sweetpeasprite

Cassiopeia takes a deep breath. Then another.

She shakily takes a sip of her tea - chamomile, meant to calm. She's sitting in the garden, the one near the landing bay, waiting for the telltale sound of a Travel spell. She doesn't want to do this. She doesn't want today to happen.

She exhales, staring up at the high domed glass ceiling, tracing the silver lines connecting the pieces of glass with her eyes. She sets her teacup on the plate on her round garden table. There's a coffee pot, cream and sugar, and an empty mug on the other side of the table, next to an empty chair. She doesn't know what she's trying to do, really - soften the blow with caffeine?

She glances around the garden, eyes lingering on the large daisies looming in the middle of the flowerbeds. She swallows, and looks away. She taps her fingers on the table nervously, checking the time, though she hadn't given a specific time to meet her. Only a "this afternoon" which she supposes was slightly too vague, but considering the guest she thinks he'll be on time. Either that, or if he can't make it (part of her hopes he can't) he'll apologise profusely whenever she next sees him.

The Travel spell sounds in the landing bay. She inhales sharply. She half wishes it hadn't, that her guest had something come up, that he couldn't make it, but he would probably feel as guilty about that as Cassiopeia feels about the subject of the meeting. Footsteps echo through the hall as he gets closer, and Cassiopeia sips her tea again, as if to prepare herself.

An auburn head of hair peeks around the side of the tall archway that leads to the corridor. He smiles. "Hello, Queen Cassiopeia!" says Oliver, cheerfully, and Cassiopeia's throat quietly stitches itself up.

Oliver bounces over to where she's sitting, before pausing. "Oh, uh, just Cassiopeia. Sorry." He tilts his head. "Are you okay? You didn't even correct me that time."

Cassiopeia swallows thickly. "I'm… quite alright, thank you, Oliver. Sit down?"

Oliver doesn't look quite convinced, but he keeps a smile on his face and sits down across from Cassiopeia. He glances at the coffee pot. "Is this for me?"

She smiles, slightly. "Yes, please have as much as you like." She takes a sip of her own tea as Oliver pours coffee into his mug.

"Thank you, Quee- uh, Cassiopeia. Your, uh, note said you wanted to talk to me about something?" Oliver says, and Cassiopeia raises her eyebrows as he nudges the cream and sugar off to the side.

"You don't like anything in your coffee?" she says, and Oliver blinks, glancing down at his mug of black coffee that's still too hot to drink. "You don't peg me for that type at all." She's vaguely aware that she's stalling, but she is genuinely curious.

Oliver shrugs, laughing a bit. "I kinda got used to it when I was travelling, so…" He takes a small sip, flinching when it touches his mouth. "Hot," he murmurs quietly.

Cassiopeia hums, taking a sip of her tea. Oliver blows the steam off the top of his mug, occasionally glancing up at Cassiopeia curiously. He's wondering why he's here - Cassiopeia doesn't blame him. He can probably tell how tense she is, but to be fair to her, it's for a good reason. She takes a breath. "So, um…" Oliver looks up, smile dimming when he sees Cassiopeia's face, lips pressed together and eyebrows furrowed.

When she doesn't say anything after that, just trying to find the right words, Oliver softly says, "Are you okay, Cassiopeia? What's going on?"

Despite herself, the corners of Cassiopeia's mouth turn up. It's endearing how much Oliver wants to help, considering he doesn't even know what the problem is. She supposes that trait was what saved her, though. "No, no, I'm fine," she says, and Oliver's eyebrows scrunch together. She looks away from him, pressing her lips together as she tries to find the right words. "This is… more about you, really…"

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Oliver tense. "Did I do something?"

"No! Goodness, no, Oliver," Cassiopeia shakes her head, and Oliver relaxes slightly, but still looks concerned. She sighs. "This is about something… I did. As… the White Witch."

Oliver hums. "Well, I'm sure whatever it is, we can set it right." Cassiopeia exhales. Seeing the good in everything, as always. He tilts his head. "What-"

"Oliver," Cassiopeia interrupts. "This isn't something you can fix. Believe me, you tried."

He blinks. "I… tried?"

There's a lump in Cassiopeia's throat. Oliver looks up at her, confused, blue eyes big and soft and understanding, like she couldn't have possibly done anything that bad. She looks away from him, gazing at the daisies in the flowerbed. She exhales. "I killed your mother, Oliver."

