Archive of Our Own ^beta

Out there, in the woods, where the faeries dance and sing, is a gravestone.

Nobody really knows it's a gravestone. Usually it's a seat for a tired vagabond seeking a rest. Sometimes it's a makeshift table for a Skull Kid to place its food. Occasionally it's served even as a bed for tiny squirrels and even tinier bugs. In every iteration of its service, it is a place of care and comfort. It is a place of rest.

Is there a body beneath it? Who knows anymore. The words carved into it have faded, sanded down over the years. Maybe it was an altar, once, a shrine. But now it's a gravestone, a seat, a table, a bed.

It protects. It cares. It serves its purpose well.

In the woods, deep inside the memories of times forgotten, children still play in the hollows left behind. They place their masks upon their little faces and fit into their roles, dance and sing and chase. The laughter of children is always timeless, a constant throughout the ages that many look back upon with a smile. They're never truly forgotten, no. They're always watched upon by their protector in the fray.

“He may be big, bigger than many other grownups,” they say between their giggles, “but he is kind. Kinder than most.”

Yet, leave the woods and ask about him, and responses may vary.

“Never heard of such a thing. Deities haven't existed in a long, long time.”

“Protector? Pah. I'd say otherwise. If he was truly a protector, we wouldn't be going through this, now, would we?”

“He sounds like a monster. We don't need any more of those.”

Boy, no older than twelve, did you know? Did you know that your birth was a curse? It doesn't matter now. You found his tomb, you spoke to his young. And they trusted you with his memory. Bear it with pride, boy. That's a God in your hands.

Boy, you only were with him for a few minutes at most. You held those preconceived thoughts, the words of damnation and the words of praise. You thought this Deity would be frightening — but to stand in his place, you thought it would be painful. But it felt like a dream.

He wrapped his arms around you, godchild. He was larger than anyone you'd ever known, unraveled from his prison, he could swallow stars. But he held you. He held you with grace and with care, child, he covered your eyes and he told you — “sleep. Sleep, you've been through much. Lay down. Breathe. Let me do this. Let me protect you.”

That was the job of the Fierce Deity. It was not an obligation. It was not a chain around his neck. It was a need. It was a must.

Boy, you slept the best you had in ages. He held your hands and sang you lullabies as he took every blow. He bled for you, he killed for you. Something nobody else does for the hero. He was mighty, he was both holy and unholy , yet so, so kind .

By the end of it all, you weren't a boy anymore.

When it was over, he took you by the shoulders, and kissed you on the head. He told you about life. He told you how to be a man. But he told you how to love, too. When he left, he left a part of himself with you. When you glance in the mirror, godchild, you're not a boy. You have his scars, you have his strength. You're a son. Dear lord, you're someone's son.

He has many children. He holds the earth in his palms and tells them stories. His children don't always listen. Most don't, anyway. They've forgotten the gentleness behind his war. But you've experienced it all, haven't you?

When you next look upon the day, you are a man. He is with you, he never leaves you. His teeth are sharp like swords, his hands doused in blood, but his ichor flows in you, too. You carry the world, he carries the stars that surround it. The title of Fierce Deity does not belong to just one man — in a way, aren't you just as fierce, just as godly?

You will go home. The sun will shine, there will be food on the table, and your bed will be warm. And he will tell you he's proud of you, he will tuck you in no matter how big you get, and he will adore you in the way only a father ever could.

And he will sit atop his gravestone, and tell the faeries just how much he loves you.