up, shaking himself out. He looks up at Ben, eyes widening as he takes in his appearance. “Wow. You’re—a lot bigger than me!”
“I’d noticed,” Ben responds drily. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah—I didn’t go high enough to hurt myself when I crashed.” He lowers his voice to a hesitant murmur. “I was—a little scared to try at all, until you called me. Do you think Mom felt like this?”
“Her situation was different,” Ben points out. He’d rather not think about that right now, but his son had every right to bring it up under these circumstances. “She was much smaller even than you, and her mind was clouded before she changed—she only ever remembered flashes of the after.”
“So scary in a different way?”
“In hindsight, perhaps, but not at the time. She didn’t remember being human, so didn’t know what to be afraid of.”
“I guess that makes us lucky.”
“In some ways, I suppose it does.”
“You’re really lucky,” Jake opines. “Ravens are smart and cool, but eagles are awesome!” He seems to be taking sprouting feathers very well, considering.
“I don’t know about that,” Ben tells him, “but I am glad I can still protect you, if need be.” He lets his own unease show, just a little, as he continues. “Once I figure out how this body works, at any rate.”
"Don't think too hard. It never helps to overthink."
The new voice startles them both.
"Dax?" Ben asks, just as Jake says "Jadzia?"
"Hello," comes the slightly amused reply, from somewhere behind him.
There's a rustle, then the beating of wings overhead, and a large swan lands lightly on the grass behind Jake. The bird's feathers are adorned with a Trill's spots, and her eyes, when she raises her head, are a brilliant blue, but in all other respects, she resembles the mute swans that lived on the lake near the royal city in Orleans.
"Dax, why are you a swan?" Ben asks, unable to keep from staring.
“Magic, Benjamin,” she responds drily. He can almost hear Curzon in her tone. “I’d have thought that was obvious.”
“You know what I meant, old man—Why are you a swan specifically?”
"Is it that much of a surprise to you?" Jadzia asks, a teasing note in her voice. "Am I not pretty enough?"
“No, but of all things—if I’d had a say in what you were changed into, mute swan wouldn’t even make the list. I can think of dozens of birds with more intelligence or colour, or friendlier personalities.”
“True enough,” Jadzia agrees. “Swans are strong, though, and whatever else they may be known for, it’s widely-believed they mate for life. And I’m married to Worf, who is also a swan. Magic does tend to account for these things.”
"Well, that makes more sense," Ben says, glad to have the matter cleared up.
"It does not!" There's another, louder flurry of wingbeats as a second swan flies overhead and lands next to Jadzia. His plumage is a rich brown, darker than Worf's hair but lighter than his skin. He's also slightly larger than Jadzia, and his eyes are flashing with indignation. "I strongly disapprove of this!" he declares forcefully. "Waterfowl have no honour!"
"No wild creature does, Worf," Jadzia counters. " They don't need it—Their only goals in life are survival, and protecting their young, if they have any."
"I still do not understand why I was not given a more impressive form." Worf casts Ben a pointed glance.
"I'm a little envious of Benjamin myself, but he didn't ask for his current shape any more than either of us did," Jadzia points out.
Ben can't help himself—he has to ask.
"Dax, what exactly am I? I don't know of any birds-of-prey this size."
Jadzia's eyes sparkle.
"I can’t say I’m surprised by that. The species in question is only found in the faerie realms. You're an Aquilla, Benjamin. A bit on the small side for one, actually. Probably because you're only half-Fae."
"Aquilla," Jake repeats, then freezes. Ben can't blame him—the voice that framed the name is not Jake's own, but Jadzia's, and carries the same inflection she used when speaking it.
"You can mimic already?" Jadzia sounds delighted. "That's amazing, Jake!"
"That felt weird," Jake says with feeling. "Like my mouth was moving around someone else's words."
"We'll have to test that later," Jadzia declares, then visibly reins in her enthusiasm before speaking again. "You wanted to ask me something?"
"Right." Jake gives himself a slight shake. "I've just only heard—that name as the word for eagle in one of the ancient languages. I can't remember which one—it's been years since I had access to the royal library."