There's quiet for a moment. Cassiopeia focuses on the lines in the brick path, tracing it with her eyes before hesitantly looking back at Oliver's face. She watches the look of confusion turn to shock, then horror , and she can't take that, so she looks back at the daisies. "What?" he says, softly, voice quiet and broken, like he doesn't really believe her. "No- no one killed my mom, it was an accident-"

"I loosened the wheel on the… the vehicle," murmurs Cassiopeia, who still isn't entirely sure what the vehicle was, and Oliver's eyes widen. "It was… it was a curse meant for you."

"It…?" Oliver gazes up at her, and Cassiopeia focuses on one of the daisies, refusing to look at him. She can hear him, though. She can hear his breathing get more uneven, she can hear him try to stifle sniffles. She can hear him putting his mug down on the table, hear his chair squeak on the brick as he gets up.

That's when she looks at him, when she hears him start to leave. He's not looking at her. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, and he looks at her with tears in his eyes and something hard behind his gaze, something she only remembers from her White Witch days.

He takes out his wand, and Cassiopeia wants to stop him, but she doesn't as the Gateway rune swirls around him, leaving her alone.

She looks at the still full mug of coffee on the table, then back at the daisies.

She quietly remembers Oliver saying those were his mom's favourite flower.

She stays, sitting in the garden, alone, for the next hour.

---

Oliver is avoiding Cassiopeia.

She really, really can't blame him.

Then again, though, it seems like he might be avoiding everyone, considering that whenever she sees any of his friends, they ask if she's seen him. She tries to hide her guilt when she says no, but a few of them know something's wrong. Drippy, namely. He starts avoiding her, too.

She never cleaned up the tea and coffee in the garden. There's a still full mug of black coffee in there. She'll clean it up one of these days.

She's standing in the corridor, staring into the garden and refusing to go in, when she hears a Travel spell in the landing bay. She exhales. Marcassin, or maybe Esther. She swallows as she prepares to socialise, and turns toward the landing bay.

Oliver is standing in the corridor. She didn't even hear his footsteps.

She stares at him for a moment. He stares back. He swallows. "Hi," he says, cautiously. Cassiopeia doesn't say anything. He still has his wand out from the Travel spell.

"I, um…" Oliver fiddles with his wand, turning it over in his palm. "Mr. Drippy said I should come talk to you." Cassiopeia doesn't say anything. He bites his cheek. "I, uh, thought-"

"I killed your mother, Oliver," says Cassiopeia. "You shouldn't be here."

Oliver blinks. "Why not?"

Cassiopeia stares. "Why not?" she says, softly, and something in Oliver's eyes flickers. " Why not? Oliver, I killed your mother. I was trying to kill you."

Oliver's eyebrows furrow. "Yes, but-"

"Leave." Oliver's eyes widen, and Cassiopeia turns away to walk back down the corridor. "You don't…" She swallows. "You… shouldn't be here."

She starts to make her way down the hall, heels clicking on the smooth marble floor. There's no sound from Oliver, and for a moment she thinks he's listened.

An Arrow of Light shoots past her shoulder.

Of course he hasn't.

She turns, and flinches slightly at his expression. There's a disbelieving anger flaring in his eyes, his wand held out in front of him and still glowing from the magic. He glowers at her. "You can't tell me you killed my mom and then tell me to leave, " he says, voice strong but not quite steady.

Cassiopeia presses her lips together. "I didn't mean-"

She's forced to dodge as he fires another spell at her, a Fireball this time. She watches it burn out into the wall, at the far end of the corridor, leaving a scorch mark.

She glances back. Oliver grips his wand tighter, but stays silent. "I didn't think you'd want to be around me," Cassiopeia says, softly. She reminds herself that while she's immortal, Oliver could get very easily hurt.

Oliver doesn't lower his wand, but he wavers slightly, swallowing and shifting his feet. "You… you didn't kill my mom," he says quietly.

Cassiopeia blinks. "You… what?"

"You didn't kill my mom!" says Oliver, louder. "The White Witch killed my mom. Not you."

Cassiopeia stares at him, exhaling slowly. "I was the White Witch, Oliver. I did that."

Oliver's eyes are wet, Cassiopeia notes. "You didn't!" he says, and Cassiopeia thinks the words might have come out a little shoutier than intended, because he swallows and his next sentence is much quieter. "You weren't in control. You didn't… if it were now, or back before anything happened, you wouldn't've, right?"

"That doesn't change that I did it, Oliver!" says Cassiopeia, and that was a little louder than she intended. "It doesn't matter when it was, I killed your mom! "

Oliver shoots another Arrow of Light at her for that one, and her anger gets the better of her and she aims a Frostbite at Oliver's feet. He dodges, because of course he does. He's stronger than her. He sidesteps, and the Frostbite disintegrates. They stand across from each other for a moment, Oliver aiming his wand and Cassiopeia aiming her hand. Then, something breaks, and Oliver lowers his wand and stares at Cassiopeia for a moment, breathing unsteady as the first tears fall.

