#p:robin

**NOTE: For full context, read in order:  Transitional Phases, @robinfelldown A Ring for a Ring, -Rye**

Find Robin.

It was the only thing that echoed in Rye’s mind as he ran under the invisible cover of glamour, dodging between shoppers, gamblers, everyone that strolled through Nightshade Row, every single one of them taking up too much space, too much of his time. 

He was certain more than one fae cursed at him as he shouldered past too close, or ran by too quickly, his cloak leave a light gust just enough for them to feel. Who fucking cared—He had to find Robin.

“Haven’t you heard, wolf prince? All the Lalunes are dead.”

She was wrong. She was lying.

“Put the ring on, you’ll know I only tell the truth.”

He hadn’t dared. He was scared to hear her words again, cold and uncaring. 

Rye reached the building Hadasa had a room in. It was the nearest place Robin could be, so it was his first stop. He was usually there around this time every day anyway, though he’d told Rye that morning he’d had some shopping to do. If Alekto discovered him while he was out—

No. She wouldn’t. Not yet. Not while Rye was still useful to her.

Except that he’d fought her every step of the way. What if she’d decided he was too much trouble to bother with blackmailing? If he’d fought against her too much, and she’d taken it out on Robin? 

Rye dropped the invisible glamour as he went inside, opting for the blonde glamour he’d used to get into the Night Market instead. He nearly ran into the fae that was exiting Hadasa’s room as he hurried up the stairs. The fae only glared at him, but Rye was already pushing past him into the room. 

His voice broke as he called out in a panic, only barely remembering to use Robin’s alias. “Ro—Hadasa?”

The trip to Kyoshi Island had been a long time coming. Rye had wanted to visit, to request to study and train with the Kyoshi Warriors, for years. But after joining with Kit and Balthazar, his travels exclusively for the purpose of training and learning were set aside. He had managed to convince Kit this time though, to accompany him to Kyoshi Island. He wasn’t sure how long they would be able to stay—certainly not for the years he’d spent amongst earthbenders, or in the Northern Water Tribe, but hopefully they would allow him to stay and work long enough to learn some valuable lessons from them.

There were a few figures walking towards the beach when the ship landed. It had once been a Fire Nation ship, but had since been stripped of anything that could identify it as such. None of the passengers on the ship needed that kind of attention. But as far as he understood, the Island didn’t receive many visitors, so he understood the chance that they may still see any approaching ship as a threat. When Rye made it to the beach, he was able to see the figures better, including the outfits and makeup they wore. These were the people he had come in search of.

Rye bowed to the women, still staying far enough away to try and show he wasn’t a threat. “Hello. My apologies for showing up so suddenly on your shores. It seems I’m in the right place, though. I was hoping to find an audience with the legendary women of Kyoshi Island.”

Set early on, before Bloomfield fell.

“You can’t be serious,” Keelin said, eyes wide as he stared at the police chief. “You’ve heard about those—those things out there, right?”

“Heard about them? Yes. Seen them? Not at all,” Rye said, checking the safety on his gun and tucking it in the holster on his belt. “Rumors, Keelin. All rumors.”

“Still doesn’t make walking into Oleander Row the brightest idea you’ve ever had,” Keelin muttered.

“Just hold down the fort til I get back,” Rye said with a sigh. “I’m trusting you and Ciril to not let this place fall into absolute chaos while I’m gone.”

Keelin shook his head, still clearly unimpressed with Rye, but eventually he just nodded. “You got it, Cap. Just make sure you get back here safe.” He turned away from Rye to speak with his partner, and Rye looked around for anything else he might need.

He grabbed his knife, tucking it into a sheath on his leg and pulled his pants leg down over it. He hadn’t actually fought with a knife in a long time; since the early days of the humans, he was pretty sure, but it was a skill he’d learned form the Wolves, and having the knife on him at least gave him a comfort of sorts. Besides, he needed to get in and out quickly and quietly to reach Scarlett, and a knife would certainly be quieter than a gun.

Just one more thing. It only took Rye about ten minutes to get home, and he was glad to see lights on inside.

Rye was used to quiet. The Wildlands were always quiet. Quiet was calm and peaceful. It was familiar and comforting. But silence was a whole other beast. Silence was angry and resentful. Oppressive and smothering. Silence was a loud scream into nothingness, deafening Rye even as his eyes were set resolutely on the path ahead.

He sat still, movements only minimal and necessary. Hands adjusting just so on the reins, legs pressing lightly into one side of the horse or the other to steer them as they followed the path. If he leaned back a little, his back would likely brush against Robin’s chest or arms—well, probably not. Robin had been so stubborn since they left Briar’s Manor on a borrowed horse. He hadn’t accepted Rye’s offered hand when he climbed onto the back of the horse, and Rye had glanced back briefly more than once to check that Robin was still there, as resolute in keeping as much distance between them as possible. It was quite a feat in itself, actually; the horse wasn’t that big.

