Work Text:
The House Davinos have long been intertwined with the House Royce.
And the House Royce has been entangled in Faerie for far longer than even that.
A lot of the time, this does not mean much.
Other times, it does.
When Julien and Aranessa were children, and the the doors to Faerie were still wide open, they would change their faces as often and as easily as their clothes.
Aranessa was always the one who came up with the people, while Julien was much more suited to wearing them.
And then, one day, it took effort. It took forethought.
The doors to Faerie were closed, and they took many things home with them.
They left far more behind.
Julien can still change his face.
Not nearly as readily or as smoothly as when they were children, according to himself and himself alone.
But nothing is as it was before, and neither is anyone who was left behind.
He tries not to - he likes the skin he wears, and the details are never quite the same when he goes back to it.
But needs must, and he fears they will soon have need.
Julien Davinos, the last of his House, is afraid.
He has seen what Occtis' death has done to him, to his Lady Aranessa, to the Madame Lloy, the way Sister Vaelus all but reveres him.
He does not want to be the one who dies next.
But that is looking horribly likely, he considers as he does his damnedest to ensure that Occtis does not die to his family for a second time in just as many months.
He finds himself a sword, in the process.
It is in lodged in his stomach.
He--
splinters-
something
cracks-
tears-
at his-
very essense-
Sir Julien Davinos splinters. All that there is, is Julien, and Julien hurts.
"'Ness-" he warns desperately - pain and blood and iron thwarting his every attempt to drag Sir Julien back up around him like armour.
All there is is Julien, and Julien is a blank canvas, a Changeling who cannot do even that.
He is mentally readying himself to pull off a truly, truly unappealing manovour when Occtis comes in swinging.
Not literally swinging, alas, because the young arcanist has noodles for arms, though it would be incredibly amusing to watch in another circumstance.
Pincushion does his level best to help him drag the sword out of his stomach, though a stuffed fox's level best is most definitely not particularly useful, while Occtis sets some people on fire.
The tide turns. They are winning this fight, and with it, Julien's trust that most of these people will continue to have his back in a fight slowly dwindles. 'Ness will, of course, and Occtis has literally just demonstrated that he does, his only hesitation being quiet suprise at the truth of Julien.
Sister Vaelus is... well, he cannot see her expression and he is not convinced he wants to.
Thaisha is staring directly at him as he draws Sir Julien back around himself, as though it will hide the truth.
He does not notice the way Sir Julien flickers wildly before settling, hair a slightly different colour, eyes a little sharper.
"Anybody else allergic to the metal most swords in Aramán are made of?" Thaisha grumbles, scowling at him.
'Ness, somewhat sheepishly, raises a hand.
He snorts, staggering over to Vaelus, who meets him halfway, her hands steady and quietly divine.
Julien isn't quite sure why he was so confident that his assholes wouldn't stick with him. Thaisha's actively going against her religion every time she smiles at Occtis. Julien's surely pretty chill with it, in comparison.