Archive of Our Own ^beta

(ACT 1)

CHORAL COMMANDMENT: 

Decree of the Citadel, dirty and worn.

"Full Chamber to the kingdom of the White Wyrm. Claim the Weaver, in half part. Last of their line. Sensed strong with Silk.

Resistance anticipated. Quell with rune cage."

CHAPTER 1- Claim the Weaver

Quirrel has no idea how he has ended up in this predicament. He knows it's in there somewhere, yet, he can't quite reach it. His brain is a bit foggier these days. Not quite as sharp as it once was.

He looks down with a slow blink, straining to see the ground from where he hangs upside-down by a rope hammered into a solid rock overhang, practically cutting off the circulation in his legs. The ground is littered with white glowing lines barely visible beneath the sand. A trap. A trap for whom? His head aches. How long has he been hanging here?

He swears he can hear bells tinkling somewhere, but sees nobody else around. It's only Quirrel and the shore of the still Blue Lake, his nail embedded in the ground too far from his reach. My... nail?

Quirrel's eyes widen as his memory sharpens into focus. He had planted his nail there when he made the final decision to never raise it again. He wasn't going to need it where he was going, after all. After his ordeal with Monomon and the loss of her protection, he scarcely had the energy to do much of anything else. Had lost the will to. And he had made peace with that, knowing that he had fulfilled his purpose. 

He suspected his little Ghost friend had also fulfilled their purpose. The strange silent creature had sat with him along this very shore as Quirrel reflected upon what little he could recall of his life, then his friend vanished for the last time. The intention of each bug was clear and unspoken. It was difficult to tell from the tranquil shores of the Blue Lake, but it seemed to Quirrel that Hallownest itself too had calmed. He hoped his little friend had been successful in their task and pleased with the outcome. So much had been sacrificed for the sake of this dying kingdom...

Quirrel's vision swims and he makes an attempt to reach the knot suspending him midair. Silently cursing his long legs and the persistent weakness plaguing his body since losing Monomon's mask, he gives up on the attempt and sways on the rope, desperately trying to wrack his memories as to how he ended up in this predicament in the first place. He hears bells again. And again they go silent.

Someone must have jumped him while he was meditating on the shoreline. He had had no qualms about what he was going to do. He had made his peace and readied himself. But after that, his memory is a blank.

"E-excuse me?" he clears his throat and calls out, "Excuse me, would you mind explaining yourself? Or selves? I'm not sure what you could possibly hope to gain by trussing me up like this, but I assure you there is no one here in this place who would be looking for me." He looks around, hoping to spot movement or hear a reply. There is no answer.

He scrutinizes the lines pulsating softly in the sand, "This trap is just plain silly. It looks like-" He stops with realization. It looks like a web. This trap couldn't have been designed by a Weaver, could it? Or perhaps meant for one.

"Archivist."

Quirrel looks up, having not heard her approach; the Red Princess of Hallownest is standing on the shore, observing him from a safe distance. Her eyes are calculating and seemingly indifferent to his predicament. "This is quite the circumstance you have found yourself in."

"Quirrel," he swallows thickly. His name is unimportant, but being called 'Archivist' gives him a strong and unpleasant pang in his chest. "Please do not approach, Princess. I believe this to be some sort of trap."

"Hornet," she replies, eyes narrowing, "I do believe that is obvious, yes."

"How did you know to find me here?" 

"I didn't. I have been surveying Hallownest's progress and came across you by accident."

He laughs, "How fortunate for me!"

"Yes." Hornet remains where she is, her eyes scanning the area, her needle held ready to strike at any given moment. The air is thick and tense, and Quirrel's heart is racing. He feels completely helpless.

She announces, "Prepare yourself."

His eyes widen, "But the trap-"

"-Is meant for a Weaver," she finishes. She doesn't wait for him to reply as she deftly flings her weapon through the air, slicing through the rope in one expert movement. Before Quirrel even hits the ground, a clamor of shouts and tolling bells fills the air. Somehow, Hornet has retrieved her needle without activating the trap, and Quirrel unsuccessfully attempts to pull himself to his knees. His arms shake with fatigue and he still hasn't regained feeling in his legs.

He lifts his head, heavy though it feels, as bugs cry out and fall silent under the Princess's attacks. The sight of these bugs do nothing to jog Quirrel's memory, their heads covered in white fabric (how do they see?) while they wield staves with bells attached and sharp pins to match Hornet's blows. She is incredible, Quirrel must admit. He counts himself lucky that she had chosen to leave him be during their first encounter. He knew it has only been a matter of weeks since then, but it feels like so long ago now.