He looks down, trying to wipe the tears away with his thumb. Cassiopeia lowers her hand as he quietly lets out the first sob, stumbling sideways to the wall of the corridor and sinking down next to it, wand clattering to the ground as he curls up in a ball. She takes a breath, watching him try to stifle his cries, and she wishes she were allowed to reach out, to comfort him, but she's the cause. She presses her lips together, her own eyes gathering tears as she walks over and kneels down next to him, even just to be there. She isn't sure he wants her there, but she feels leaving would be worse.

They sit there for a few minutes, both waiting for Oliver's sobs to subside. When they finally do, he lifts his head, staring at the ground in front of him. His eyes are red and puffy and distant.

"'M sorry," he says, quietly, voice rough, and Cassiopeia almost wants to laugh. Or cry. She's not sure which.

"You're sorry?" she says, and Oliver glances up at her. "I'm the one who…"

They're quiet for another moment, before Oliver says, "I'm right, though. You didn't kill my mom." Cassiopeia doesn't have the energy to get back into that argument. Oliver leans his head back against the wall. "It's weird. I haven't really thought about my mom since the Soulsnare. I was busy fightin' Shadar, 'nd then all the kingdoms had to be saved, 'nd then I was busy fightin' you… " He exhales. "I dunno. I haven't… cried as much as I thought I would. Is that bad?"

"I don't think so," says Cassiopeia softly. "I know it took a few years for me to properly grieve my father, though it was so long ago now…"

Oliver hums, quietly. Then, he shuffles over next to Cassiopeia, and rests his head on her arm. "Sorry for attacking you," he says, and Cassiopeia blinks, blinking back tears. She wonders why he's chosen to get so close to her, why he's not… scared of her, or something, though she supposes he would have no reason to be, considering his power. But no - he's leaning on her, wand cast aside. That's Oliver, though, she supposes - too forgiving. Not that he's forgiven her, or has to do so.

"I deserved it," she points out, and Oliver huffs. She supposes they'll have to agree to disagree. "Sorry for attacking you. "

Oliver shrugs. "I attacked you first."

"And," Cassiopeia continues, "Sorry for… not, killing your mother."

He laughs quietly. "There you go." He sighs. "And, I'm sorry for leaving when you first told me. That… that wasn't great. I should've stayed, and talked, or somethin'."

"You had every right to," Cassiopeia tells him, and he hums in disagreement, but otherwise doesn't comment.

He looks up at the ceiling for a minute, contemplating. "You know," he says, and Cassiopeia glances down at him. "I've spent the past few months blaming… blaming myself for my mom's death."

Cassiopeia's blood runs cold. "Oliver-"

"It's weird having someone… actually be the cause of it." He ducks his head again. "Not that, uh, it's your fault. Still the White Witch's. But, um… weird."

Cassiopeia looks down at him worriedly. "It was never your fault, Oliver. Why would you ever think that?"

Oliver shifts. "Well, I mean… she saved me. You said yourself she took the curse instead of me. If she hadn't…" He trails off.

"If it had been entirely an accident, with no curse involved, it wouldn't have been your fault," says Cassiopeia, and her tone comes off a little harder than she wanted it to be. Oliver shrugs. She's not sure if he took her words to heart or not.

They sit there for a moment, before Oliver snorts. "If it wasn't my fault, and it wasn't your fault, who was driving the car?"

Cassiopeia feels like she's missing something. "What's a car?"

Oliver giggles softly into her shoulder. "Nevermind, don't worry about it."

Cassiopeia furrows her brow, but doesn't say anything else. She traces the patterns on the ceiling of the hallway for a few minutes, until she feels Oliver lean into her further and she looks down to find his eyes half closed.

"You're falling asleep there," she says, softly, which wakes him up enough to look up at her, but not get up.

He laughs softly. "Crying will do that to you," he murmurs, eyes closing again. Cassiopeia says nothing as his eyes slowly shut again.

She lets him fully relax against her shoulder, and gazes up at the wall. She wonders how he can relax around her, why he's choosing to be here, sitting on the cold floor next to the person who killed the only blood family he had, but doesn't take it for granted. She glances down the hallway to where the scorch mark from Oliver's Fireball still is.

Oh, well. It adds character.

(She doesn't Rejuvenate it.)