"Well, you're not wrong, but that came after the bird itself. Some used to live here in the mortal realm, and today's eagles are descended from them. The ones in Faerie are also known as the Lords of Eagles. They're stronger for their size than most raptors you're familiar with, and can even speak some of our languages, though only in the Faerie Realms, I'm afraid."
"If they could speak in this realm, I imagine the curse would have ruled them out," Ben observes.
"Quite," Dax agrees, and it is Dax speaking now. "We've been afforded some concessions, but not enough to be understood by other beings, unless they themselves are fae, or enchanted into other forms."
"So another joined Trill could understand us?" Jake asks.
Jadzia nods.
Ben's fascinated by all this, despite himself, and is about to ask another question of Dax when they're interrupted.
"This is all very interesting, but we have more pressing matters right now! Julian's already had to fend off one of their guards!" Kira Nerys sounds more than a little irritated.
Jadzia mutters a Trill oath.
"What's happening?" Jake asks.
Ben already suspects what must be going on.
"Julian's parent's aren't finished with him yet," he says grimly, "and from what I saw earlier, he's in no state to face them right now."
"That's about the shape of it," Kira agrees, a series of muted squawks punctuating her words. "Odo's watching them, and Miles stayed with Julian, but there's not much he can do against the guards if they come in force. We need our fighters."
"... I haven't even tried to move around in this form," Ben admits. "I'm not sure I can fight anyone right now."
"Like I said before, overthinking isn't going to help.” Dax’s tone is all business. “You need to trust your body. It knows how to do things—you need to focus on your goal. That's how the rest of us have been managing."
It sounds too easy. Ben wants to argue, but Dax has centuries of experience, working with seven other Trill mages before joining with Jadzia. If he can trust anyone to know how to handle this situation, it's ghem.
And Julian apparently needs him—all of them—right now.
"You might want to get clear," he advises the others.
Nobody argues with that. Worf and Jadzia are airborne almost immediately, and Jake isn't far behind. He hears Kira take flight as well, but doesn't look to see just what she has become. He'll find that out soon enough, and he needs to concentrate.
But not too much. Don't overthink. Trust your body.
He shoves his concerns to the back of his mind, draws a steadying breath, and tells himself to take to the air.
His wings spread to their fullest extent, and he drops into a crouch, then springs, wings slamming downward.
Some part of him was not expecting that to work, but it does. The ground drops away with breathtaking speed, and for a moment, he is lost in the glory of it. Only a moment, however. Looking down reminds him of his goal, as from up here, he can pinpoint Julian's location, and that of his friends as they gather around him. He can also see the king and queen of Aravain, advancing toward the group with clear intent. They're not alone.
I have to get down there.
He descends in a wide spiral. Diving too steeply could mean crashing, and it's not as if he were stooping on prey.
He lands with only a slight jolt behind the two swans. There is a goose beside them—aside from the crownlike cap of red feathers on her head, she resembles a particular breed of northern wild goose known for being far more trouble than it's worth trying to hunt them. Even if he hadn't been looking for her, he'd have recognised Kira in this bird—especially given she has craned her neck around, the better to glare at him.
"Wasn't that just a bit much, Ben?" she asks.
"What are you talking about, Kira? That was amazing!" Jake is still airborne, eyes alight with admiration. "You went so high, Dad! And you barely moved your wings at all!"
"I wasn't expecting that," Ben admits, a little breathlessly. "I'm sorry for getting carried away—I had no idea how invigorating that was going to be!"
"I'm glad someone's enjoyin' this."
For a moment, Ben can't tell quite where miles O'Brien's voice is coming from. The direction is obvious, but he can't immediately see him. Then there is a movement near to where Julian is sitting with his back to them. Ben looks further down to focus in on the source.
The bird is the smallest of their number he's yet seen—small; grey; ordinary. The only notable feature it seems to possess is the fluffy crest adorning head and neck, the feathers almost curling, and matching Miles' hair-colour to the shade. The rock dove's eyes are downcast, but Ben doesn't need to see them to guess their colour.
The excitement melts away, replaced by a hot rush of guilt. He had not intended to make anyone feel more wretched.
"I'm sorry, Miles," he says gently.
The dove raises its head to look at him.
"I don't blame you, Ben. It's not your fault some higher power has it out for me."