Hornet gives a sharp cry, which jolts him from his thoughts. She continues to fight and about a dozen of her attackers lie still in the sand, yet at least six are on their feet, relentlessly throwing everything they have at her. Despite her obvious skill, Quirrel realizes with horror that she will not last much longer on her own.

He groans and pulls himself to his feet, balance unsteady, but determined. He needs his nail. He has to help her.

He hears Hornet shout a warning to him. He ignores her, shuffling forward toward the fray. His head is fuzzy, but even so Quirrel's always been a decent fighter. He can help. He has to help her! 

Something heavy and metallic hits him on the head, clanging against his mask. He drops to a knee in surprise, but doesn't feel any cracks as his fingers survey the damage. A bell lies at his feet and he wonders at it. What a strange symbol to carry.

He's then unceremoniously shoved to the ground in a blur of red and white, the Red Princess demanding something of him. He can't seem to fathom what she wants, though. Sights and sounds are blurring together and he's starting to forget what he was trying to do in the first place. He just can't focus.

"Sorry..." he mumbles, dropping his head as he lies limply in the sand. Hornet says something else to him, then through the thick fog rolling through his head, he hears her scream loud and clear. Gods. The trap...

As his consciousness fades out, Quirrel's last coherent thought is that this is all his fault.

Quirrel awakens slowly, déjà vu setting in as he surveys his new circumstances. This time he's lying face down in the sand instead of hanging above it, the web that had been carefully laid to trap a Weaver notably missing. He pulls himself up to find he's completely alone, all signs of their struggle wiped away. Nearly. The bell that had conked him on the head is now half-buried in the sand, discarded and left behind like himself. They didn't even bother to kill me, he thinks. Maybe the bugs had assumed he was already dead. 

He shakily climbs to his feet and ignores how his legs throb where he had been tied up. Aside from some soreness and overall lingering fatigue, Quirrel appears surprisingly undamaged. The guilt rises up all at once and he stifles a groan. The Princess had been ambushed and successfully taken all because of him.

Hallownest was only at the beginning of its road anew, and he had single-handedly deprived it of its only ruler!

It simply wasn't fair. Quirrel had been ready to let go of everything and pass peacefully in the midst of this beautiful lake. Hornet needn't have sacrificed herself for him. He looks at the long marks in the sand leading to the edge of the outcrop, signs of bodies having been dumped into the waters below. She might have succeeded against them if he hadn't tried to help. 

Quirrel grimaces as he catches sight of his nail, perfectly upright and untouched in the ground where he had left it. It wasn't fair at all.

He turns from the cursed weapon and instead lifts the bell, the only remaining evidence of the attackers, and examines it. The symbol engraved in the brass is unfamiliar to him, but then again, most of his past memories are still out of reach. It's quite likely recorded somewhere in the Archives-

He shivers. No. He cannot bring himself to return to that place. Not yet. He looks at the water longingly. Not ever again.

Quirrel wishes he could wipe the past few weeks from his mind, bringing back the carefree adventurous spirit he had been filled with from before. Coming to Hallownest had been so exciting and new and wonderful, but now he is only filled with regret, a heaviness in his heart that is quickly turning into a burden. His love of adventure has fizzled out of reach. He is far too tired.

Yet... Hornet is gone because of him. He could not abandon her, even now. Quirrel is not that selfish. Against his vow to retire his weapon, he picks it up once more and ventures forth. He will find her, he will free her, and then- and only then, will Quirrel finally allow himself to rest.

Iselda doesn't understand when or why she agreed to her husband's ridiculous request to watch over this ghoulish flying fire-breathing child, but Cornifer's spectacled eyes batting at her and his big goofy smile had always melted her far too easily. She both hates and loves him for it.

She uses a damp towel (that she now carries everywhere) to suppress the blaze rapidly climbing up the wall and coughs as she accidentally inhales the smoke. "You are a menace," she hisses at the child, who doesn't seem overly concerned about the fact that it is now sneezing out flames. She wonders if the thing is dealing with a cold and tries not to feel sorry for it.

Cornifer comes home and offers to take the child outside for some fresh air, to which Iselda readily agrees. She is in dire need of a nap and has lost track of how many fires she's put out today alone. He gives her a kiss and the two depart. Not ten minutes later, as she's starting to drift asleep, the door slams open and an unfamiliar bug bangs on the counter, calling loudly for assistance. 