Rye pressed his heels into the horse’s sides, pressing him into a faster trot. He didn’t want to tire the horse out; it was a long journey through the Wildlands, but traveling with Robin had never been so…. daunting, as it was now. Rye should’ve expected it, should’ve seen it coming. Harland had suggested something was wrong, or at least that Rye had done something wrong or to piss off Robin. Even Keelin had pulled Rye aside when they arrived at Thornhill and asked if he and Robin were okay. Keelin had a habit of noticing everything, and his questions more than anything made Rye wonder if maybe they weren’t.

It was stupid, really, if Robin was upset with him. Why? Just because Rye didn’t want him to be caught by Oberon? Any of them would’ve faced punishment for being caught in this kind of endeavor, but nothing the other three would’ve faced would’ve been anywhere close to what would’ve happened to Robin. So Robin could remain silent as long as he wanted. Rye wasn’t sorry for wanting him to stay safe.

He could’ve broken the silence. He was tempted to, but some part of him didn’t want to hear Robin’s response. Or more likely, he didn’t want to acknowledge Robin openly ignoring him. They’d never done that—outright ignored each other out of anger. They’d argued, disagreed and gotten into fights—anyone that had been friends for as long as they’d been had to have gotten into at least a few. But the silence—that had never been part of their friendship, even in the fights.

So the silence remained until they got closer to Roheim, to the Devil’s Garden. Rye glamoured them both and the horse, invisible as they approached the hidden entrance to the Nighthawks base. He raised his palm, a small, glamoured bird forming in his hand, that particular spark of magic Damira had taught him caught inside, before the bird flew forward, disappearing against the door, the lock clicking open. The muffled sounds of the Nighthawks gathered in the headquarters was a welcome reprieve from the deafening silence of the trip.

Even going to speak with Jacia, one of the higher ranked Nighthawks, to deliver their report was almost comforting. It hadn’t been an official Nighthawks mission, but they’d been aware, and now requested a report so they could know what to expect from Oberon, and attempt to mitigate any damage.

“I thought you were going to be the only Nighthawk going along on this…endeavor,” Jacia said, curious eyes finally shifting to Robin. Rye’s jaw tightened. 

“Robin insisted on joining us,” he said tightly, adamantly refusing to turn to look at Robin. 

She looked back at him and quirked an eyebrow in disapproval. “So, who are these people you worked with? They weren’t Nighthawks. They seem to have learned several secrets because of your little adventure.”

“Robin’s identity is safe with the Briars, and they know nothing of the Nighthawks. I trust them both, to keep his presence in Wisteria a secret from their nobles and ours. I trust them, and believe the mission was worth the risk.”

Set directly after Burn the Messenger.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” Rye insisted quickly, brushing off Atlas’s offers to help him or to call the doctor. He just wanted to get out of the damned Manor before Black decided to take another swing at him. Had it not been for Robin’s insistence that Black wouldn’t hurt him, and Rye’s knowledge that Reva had apparently seen Black as a brother, he wouldn’t have left the fae inside with him. Also aside from the fact that Briar had shown up. He had expected as much, and knew Maddox would inform him of Rye’s foolhardy venture to Black Manor. He just hadn’t anticipated the fight getting quite so out-of-hand so quickly in the interim.

Rye stumbled outside, through the back entrance of the Manor that Atlas directed him towards, and leaned against the cool stone of the outer wall. Or rather, it felt cool against his skin, though it was entirely possible that it was burning as Rye was under the summer sun. He spit the rising bile in in throat onto the ground, noting with some amount of pride the red tinge that ti had. He had broken skin when he’d bit Black. That was more satisfying than it probably would’ve been in any other circumstance, but the damned dragon deserved it. Not as satisfying as the way the Sidhe had backed down at the animalistic turn in the fight, but still satisfying to know the Duke would have a scar or two of his own.

The only smell in the air was burnt skin and hair. His skin was on fire, very nearly literally. He winced as his fingers brushed against the charred ends of his hair, and the tender red skin around his neck and ears. He’d been hoping to get away at least only mildly scathed. He’d heard and seen the results of Black having burnt Oberon’s mistress. Rumors said the fae had been near death by the end of the lashing, and in the state Rye had seen him in even some time afterwards, he believed it. Rye didn’t have anything close to a favorable opinion of Black, but Robin seemed to care about him enough—or had until he saw the state Rye was in after their fight anyway—and he had earned Reva favor. That counted for something with Rye, even if not much. Rye was happy to stay as far away from Black as possible for the foreseeable future, but he didn’t want the Queen to actually have him killed this time for burning Oberon’s half-brother. Certainly not when Oberon himself had been the catalyst for it.

Rye breathed a little easier when a gust of wind blew between the trees. His skin was burning and itching at the same time, and he could already feel where some of the burns on his neck went deeper than the surface of his skin without seeing it. He hated for Robin to see it, and knew the fae would be coming to find him soon. It took more concentration than normal to glamour the burns, but he managed to cover them well enough, his hair even appearing it’s normal, longer length. It wouldn’t fool Robin, but once the other fae joined him, Rye wanted to get as far from the Manor as possible, and that was easier if he didn’t look like he’d been nearly burnt to a crisp. His let his head drop back against the cool stone, eyes falling shut as he tried to gain some semblance of the composure he would need to travel further than the edge of Black’s land. Closing his eyes almost made it worse though, as he could feel his head begin to spin, likely from a fever caused the extensive burns.