"It's nothing to do with higher powers—you're just more mundane than the rest of us." Dax says this as if it is the most obvious explanation. To ghem, it likely is.
Miles' head drops again, and he lets out a sigh far bigger than his form should allow.
"That wasn't very tactful, Old Man," Ben chides.
"He wanted to know why his form was so plain! I gave him the answer!"
Miles hides his head under a wing and groans.
"Dax, you are not helping." Ben rarely has to be firm with his old friend, but sometimes ghe lets ghes fae nature get the better of ghem.
The spotted swan's head droops, and it's Jadzia who speaks when she does look up.
"Sorry. I—We didn't think. Miles, Dax didn't intend to add to your distress."
Miles looks up again.
"Can't blame Dax for bein' right," he says bitterly. "It's just never been so bloody obvious how useless I am in a real crisis. I can't even comfort my best friend! I can't tell him he's not bloody responsible for this! All he's hearin' is a sad pigeon and it just makes him more upset!"
"Wait," Jake says slowly. "Maybe you can."
At his tone, Miles looks up at Jake in apparent surprise.
"I'm missin' something here."
"Oh," Jadzia breathes, just as the idea becomes clear in Ben's mind as well.
"Mind explainin' for the mundane?" Miles asks pointedly.
There isn't any time for explanations, however. At that moment, there's a piercing shriek from above them. The cry has no words in it, which surprises Ben slightly less than the fact Odo seems to have been confined to his favoured avian form, or something close enough to it.
Julian's head snaps up, and his back straightens, shoulders tense. Ben knows what he'll see even before he raises his gaze to look past his friend.
The Bashirs and half a dozen of their guards have almost reached them. Closer to, Richard looks none too pleased, and Amsha's smile is tight and does not reach her eyes. The guards all have their hands on their weapons.
"Dax, Worf, flank him," Ben orders. "Kira, you and Odo defend him from the front. I'm trusting you all to only attack if provoked."
"What about me?" Jake asks as the others hurry to obey.
"You're with me," Ben responds immediately.
"But I want to help!"
"And your courage is commendable," Ben tells him, "but I'm not prepared to risk your life. You will have your part to play, but not as a combatant—not this time."
Jake sighs, but obediently comes to his side, retreating under the wing Ben has spread to shelter him.
Miles has taken flight to get out of Worf's way, and circles for a moment before alighting on Julian's shoulder. Ben briefly considers calling him back, but decides against it. Small and vulnerable though his form may be, Miles is not a child, and can make his own decisions.
He's barely been aware of what has gone on around him. Any reminder of his friends' fate twists the knife of his anguish painfully. Someone lays rough hands on him and he reflexively strikes out. He doesn't know how far away he knocked his would-be assailant—he didn't look up—but whoever they are doesn't make another attempt. Some part of him, almost drowned out by the grief, hopes he hasn't killed them.
The shriek cuts through the fog of despair.
Red-tailed hawk, his mind tells him unnecessarily. Odo's taken that shape so many times Julian could recognise its calls among a dozen others. And he only ever screams like that to convey danger.
He looks up instinctively, and sees them. They've come to him rather than send anyone else to possibly be knocked senseless.
And they've been arguing. He can tell by the way both are carrying themselves, and pointedly not looking at one another.
He tries to focus on them rather than the commotion behind him, but can't help noticing how—conversational the bird calls seem. He's not sure what to make of it, nor the rustling around him as the birds—his companions—his family begin to close ranks again.
A borealis goose with a striking red crest lands in front of him, and for a moment, achingly familiar brown eyes meet his. There's a softness in that look, an understanding. And then Kira is turning away from him, and her whole stance shifts to one that threatens dire consequences for whoever dares cross her.
He can't quite believe it. He was sure that if she still had her wits about her, Kira would be furious with him. That look had not a scrap of anger in it.
He watches as the hawk that must be Odo lands beside the enchanted Bajoran, taking a similar stance. Then a light weight settles on his shoulder, soft feathers brush his cheek, and he knows even before he breathes the name.
"Miles?"
The bird on his shoulder doesn't make a sound, but its claws tighten their grip briefly.
They haven't left him. They haven't lost themselves. He hasn't lost them.
But the curse has still taken so much from them, and the ones responsible have stopped a few paces away, watching him, or more likely his honour guard, with wary eyes.
