milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Belar's real proud of those mountains, now that the snow's finally settled in and everything's in shape for maximum winter-time use. Time to go see if he can't rustle up some interest in 'em, as long as they're out there waiting for people, hey? At least, once he's done with his obligations.

The sign on his table tonight reads:

ANSWERING PRAYERS - BACK IN 15 MINUTES

WILL TAKE QUESTIONS ABOUT SNOWBOARDING, SKIING, BOBSLED, LUGE, OR OTHER SNOW-BASED SPORT LESSONS AFTER THAT

NO, SERIOUSLY, THERE'S MOUNTAINS OUTSIDE, GO LOOK

That, he figures, should do the trick.

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River's will is very strong, but her mind is fragile. There are fault lines; there's quicksand, and scars in every sense of the word.

"I don't want it," she whispers, eyes squeezed shut.

Not to Belar.

"The drawings overlap, lines blurred, trade the planets and misplace the priorities." She sucks in a shaking breath. Steadier, "I have a mission."

Mary frowns, a little - not in disapproval, but in thought.

"Two destinies sounds right. Things can be good or they can be bad. They can be bad or good in lots of different ways - but it is still Dark and Light that there is. And the Dark only does bad and hurts people."

He nods again. "That you do," he says, very quietly, but his words are the sort that can't not be heard. "That you do, River. You know, and so do I."

Fish tend to break the line most often with the absolute last jump.

He's not about to jeopardize this.

"That's about the size of it," Belar confirms. "All the stuff the people who followed the Dark Prophecy did was... well, it was bad, even if they did good things once in a while. They didn't want anybody to even think for themselves. Just do whatever Torak told them, and hurt people because they could do it and get away with it. They would've done that forever, if the Dark Prophecy had won. In my world the Light beat it eventually, but people still have to choose to be bad or good. It's just... there's no Dark god now. It's all down to people, one at a time, instead."

"Yes," Mary says - a little vehemently, and her face is darker, now.

"The Dark does not want you to think for yourself at all. Only to do what it wants you to for it. That is what the witch did - she cast a spell for it and it was awful."

She hesitates, a moment.

"I think - that is what Bran said, I think, it is like in his world now. Because they did beat the Dark. It is like that. It is why the Dark came here instead."

"Ken it," River whispers, "very well," and opens red and teary eyes to stare at her hands.

There's nothing poised and professional about her now.

Belar nods. "Torak came here after Garion killed him, too," he says soberly. "Garion had to fight him again and break him completely before he would finally die once and for all."

"Everyone can come here. Good and bad - it is not safe. It will not ever be."

A small shrug; she is, perhaps, thinking of her uncle, and her voice is a little defensive, as she goes on.

"It is still good to come here; there is much more to learn than you can anywhere else. It is only you have to be prepared."

No, there is not. He'd know if there were.

For a moment, just a moment, there is a hand on her shoulder. He's been there for his people for twelve thousand years, whether in person or in spirit; he can be here for this, for her, for now.

The hand is not there any more, but that does not mean he is gone. When you are the Bear-God, all bears are open to you, even the strange small bears of River's world and River's future. So if there is, perhaps, a bear with the proportions of Ursus arctos but of a size that people would be willing to let into their homes, and if that bear were to poke his wet black nose against River's leg? That's not such an unheard-of thing either.

The bear's going to be here just as long as he needs to be. Whatever she does.

Genetic engineering's an advanced tool by the 26th century. Bears are a classic and charismatic animal, beloved in literature and history; they're also an inconvenient animal to have around, by and large.
Suddenly we're on Jiangyin and she's got a driving need to commune with the beast?
Which is why, round about the time they were terraforming the first planets of what's now the Rim, a few scientist set about breeding smaller and more docile forms of certain large animals from the frozen genetic samples the spaceships carried from the vaults of Earth-That-Was. Modern bears are small enough to be house-pets, and can be tamed to eat from a dish, and to come when called to be petted.
They weren't cows inside.
River drops out of her chair in an abrupt ungraceful tangle, abandoning soy and stock options on the table to curl into herself and turn her face against the fur of the miniature polar bear.
They were waiting to be, but they forgot.
He's a god, really. He looked like a man a minute ago. And even in River's world, no polar bear is tame enough for a complete stranger to cuddle.
Now they see the sky
It doesn't matter.
and they remember what they are.
She's not crying. She's only wrapping her arms around herself, and breathing, and remembering what, for an evening, she forgot.

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