A trip into Wisteria to test the waters proved the scene to be as reckless as the pictures painted by the Magpie’s Nest. Riots broke out, some buildings he’d seen only his last trip there had been destroyed or at least were in bad disarray. There was a small crowd formed outside a building labeled as a doctor’s clinic on the edge of Olia. Yet no matter where masses seemed to gather, they seemed to shy away from their Queen’s castle. It was as though an invisible barrier were erected around it, with most people shooting furrowed or angry glances towards it, but always walking on the furthest side of the street when they had to pass it.

It felt unnervingly like Belladonna.

So Rye was glad to hear from Freya soon after, and her taking him up on the suggestion that he knew where the human tithes were being kept, and could lend a hand to getting them out. He was on his way there, to meet Freya and her father under the cover of glamour and night, at the edge of the Devil’s Garden. He wondered if they knew how close their meeting place was to the Nighthawk’s hideout. If they’d even heard of the rebel group. Depending on how the night went, perhaps he’d make a few introductions. But the Nighthawks chose their battles too carefully, and Rye was done standing on the sidelines.

A rustle behind him made Rye turn sharply, bow drawn and arrow notched before he’d even turned fully. “Who’s there?”

Day one. Well, official day one. Chief Dryden, now former police chief, had bene training Rye for a few weeks, slowly letting him take over some of the duties that the title required, and ensuring that he would be fully capable of the job when he retired.

Today was the first day that the title was officially Rye’s. Yesterday had been Chief Dryden’s last day, complete with a party with cake and balloons and slideshows of pictures and videos; things that had once been foreign to Rye, but now he understood the technology enough to use it himself. The screen that now sat on his desk was as familiar to him as using glamour magic.

“Finished the report from the raid this morning, Chief,” a familiar voice said, a lilt in the man’s tone on the last word. Keelin had been happier for Rye than most when they found out Rye would be taking Dryden’s place after his retirement. He let himself into Rye’s office without waiting for permission, but Rye just smiled and held his hand out for the manila folder. “That’s all me and Ciril had left for the day, so we’re going to head out. You leaving soon?”

“Not yet, I want to read over your report before I go,” Rye said, starting to flip open the folder before a hand came forward and held it closed against his desk. Rye looked up at Keelin, quirking an eyebrow as if silently asking why the detective was challenging him.

“You sure about that?” He gave an exaggerated head nod toward the clock on the wall to Rye’s left.

“Shit,” Rye muttered, practically jumping out of his chair when he saw the time. Keelin just laughed as Rye grabbed the suit jacket hanging on the back of his door. Robin had made him bring it, saying that he doubted Rye would have time to go home and change before meeting him for their dinner reservations. Of course he’d been right. His fingers fumbled over the tie as he pushed his desk chair in with his foot. Keelin stopped laughing long enough to swat his hands away and help him with the stupid tie, though the amused smile never left his lips.

“Go get ‘im, boss,” Keelin teased, clapping him on the shoulder when he was done.

Rye didn’t bother responding as he left his office, stopping at the night shift captain’s desk to brief him on who was still out on patrol and who he should expect to hear from that had gone out responding to domestic calls. He checked his watch as he walked through, ignoring the sly smiles he earned from a few of the officers. Robin was going to kill him.

He stopped at the desk for the usual check of his weapons, both the one he kept loaded that would go home with him and the one that was only loaded when he was on duty, fingers tapping against his leg impatiently. He could probably bypass this check if he wanted to; he’d seen Dryden do it several times when he was in a hurry, and as the police chief, he could generally get away with skirting some of the rules. But he knew from the first day he found out he was getting the promotion that he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to set a precedent that the other officers would respect. Now he was just in a hurry and already wanted to break his personal oath, but here he was. Practically running to his car as soon as he stepped out fo the station—his personal car, not the police cruiser, despite the fact that he could get to the restaurant in half the time if he turned on the sirens, but he wasn’t going to do that.

Rye couldn’t quite believe what his brother was saying. Or rather, he could, but not why he was saying it to Rye.

“No one flees from these lands without repercussion,. He’s a traitor, and I can’t allow a traitor to escape without punishment,” Oberon said, in a matter-of-fact tone that said he expected Rye agreed with him without his brother needing to speak. “So I need you to seek him out. I have sent spies, and every one has returned empty-handed, or hasn’t returned at all.” Rye knew they had stopped returning if they failed because of the punishments laid on the ones that had returned without their prize in hand. “I can’t go myself, of course. So the only other that I trust to go in my stead, is family,” he added, spreading his arms out towards Rye with a bright smile. “Find the traitor, Puck, and return him here.”

Rye was careful to school his features into something of disinterest, despite the panic that clawed at his chest. Why did Oberon think he knew where Robin was? Did he know how often Rye had gone to visit him when he’d been imprisoned? One of the guards must have told him. Shit.