And he's not going to sit here like a child and wait for them to scold him.
He rises to his feet, moving carefully so as not to dislodge Miles, and fixes his parents with the hardest look he can manage. His voice is raw from weeping, and harsh with building anger, when he addresses them.
"Haven't you done enough?"
"That," his father says, "depends entirely on you, Julian." He produces a small, intricately-carved wooden box from a pouch at his waist. "You've a choice to make. This time, use that brilliance we ensured you possessed and make the right one."
He opens the box and holds it out for Julian's inspection. Lying within it, nestling on a bed of purple velvet, is a gold ring, its wide band engraved with an intricate network of tiny runes, and set with an onyx the size of a ripe date—or at least, the gem resembles a black onyx.
Julian's no stranger to enchanted jewellery. He's seen many examples personally, including a number of rings. None resembled this one, but there are enough indications for him to be wary of touching the thing. He is also not surprised when, upon hearing a sharp hiss from his right, he turns to see a beautiful, Trill-patterned swan, fixing the ring box with an intense glare. Dax is usually the one who can identify curses on things. Ben can see them as well, but only at twilight, and even then, he has to know what to look for to divine the nature of what he's seeing.
I wish I could ask you about this, Dax. I know you don't trust it but you can't tell me why ...
He turns back to his parents.
"If you think I will consent to wear whatever that is, after you cursed my friends, you severely underestimate my mental acuity."
"The ring is linked to their enchantment, Jules," his mother explains in that sweetly patient tone he once thought so loving. "If you accept its magic, your friends will be restored to themselves, and be free to leave here unchallenged."
Beside him, Jadzia hisses again, more fiercely. The sentiment is echoed by Kira, and Miles' claws tighten on Julian's shoulder. Julian doesn't need any of this to know a trap is being baited.
"And what price must I pay for their freedom? I know how magic works—the more powerful the curse, the stronger the counter must be."
Amsha's mouth tightens again, but her voice remains syrup-sweet.
"You will not lose your shape, habibi—the ring carries a promise you must make aloud, and then the counter will come into effect."
A Promise.
Julian has made it his business to learn everything he could about the Fae since he left home. He knows how much weight a promise has when they are involved in any capacity.
And he can well imagine the kind of promise he would be forced to make, if this ring was crafted to fit his parents' machinations.
"I'll find another way," he says with more confidence than he feels.
"There is no other way!" Richard bursts out. "If you care about this family of yours, you'll take the ring and this can be a momentary unpleasantness for them! Refuse it, and you condemn them to remain as they are for the rest of their lives!"
"There is always more than one way to break a curse," Julian counters. "I have no desire to let myself be chained, and for that matter, they wouldn't ask me to."
And he's certain of that, more so than he is of anything else he's said in the last few minutes.
Richard sighs heavily, then turns to the nearest guards.
"You remember what the Aerian tinker's wife and daughter look like, I trust?"
At this, Miles utters the closest thing to an enraged screech a rock dove can produce and takes off in a whir of wings, flying straight for Richard's head. One of the men the King had been addressing lunges forward, catching the bird in mid-air and holding him fast. Miles struggles in vain—his wings are pinned and legs held still—and a sudden rush of fear for his friend drives all else from Julian's mind.
"Don't hurt him!" he pleads desperately.
His father looks back at him, mouth curving in a thin, cold smile.
"Good. You're finally taking this seriously." Turning back to the guard, he speaks in Aravi. "Turn the Aerian so he can look my son in the face. This will serve far better than hunting down the woman and child."
As the guard shifts his grip, there's a sharp cry from one of the birds behind Julian, a call he'd heard earlier but still cannot identify. Miles immediately goes still, though even from here, Julian can see his small body trembling.
"All right," Richard says as the guard finishes turning Miles around. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to take the ring, and all that comes with it, or I will have Hamid here wring the tinker's neck. I wonder how you'll explain that to his little girl. How old is she—five? Six?"
Julian feels sick. He'd never have imagined his father would go so far to reclaim him.
Miles is staring at him, eyes as wide as his current form will allow and filled with growing fear. The others around him are expressing their own distress as best they may.
And Julian's resolve crumbles. He cannot let any of them die for him.
