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To say fWhip was angry would be an understatement. He was so past angry, so past rage, that it felt like there was just a dark cloud festering in his chest ready to be unleashed on one very deserving elf. He was going to kill him. Well, he was going to scare the wrath of the Grimlands into him, force him to unfreeze Gem’s heart whether he wanted to or not - and he best hope to the gods that he wants to - and then he was going to kill him. Honestly, fWhip would skip the first two steps if he could be sure that whatever magic Scott used would disappear with his death. Gem was annoyingly vague about it, saying she wasn’t sure, which could mean that she knows it will work but is attempting to stop fWhip from killing him - for some reason - or she really doesn’t know if killing Scott would undo everything. Either way, without confirmation fWhip can’t risk killing him until after he fixes Gem. Which brings him to his second issue.
Scott isn’t anywhere to be found.
Apparently, not long after freezing Gem, Scott took off into the northern mountains, and now fWhip is flying through a snowstorm trying to find the coward who ran off instead of facing up to his mistakes.
So yeah. He was a little more than angry.
Luckily, just as fWhip was contemplating finding a cave to try and wait out the night that was quickly descending - lest he need to fly through the dark and the storm - he spotted something in the distance. Flying closer, he noticed it looked a lot like a spire made of ice spikes, too well angled to be anything but manmade. The perfect kind of base for the villain who froze his sister.
Landing a mere twenty feet from what fWhip assumed was the front side of the spire, he takes a moment to take stock of it, noting that the snowstorm around it seemed to center on the highest point, the mix of the clouds gathering and swirling with the snow causing it to look like a vortex of some kind, but he assumed it was a way to keep unwanted visitors out just a way to keep people from finding him and delivering on the justice that he owes.
Unluckily for him, fWhip is stubborn, mad, and his dragon blood causes him to run warm making the chill of the air and snow little more than a casual annoyance, and beyond that, the heat of righteous fury covered any lingering chill.
Still, the longer he looked, the more he had to tell himself that it was the cold power washing off the castle that unsettled him, sending a shiver through his whole body, not the fact that the castle looked so lifeless. Not the fact that all the spikes were pointed inwards, as if to contain as opposed to keep away. Of course it was magic. Nothing else.
He was angry, not worried.
Slipping his way between the giant ice spikes that made up the wall - absolutely not unsettled that there wasn't an actual entrance - he entered the fortress quietly, telling himself he was keeping the element of surprise, not that the solemnness of the build kept him quiet.
Inside was… Worse, somehow, then the outside.
While it had been devoid of life, the outside at the very least had had a serene sense of beauty in its towering spiral of ice and snow, a perfectly proportional Scott style build that gave away exactly who it belonged to, regardless of the lack of his usual embellishments. The inside however, didn’t really seem to exist. There was nothing at all for furniture, the walls were made only by way of fusing where the ice spikes met, leaving a handful of rather large holes such as the one he entered in that did nothing to stop any gust of wind or small flurry from running though the place. Given that, it wasn’t much warmer than it was outside. If fWhip were so inclined, he’d say it was more comparable to a morgue or a crypt than a castle.
But fWhip was mad. He had no room for worry, why would he worry. It was probably just an entrance anyways, no need for decor.
Wrapping his scarf tighter, he made his way to the only thing in the room, a set of stairs, and began carefully picking his way up.
There were fewer holes, he noted as he continued up, though he got the impression it was more in part due to the fact that the spikes all come more or less to a point - therefore having less room to leave holes - than an actual attempt to protect against the elements. Yet despite the fact that the air was stagnant and there was no snow flurries fluttering around, fWhip could feel the temperature drop several degrees as he continued to carefully make his way up the frozen steps.
Upon reaching the top step fWhip was stopped dead at the sight that greeted him.
Across the room from where he stood was Scott. He was shivering, unkempt wings wrapped tight around himself, and the parts of his body fWhip could see were obviously not covered properly for the weather. Worst of all was the crying. It had been hidden under the whistling of the wind while he was downstairs, but fWhip could hear it now, these deep shuttering gasps, as if the air he was pulling in was too thin for him. The floor immediately around him was littered in more spikes of ice, pointed in and seemingly pressing him closer to the wall. There were some that seemed to be pushing against him where he was unable to push closer to the wall. Another stuttering sob left him, and the spikes seemed to grow ever so slightly longer as Scott seemed to try to pull his wings tighter to his body, hiding away in a way fWhip hadn't seen him do in years.