Iselda rubs her eyes and sits up, glaring at the idiot who is apparently completely illiterate. "Did you just ignore the closed sign on the door or are you blind?" she growls, attempting to keep her temper in check and not doing a great job at it. The stranger is lucky her old weapon is locked away out of immediate reach.

The stranger has the decency to look suitably cowed, shoulders rising and head tilting down, "Oh, I do apologize, Madam," he sounds embarrassed and turns away from her. "I was in such a rush... I didn't think to check... I-I am not normally this thoughtless-"

"I'm already wide awake, so why don't you just spit it out what it is you want," Iselda says with growing impatience.

He places a brass bell a little larger than the width of his hand on the counter and speaks softly, still avoiding her eyes, "I was hoping- I mean, I was told this place sells maps. I wanted to know if you recognized the symbol on this bell here," he says.

Iselda's eyes narrow at the strange request. "A bell," she repeats.

"Yes, that it is. But I believe this symbol represents a location I am unfamiliar with. I thought perhaps a cartographer would have a better grasp of it than I."

"My husband is the cartographer," Iselda sighs. "This symbol means nothing to me."

"Ah," he fidgets and looks around the shop. If he notices the scorch marks along the counter and walls, he doesn't comment on it. "I suppose I will have to return."

"Please don't. Cornifer is on a walk outside, so wait for him out there if you must. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to return to my nap," she points to the door and the stranger gets the hint, leaving with a graceful word of gratitude for her patience. 

And Iselda finally sleeps.

Quirrel waits for about an hour before a bug shows up with a small flying child in tow. The cartographer is much kindlier than his wife and apologizes, but he too is unfamiliar with the symbol upon the bell. Quirrel implores the residents of Dirtmouth to help him, their princess having been snatched by thugs wielding this symbol. He is disappointed to find that the bugs have their own problems to deal with, the fate of Hallownest's only leader not as pressing of a concern as he would like. He cannot necessarily blame them for their reluctance, but a part of him hopes he will not have to walk this road alone.

Perhaps it is what he deserves. 

Quirrel shakes his head, not wanting to give into more negative thoughts. His mind has already been filled with this pervasive thinking and it only continues to wear him down further. If he is persistent enough, he will find someone who knows where this symbol leads. 

A small figure similar in both appearance and stature to his Ghost friend appears, offering advice and wisdom in the form of 57 Precepts. None of which are helpful.

Quirrel silently removes himself from the conversation and the short babbling bug doesn't seem to notice.

A tiny shopkeeper named Sly tells Quirrel if he is so determined to locate the source of the bell, he ought to go to the Relic Seeker in the City of Tears. Either that or visit the abandoned Archives in Fog Canyon. Even a simple mention of the Archives makes Quirrel feel physically ill, so he goes with the first option and ignores the latter. As he is leaving, the shopkeeper comments on the quality of Quirrel's nail and offers to buy it off him for a laughably small pile of Geo. Quirrel refuses and continues on his way.

The City of Tears...

During his initial journey into Hallownest, Quirrel had been reluctant to enter the City, satisfied with his view from the towers above. His interest was in the rains that fell upon the glittering buildings, and he had found their source at the Blue Lake. That had been more than enough for him.

Quirrel makes his way to the entrance of the City of Tears, vaguely wondering how he is to locate someone like a Relic Seeker among the throngs of empty buildings. The place is quiet, the infected husks that had ambled along its streets laid to rest for good. Why would someone willingly set up shop in an abandoned place like this? As wondrous as the empty city is, it can't be good for business.

There's a twinge in his mind- He stands next to Monomon while she has a lighthearted debate with Lurien the Watcher over the advantages of moving to the city to lumafly power. She looks at Quirrel with smiling eyes, "What say you, Assistant?" She always includes him in her conversations. He's pleased a mediocre scholar like him can be of use to an incredible teacher such as her...

The memory fades as he spots a figure wielding a worn umbrella outside alone and his chest fills with hope. The figure startles as Quirrel approaches and Quirrel raises both hands to show he means no harm.

"Hello, there! It is good fortune I come across another being down here. I was wondering-"

"-I don't have any spare Geo for you," the bug's eyes narrow.