"I'll do whatever you want," he says, voice heavy with the despair settling over him. "Just—Just let Miles go. Please."
As Julian's father makes the threat on Miles' life, Jadzia curses in Klingon.
Ben knows why, perhaps better than anyone else besides Dax. His lessons with Curzon have come back in sharp relief as the nature of the curse became clearer. Theirs is a web enchantment, with that accursed Promise Ring at its centre. Such enchantments can ensnare others after the initial casting, and all trapped within the web must be released by a single counteraction, rather than individually. And, perhaps worst of all, should one of them die, that death will reverberate through the web, drastically shortening the lives of the remaining victims and making a successful counter all but impossible.
And Miles had trusted him enough to stop struggling when he asked him to. The poor man is now reciting frantic Aerian prayers, so keenly aware is he of how helpless he is in this moment. Ben had only ordered his cooperation to prevent his captor from injuring him, but if he hadn't...
It doesn't matter what might have happened if you hadn't, you need to think of a solution for the mess you're in now!
Kira mutters a particularly colourful Bajoran oath he only understands half the words in, some desire for the Prophets to make their enemies' afterlives particularly unpleasant. Ben's eyes shift to her, and he notices just how close she is to Richard, and the ring he is holding. Beside her, Odo is still—no, tense, as if poised for flight.
Like lightning, the idea flashes into being.
"Kira," he says urgently, "when I give the signal, grab that damned ring."
"Benjamin, what are you doing?" Jadzia asks. He ignores her for the moment.
"Odo, while she’s doing that, I need you to attack that guard holding Miles—go for his face, and do it fast. I want him to react instinctively."
"Ben are you bloody insane?" Miles' voice is noticeably higher-pitched than normal from panic.
"Miles, as soon as you're able, get out of anyone's reach."
Julian's voice cuts across any protest that might have been forthcoming.
"I'll do whatever you want," he says in a defeated tone.
"Oh no the fuck you don't," Kira hisses. "Sisko, what are you waiting for, a sign from the Prophets?"
Whatever else Julian's said, Richard looks like he's won the game he was playing, and Miles' captor relaxes his grip just a little.
"Now!" Ben commands.
Kira launches herself into the air, head darting forward, and snatches the ring from its place before anyone has had time to do more than start in surprise. As she spirals up out of easy reach, Odo dives at the head of Miles' captor with an inarticulate shriek. The man yells and flings up his arms to shield his face, throwing his captive into the air as he does. Miles takes only moments to gain control of his trajectory, and wastes no time putting as much distance between himself and their enemies as he safely can.
Kira, meanwhile, isn't merely keeping her distance. She begins circling in wider and wider arcs, as if searching the area for something. Ben is able to track her with his eyes, but the humans are less fortunate.
"That damn Bajoran!" Richard rages, gesturing wildly with the empty ring case and glaring at where Kira had been before she struck. "When I get a hold of her, I swear—"
“You can’t!” his wife tells him sharply in Aravi. “Until we have the ring back, doing them any harm could cost us everything!”
“He can understand you, Amsha!” Richard snaps.
“Oh, please. He’s still processing what’s happened—you know how he can get sometimes!”
“What are they saying?” Jake asks. “I only caught about half the words.”
Ben would be grinning savagely right now if his face allowed for such an expression.
“They’re saying they can’t risk their plan by doing us harm if they don’t have the ring in their possession.”
“More than that,” Jadzia says with barely disguised glee, “when they threatened Miles, they were bluffing! If he died, the ring might not work on Julian, any more than any other counter could take effect!”
“And they didn’t know either of us could speak Aravi,” Ben adds.
“So, does that mean we can fight them?” Jake asks eagerly.
“It means Worf and Dax can fight them,” Ben corrects. “I need you to stay with me, Jake.”
“But they won’t—”
“I need your mimicry,” Ben explains before his son can finish his protest. “You’re the only one who might be able to get a message to Julian—your presence is vital.”
“Oh,” Jake mutters. Then, more excitedly, “Oh! Okay, I can do that! What do you want me to tell him?”
“Not yet. We need them thoroughly occupied before we can start that process.”