Not that fWhip cared. He was mad. He was really really mad.
Scott didn’t seem to notice him as he moved closer in almost a trance, not until he was less than 3 feet and he had stepped on a thin sheet of frost that crunched under foot, just barely even with the furthest spike. At the noise, Scott’s eyes jumped out and he froze - no pun intended - when he saw fWhip.
“Scott?” fWhip called, far gentler than he had imagined himself doing not even 20 minutes previous, but still, Scott reacted as if he had shouted in anger, bolting up to stand, wings splayed wide behind him - definitely seeming more an alarm response than the intimidation tactic that Scott usually went for - he stared wide eyed at him, a small bust of magic grew the spikes, once again pressing him against the wall.
“No,” His voice was hoarse, unadulterated fear filled the small syllable as it tumbled out of Scott’s mouth another handful of times, “You can’t be here. You have to go. Leave. Before I hurt you.”
2 hours ago, fWhip would have taken the words as a threat, but as he stares at Scott, at the frost that creeps up his hands, over his wrist, heading towards his elbows, at the ice that he can see absolutely coating his wings in a way that can’t be good for them and that make his own wings twitch in sympathy, at the beading gem-like drops blood that freeze as they fall from the small punctures caused by the ever-growing spikes, fWhip realizes that maybe Scott really didn’t mean to freeze Gem. Maybe he ran away because he was scared of what was happening and didn’t know how to stop it. Maybe Scott was just an elf who has had so much shoved on his plate in the last year that it’s all spilling and he’s just trying his best to stop it making a mess of everyone else's plates.
And fWhip can’t pretend he’s mad anymore.
“No, Scott, it’s alright,” Outside fWhip can distantly hear the sounds of the wind picking up, he has no doubts that the storm has picked up with Scott’s panic, “Calm down, take some deep breaths for me. It’s ok, I promise.”
fWhip breathes deep and slow, keeping his eyes one Scott’s own pale blue ones, forcing himself to be calm so Scott will hopefully calm down as well. It takes a moment, but eventually his breathing seems to even out, and he slumps against the wall exhausted. Still, there is fear in his eyes as he stares at fWhip, seemingly understanding why he is here, or at least why he had been here originally.
And even still, he does nothing to even attempt to protect himself.
“Why are you here fWhip?” His voice is small, like he doesn’t have the energy to make it any louder.
“I-” He faltered, he had no answer anymore. His wants to punish Scott has abandoned him in the wake of Scott’s obvious self punishments, so any reasoning he came in with is gone, “I want to help you?”
Scott huffs out a disbelieving laugh, hands coming up to cover his face with a wince as he seems to have noticed the small piercings he now had in various limbs his body. With a deep breath he manages to break them and slowly steps out of the mass of ice he had made, taking care to keep his distance from fWhip, hugging close the the wall as fWhip turned his body in time, taking care to keep loose and relaxed.
“You? Want to help me?” He scoffs, pulling his eyes away from fWhip, “Why would you want- Did you not hear what I did to Gem? How I froze her heart? I’d have sooner thought you were here to kill me than help me. I’m a monster now after all.”
fWhip felt his heart sink at the defeated tone of the words. Sure, Scott was right about having froze Gem, and the anger he had had earlier surged back briefly, but it left just as quickly at Scott’s wholehearted belief that he was a monster. He wasn’t a monster, a monster would have reveled in what he had done he’s done to people who thought to call him a friend. Not run away to keep himself from hurting people.
No, Scott Smajor was the furthest thing from a monster and if need be fWhip would prove it to him.
“Having powers that are capable of hurting people doesn’t make you a monster,” He pretends the naked shock in Scott’s eyes as they dart up to once more meet his doesn’t make his heart strain, “Hurting someone you love by accident doesn’t make you a monster. You are not a monster Scott. How could you be?”
