Hi. I cannot believe I'm posting this, but...hey. This is the account-to-be-flamed. Um.
So it was two in the morning and I was bored so I wrote an Avalon drabble in longhand and when I write things in longhand they turn out weird so in short?
This is an Avalon futurefic. And it's Kara/Emily/Adriane (KEA, woot.), with no sex. Could even be read as friendship. Maybe that's stretching it? Cos there weren't any here. And yeah, so gonna get flamed.
Also, written after...Ghost Wolf, I think. No spoilers. Also, haven't read the books in years, so my canon's probably way off. But that's the least of my worries.
Disclaimer: So not mine. And Rachel Roberts? Totally wants this fic dead.
Nesting (an Avalon future-ficlet)
by Andromeda-Dreamer (don't kill me, please?)
They each have rooms in the manor, with beds and table-lamps and a bathroom, and invariably, every night, they will go to them and they will try to sleep. And invariably, without change, they can't.
The three of them will gravitate to the large bed in the big bedroom, the one they think is Henry Gardener's, but they're not sure, and they won't be until they find him and they try not to think about that, because that would mean—bad things. They don't know, but Emily gets a shiver up her spine, and Adriane trusts instincts. And Kara's a little too raw, yet, to push anything.
Emily's the first—always. Because she holds them together, with the shards of her battered broken soul, with all her heart. She clutches Kara and Adriane to herself like the pillow she's holding now, tight against her chest as she steps, barefoot and careful, through the corridors and halls.
She stands barefoot in the doorway, pausing for half-a-heartbeat before walking steadily to the bed, where she curls up with a dead man's blankets wrapped around her. Carrot-hair fans out behind her head, and she stares at the ceiling (beautifully intricate, silver pegasi flying through gold star-fields, and unicorns dancing) to wait.
Adriane comes next, padding like her wolves through the myriad of hallways. She too pauses for a moment, silhouetted by the door-frame, before hesitantly making her way to Emily, curling up next to her. Emily murmurs something, and Adriane basks in the feeling of family and love, rests her head next to Emily's to watch the wolves and the dragons in the panel on the ceiling.
It's a good feeling, like pack.
Kara, then, arrives shortly after—a whirlwind of brightness and pink but not—because they are her best friends in all the world and they don't deserve the lies. Her nightgown ruffles as she watches dark hair and red mingle, and walks, hesitant, towards the bed; an invitation for refusal. As if they, who have lost so much, would turn away kindred.
Emily lifts her head, smiling sleepily, and Kara glows. She lays next to them, golden as ever (but gilt flakes away) and Emily's tears mark the side of her face. Adriane and Kara don't say anything, like always, and the magic inside them rises forming a bubble of blue and amber and gold, protecting them.
Emily smiles.