“Oh, I’m going to enjoy this,” Jadzia declares, shifting her stance. “What say you, Worf? Shall we show House Bashir just how dishonourable waterfowl can be?”
Ben’s almost surprised to hear a dark chuckle from Worf.
“They have no honour themselves. They deserve nothing less.”
“I knew you’d see it that way, dear heart.”
Jadzia launches herself forward without further preamble and strikes the guard who had held Miles hostage with her wing, sending him crashing into his nearest neighbour. Worf takes off in a flurry of wingbeats, swooping at one of the guards on the other side of the group, who dives out of the way with a panicked yelp. Undeterred, Worf body-checks the man who had been behind him, then his head darts sideways to snap at the wrist of his intended target, drawing first blood.
The fight gets more chaotic as other guards rush over to try and assist, only to be sent fleeing as the two swans drive them back.
The King and Queen, no fools, take off running themselves as soon as their men break ranks. Jadzia takes to the air, flying after them, forcing them to change the direction they’re running whenever she gets close.
Ben waits only until there are no enemies within earshot before enacting the next phase of the plan he’s been concocting since they had gathered around Julian.
“Jake, get his attention.”
Jake needs no second telling. He’s left Ben’s side in a flash, rising to Julian’s head-height and flying in front of his face, drawing his gaze.
“What the—?”
“Julian!” Ben says in a clear, commanding tone.
Jake repeats the name, his imitation sounding slightly thinner than Ben’s actual voice, but still recognisable.
Julian takes a stumbling step back, clearly shocked.
“Ben?” he asks incredulously. “Is that—Surely not.”
He turns around, and Ben lowers his gaze to meet his eyes.
“I’m up here,” he says, and Jake dutifully repeats the statement.
“Corvid mimicry,” Julian murmurs. He looks Ben up and down, eyes widening. “That makes more sense,” he admits. “So the raven is Jake?”
Ben nods, since he can do that much without aid. “Can you mimic yourself?” he asks his son as he circles back around so Julian can see him again.
“I’m—not sure,” Jake admits. He falls silent for a moment; then gasps like he’s coming up for air.
“Jake!” Ben almost tries to reach for him again as he nearly falls out of the air.
“I—I’m okay,” Jake manages, his flight steadying again. “I definitely can’t mimic myself, though—I tried and I couldn’t breathe for a moment, let alone get any words out!”
Ben mutters a choice oath. He shouldn’t have tested this now.
“Can you still mimic me?”
“Give me something to tell Julian.”
“Tell him I have a plan to get us out of here.”
“Have a plan,” Jake repeats, then pauses before speaking again in his own voice. “Damn it! I can’t get the rest out in one go—I think I can only do three syllables at a time, and I have to skip a word between the pieces.”
“Does it feel like it did when you tried mimicking yourself?” Ben asks, concerned.
“No—I can choose what comes out, but only in short phrases.” He hangs his head a little. “I’m sorry...”
“Don’t be.”
“Is everything all right?” Julian asks.
“Tell him”—He takes a moment to consider how to phrase this in chunks Jake will be able to relate—“the curse is restricting your words, and we’re trying to work around it.”
“The curse. Restricting. We’re trying. Work around.” It’s not perfect, but he at least got the point across. “This sucks,” he adds in his own voice.
“You’re doing fine,” Ben assures him.
Julian grimaces.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he observes wryly. “I’m grateful you can do this at all.”
Ben nods at him, then scans the area with his eyes to be sure nobody’s sneaking up on them. The last thing they need at this delicate moment is an ambush. Once he’s assured they’re safe for now, he formulates his next sentence.
“Tell him, ‘We can escape. We must make haste. Do you trust me?’”
“Can escape. Must make haste. Trust me?”
“With my life,” Julian says immediately and with astonishing fervour.
“Good,” Ben says. “I’ll have to carry you. Dax said I should be strong enough.”
Jake repeats the most important fragments, and Julian stares at him in disbelief.
“Are—Are you sure?”
Ben nods as firmly as he can.
“It’s the only way. We can all fly, except you. Your parents were careless—they should have cursed us indoors.”
Again, Jake repeats the most important fragments, and Julian manages a weak grin.
“I think they’re already regretting that,” he says.
As if to punctuate this statement, there’s a rush of wings overhead, and Kira spirals down to land beside them.