“What would you know about that?” Scott pushes out, trying to sound dismissive, but it instead comes out meek.
“Because you aren’t the only one who’s hurt someone they didn’t mean too. I didn’t always have such a lid on the whole dragon fire thing, and Gem and Sausage both have the burn scars to prove it. But in time I learned. And you can too.”
fWhip reaches his hand out, and Scott tentatively reaches out, but stops himself just shy of actually touching him, pulling his hand back.
“I- I can’t.” Tears bead in his eyes again, fear warring against hope, against want, “I don’t want to freeze you by mistake.”
“You won’t, I’m part dragon, I have fire in my blood,” fWhip made sure his voice was light, almost joking, but he made sure to keep eye contact with Scott, outstretched hand never flagging, “I trust you. Please, trust me too.”
Shaking, Scott put his hand out again, reaching ever so slowly toward the lifeline he’d been given, shying away briefly when he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating from fWhip’s palm, but after another moment of silence he finally took his hand. He watched Scott’s face as his eyes went wide and he gave a small shiver. fWhip fought back a shiver of his own, not wanting to give Scott a reason to freak out, but it truly felt like he was holding ice, and by the droplets of water he could see drip from between where their hands met, it seemed like the frost he had seen earlier – that he could still see on Scott’s bare skin – had been actual ice crusted on his skin.
He was distracted by the sight as Scott let out a quiet sob, followed by another, then another, and another, growing in volume and intensity as it went, knees buckling under him. Without thinking, fWhip caught him, pulling him to his chest and sinking to his knees so he could better support them both as Scott cried. He noticed too, after a moment, that Scott was shivering, a whole-body shiver like he’s trying to vibrate out of his skin.
“Shhh, it’s ok, we’ll figure this out, you’re ok.” fWhip murmured, rubbing his back, his wings coming to circle him as well, ignoring the ice-cold water soaking through his shirt and chilling the skin of his wings.
“I’m so- I’m so cold,” Scott manages between the chattering of his teeth, sobs subsiding but panic seems to take its place, “Why am I so- so cold? I didn’t- didn’t feel cold be- before, fWhip what’s happen- happening?”
“My guess,” fWhip says, heart cracking at the thought, “Is that you were cold, but you hadn’t felt warmth in so long that you stopped registering it.”
“I don’t- I don’t want to be c-cold anymore.”
“Ok, we can get you warmed up, but we need to get out of here, we need to go somewhere warm. Come with me?” He phrased it as a question, but fWhip knew that if push came to shove, he was not above forcing Scott to come with him. He couldn’t, in good conscience, leave Scott here to his pain and misery.
“But what if I hurt somebody else?” He asks in a small voice, hands twisting further into fWhip’s shirt.
“Then we deal with that then, but making mistakes isn’t the end all be all, making mistakes doesn’t make you evil.”
With a shuddering breath, Scott nods, and fWhip lets out a small breath, thanking the gods that he wasn’t going to have to do anything drastic. He pulls back slightly, and while Scott flinches slightly, he lets go of the death grip he had on fWhip’s shirt.
“Here, to keep you warm while we fly back,” fWhip unwinds his scarf before carefully wrapping it around Scott’s neck, not liking how thin his clothes seemed. Sure, they would likely have been good for the early fall weather he had left Rivendell in, but here on the mountains, it was the equivalent of a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants in the middle of a Rivendell winter, “Will you be ok to fly back, with your wings? I can carry you if need be, but it’d be quicker if you fly on your own.”
Scott’s head tilts a little in confusion before he looks and finally seems to see the disheveled feathers covered in a mix of blood from cuts and what seems like just a sheet of ice. He stretches them out to test them, and while he winces, he does give an affirmative answer.
“They should be ok. I just haven’t really… Taken care of them.” He looks to the floor, a deep red blush covers his cheeks in shame.
“That’s alright. I can help when we get back to the Grimlands. As long as you can make it there, we can sort everything out.”
fWhip held his hand out again, and when Scott took it, this time with much less hesitation, he used it to lead him outside, where the storm had seemed to end, leaving the world blanketed in a sparking layer of what felt like second chances.