Quirrel smiles beneath his mask, ignoring the rain soaking into his carapace and admiring how the other man manages to keep his long beard completely dry with that tiny umbrella of his. "I was actually hoping you might point me in the direction of something. This city is rather vast and I am in search of someone who calls themselves a Relic Seeker."

The other bug relaxes and his eyes crinkle slightly, "That ornery grouch of a bug? Why in Wyrm's name would you come venturing into a decrepit place like this to find such a man?"

"I was told the Relic Seeker might be able to help me," Quirrel looks around at the 'decrepit' city and sighs. It occurs to him that it wasn't raining in his memory. Was it always called the City of Tears? He can't recall. "I think this place is actually quite marvelous. Did you know that the rains come from the most serene lake above? It's a natural wonder." He looks up and blinks as rain hits his mask.

"Incredible," the man's tone does not hint at such emotion. "Follow me, I'll take you to that dusty old fool."

Quirrel doesn't think the bug's attitude is very polite, but it's the first actively helpful thing anybody has offered him today, so he follows. 

The two walk in relative quiet as Quirrel's attempts to initiate conversation are shut down by the other bug's harrumphs and tsk noises. He hopes the Relic Seeker will be more amenable to conversation. They ride a rickety elevator up a tower and stop at a floor with a shop sign. "How would anyone ever find this place?" Quirrel wonders to himself. The other bug ignores him.

The bearded bug shakes off his rain-soaked umbrella and throws it to the ground, which Quirrel thinks is a bit rude. The bug bangs on the front counter, "Hello? Anyone home??" He must be very familiar with the Relic Seeker in order to behave this way.

To Quirrel's astonishment, the man nonchalantly ventures behind the counter and flicks on a lantern, then makes his way to the front of the cluttered room and begins to light a fire in the fireplace. The bug glances at him as if to see if Quirrel is still there, then throws a mop his way, "Clean that up. You're creating a lake on the floor with your dripping mess. Next time you visit the City of Tears, remember your umbrella."

Quirrel wonders why he is taking orders from this bug, but manners dictate he clean up after himself, which he dutifully does. He silently picks up the discarded umbrella and mops the puddle forming there as well. The bug throws him a small rag and Quirrel wipes himself down best he can. His soaked scarf continues to drip down his back, but he ignores it.

The bug goes behind the counter and folds his hands, watching Quirrel. "Well?"

Realization hits him and Quirrel gasps, "You're the Relic Seeker."

"Oh, you are a smart one."

"Why...?" Quirrel is at a loss for words. It has been too long a day.

"The look you gave me was very amusing and I don't get much in the form of live entertainment down here," the Relic Seeker shrugs, "Now, let's get down to business. What is it you thought I could help you with?" The bug's voice is gruff, the short-lived amusement gone.

Quirrel is fine with business. He drops the bell on the desk with a small clatter. "I would like to know if you've seen anything like this before. Preferably the symbol engraved here," he points at the mark.

The Relic Seeker gives nothing away, folding his arms instead. "What's in it for me?"

Quirrel coughs to hide his surprise, "I mean... You are a Relic Seeker, are you not?"

"Indeed I am. But does this look like a charity to you?" The bug leans over the counter and slides the bell back toward Quirrel with one finger. "This is a business I'm running here. Do you have Geo or not?"

"I..." Quirrel pats at his pouch knowing very well there is no Geo in there. No form of payment of any sort. "...No. But, please listen. Hornet, the princess of Hallownest-"

"-Don't care," interrupts the Relic Seeker.

"She was kidnapped by bugs wielding these bells!" Quirrel is distraught. 

"Said I don't care."

For crying out loud. "She's the ruler of Hallownest. How can any of you care so little for the fate of your own home? She has watched over you and saved as many as she could from infection."

The other bug laughs bitterly, "That's not very many. Besides, I am not of Hallownest; I only live here. No offense, but I have too many of my own problems to care about the fate of some failed princess."

Quirrel feels another pang in his chest and shoves the rising helplessness he is quickly becoming familiar with back down. "Look... It's my fault she was taken. I have to find her. I just need to know the source of this symbol. Please, it's all I ask."

The Relic Seeker smacks the bell off the counter and it clangs on the ground before Quirrel can catch it. "No Geo, no info."

Quirrel picks up the bell and holds it tightly in his hands, unsure of how he can appeal to the selfishness of this man. If he can't get the information from him, then he will have no choice but to go back to Fog Canyon and...

"I'll be back," Quirrel concedes softly and ignores the derisive chuckle behind him as he exits the Relic Seeker's shop.