“Found somewhere excellent to drop the ring,” she says with fierce satisfaction. “The baron’s let his blackberry patch go untended this year.”
“Did anyone see you do it?” Ben asks.
“I didn’t check, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll have to hack their way into the middle of a thicket to even get close to it—it’s going to take them days!” Her savage delight is contagious.
“Well done, Nerys,” Ben says with feeling.
“Can I go help Dax?” she asks eagerly. “I had an idea while I was flying over those royal bastards and they won’t be expecting me.”
Ben laughs softly.
“Give them hell.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
The sound that she utters as she takes flight is almost a cackle, and needs no translation.
“She’s gone to wreak more havoc, I take it?” Julian asks, his grin becoming a more genuine smile.
Ben nods.
Distantly, they hear a woman’s outraged shriek.
“Careful!” Dax calls as Nerys swoops upward and away with her prize.
She doesn’t attempt a response until she’s dropped the first hairpin into the nearest fountain, and hooked the second in among the feathers under her wing. Having a neck as long and flexible as this has its benefits.
“I’ve been doing this kind of thing since I was twelve!” she retorts once she isn’t holding anything.
“Not in this form, you haven’t!” Dax counters. “Don’t let them grab you!”
“Says the one who’s making them run in circles! You’re having your own fun, let me have mine!”
She swoops on the queen again and snatches another hairpin, dodging the frankly pathetic attempt by the woman to catch her and sliding her latest acquisition into place on the opposite side from the first.
“How many times are you going to do that?” Dax demands as she comes level with her again.
“Until I have seven, and her hair comes down, or Ben’s ready to leave, whichever comes first!”
She expects her friend to argue. The laugh is a surprise.
“I’ll keep them distracted for you, then! Might even grab a few myself!”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you!”
One of Ben’s rules for his travelling party is that everyone, no matter their role in the group, must carry their own pocket knife, tinderbox and coil of rope, among other essential items.
And Julian has never been more grateful for his leader’s insistence on this than he is right now, when his rope is the only one he can actually use—everything the others were carrying vanished along with their clothing when they were transformed.
And he needs the rope, because Ben’s not exactly easy to mount, let alone remain seated on—he’s too big to even contemplate riding astride, and side-saddle on a bird, without any form of actual saddle, is just asking to be thrown off and fall hundreds of feet to one’s death. Neither of them relish that prospect.
So their only option is for Ben to carry Julian in his talons. They’re certainly powerful enough, but there’s no time for him to practice grabbing things with them, and Julian would prefer his arms remained attached to his shoulders. Hence the rope. Ben never cuts corners with supplies if it means sacrificing quality, and the rope is well-made and durable. Julian knows how to secure himself to a single line, and Miles taught him a number of useful knots, so this should be easy.
Except this isn’t a normal situation. He’s going to be flying, not lowered gently into a hole in the ground or down a cliff-face. There’s going to be wind battering at him and he’ll be swinging, and if Ben grabs the rope the wrong way he’ll be flying backwards, and none of this is appealing to him, but if he doesn’t rig up some kind of rope-based harness with a trailing line for Ben to hold onto soon, someone is going to notice what they’re doing and try to stop them.
“Calm down. Panicking. Won’t help,” Ben points out via Jake.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve never been in this situation before—I don’t know how to do this!”
Jake caws something, and Ben responds. The raven takes off upward, calling as he goes.
“Fantastic,” Julian mutters, twisting some of the rope in his hands. “Now I’m practically alone.”
Ben gives him an offended look.
“I know, but of all the times for Jake to abandon us—”
He is cut off by a sharp cry from Ben, accompanied by a sharper glare.
He knows he shouldn’t have gone that far, but he’s really starting to panic now. Their success rides on him making himself secure enough he won’t fall, while also ensuring Ben has enough rope to hold onto, and every distant sound makes him want to bolt, which isn’t helping him focus in the least.
There’s a screech from above them, and Julian looks up in time to see Jake descend toward them again, followed by a familiar, sand-crested dove.
“Oh.” He feels another stab of guilt as he realises what Jake had planned.
“Julian!” This time, it’s Miles’ voice coming from Jake’s beak, and the difference is jarring.
But at least you can hear Miles again, he reminds himself.
“Are you all right?” he asks, remembering why his friend had fled into the sky.
Miles nods, then starts cooing. A moment later, Jake begins translating.
“Not injured. Lucky. Shaken up. That’s all.”
“Good,” Julian says with feeling. “Miles, I—”
Miles cuts across him, his cries sounding almost stern.
“No time,” Jake translates. “Talk later. Help you now.”
“You can’t help any more than they can! You don’t have hands either!”
“Not the point! I’ll explain, you listen! Get this done!”
“In three-syllable fragments?”
“Good at maths. Can manage.”
Ben says something indignant, Miles retorts in mild exasperation, and Julian can’t help but laugh shakily.
“All right,” he says. “I’m listening. How do I do this?”
It’s easier than he expected. Miles gets straight to the point, and his instructions are clear and precise despite the limitations he’s working within. Under his guidance, Julian fashions a lattice of rope around his torso, working from the middle of the strand rather than starting at one end. It does mean that he has to pull the entire line through whenever he’s tying knots, but this gets faster the less rope there is. Once he’s wrapped the rope several times around himself, he’s told to gather up the loose ends, pulling them taught and bringing them together above his head. There’s still plenty left—it’s a decently-long strand—and even after he’s tied another knot above his head, there’s more than enough to form two wide loops, and tie those off securely. All of it can be loosened enough for him to climb out of it later.
“There,” Miles says once they’re finished, a scant few minutes later. “See? Piece of cake.”
“I feel like a bundle of herbs about to be hung up to dry,” Julian mutters.
“Not the point,” Miles says again. “Won’t fall. Won’t strangle. Secure.”
“I know,” Julian sighs. “And we’ve tarried here long enough.”
He slings his pack on again, over the rope lattice. Then he turns, just in time to see Ben take off—one minute he’s crouched there, wings spread wide, the next he practically vanishes, the wind of his passage ruffling Julian’s hair.
“Get ready,” Miles says, unnecessarily.
Julian braces himself.
Eagles don’t need to beat their wings very often. He knows this, intellectually. Even so, he starts violently when there’s a cry from above him, and a flash of gleaming talons in his periphery. There’s no tug on his rope, however, and Ben’s next cry is audibly frustrated.
Jake and Miles confer briefly, then take flight themselves. Julian hears rapid wingbeats to either side, then something being done with the rope loops. He glances to left and right, not daring to move at this point. Miles and Jake have each taken hold of the end of one of the loops, holding it out horizontally, though not taut.
The talons flash past him again, this time catching the rope between them. There’s a questioning call from Ben, then responses from the other two.
That is all the warning Julian gets before his breath is snatched from him by the sheer speed of their ascent.
Gods and stars!
The rope holds firm. He’s not swinging about too much. And his anxiety and stress seem to have been left behind on the ground, because all he can feel right now is wonder.
He looks down. The view is stunning. The castle looks like a fancy dollhouse from up here! Nothing down there can touch him right now, and perhaps this experience can make everything else about their situation easier to bear.
Ben utters a single, clear call, which judging by the echoes, was probably heard in the valley below. Then he begins to circle.
It doesn’t take them long. Julian sees them all as they ascend—Jake and Miles first, though they were already following Ben up before he called for the rest; then Kira, Dax and Odo, the latter carrying something black in his talons that Julian recognises with a shocked exclamation.
“Why did you grab that!” he demands, the wind not yet strong enough to snatch his words away without being heard.
Odo gives a single terse shriek, and Jake, now flying alongside, relates the word carried within it.
“Insurance.”
Before Julian can ask for clarification, Worf is rising to join them, and Ben turns sharply, the others swooping out of Julian’s line of sight—presumably to form up around their leader.
Then the mighty wings beat once, and the wind whips past them, stinging Julian’s cheeks and blowing his hair back, and they’re flying away from the castle, from his parents, from the trap that had been set, and the experience of flight is so indescribably glorious that he selfishly wishes they could just stay up here forever.
They can’t, of course. They have to go down and find Molly and Keiko, or get a message to them so they can find wherever Ben decides to land them. But right now, one of Julian’s worst experiences is being eclipsed by one of his best, and he is going to enjoy every second of it.