Work Text:
Though Death herself did not have one, Death had learned to respect mothers.
She had to, for without life there was no death, and no one brought more life into the world than mothers.
Though, her respect was not for everyone. Just because they brought a child into the world did not mean they earned the right to be a mother.
For Death had seen it all.
Had seen more children harmed and broken and beat down by the person who was supposed to love them most.
Had guided children who never knew a mother’s love their entire lives, so starved they reached out to even Death for comfort.
And in the end, it would be Death who held them. Death who had no right to be that person for them, because if she was then they never had it in life.
So, Death did not respect biological mothers just for giving birth, but she did respect the mothers who chose to love their children whether they were theirs biologically or not.
Mothers who fought to protect and preserve. Mothers who gave up everything for their children. Mothers who would rather the world burn than allow harm to befall their child.
It was always their souls that lingered just a little longer for one last glimpse. One last look to make sure those they loved were okay.
So, Death respected them, respected their strength, but she didn’t always understand them.
At least, not until a fragile, little, baby boy with the darkest hair and the brightest eyes was placed in her arms. Then she knew, with wide eyes, still lungs, and a full heart; she knew.
If Death could die to ensure no hair was harmed on this boy’s head, she would.
But Death could not die.
And Life was cruel.
And that little boy could not be saved.
Widows. Widowers. Orphans.
But what do you call a mother who has their child taken from them?
Lost. You called a mother with no child: lost.
So, Death respected mothers.
And Death was lost.
———————————————————————————————————————
The Queen of Cups had always been burdened with the fluidity of time.
Her maestra had always been understanding of these burdens. From the moment she had taken the Queen in when she needed guidance the most, her maestra had understood and had never given up on her.
The rest of the coven had been the same.
Everyone of them sisters and aunts and mothers who loved her and helped her to the best of their abilities.
But it was still hard. Hard to wake up in the middle of a conversation and not know what she had been saying. Hard to know she would say and do things she wouldn’t remember. Hard to live in the now when so much of her was taken with the past and future.
On the good days, the Queen wanted for nothing, surrounded by love and family. On the bad days, she would beg her maestra for answers. Beg to know why she had been born with this burden of time. Her maestra’s response always brought both comfort and a faint feeling of foreboding.
“I believe every witch is born for a reason. Born when they are, with the abilities they have for a purpose greater than we could ever imagine. After all, witches are the greatest ties to nature and balance in the universe.” The Queen of Cups would ask if her maestra knew her own purpose, to which her mother in all but name would shrug and grin. “Part of the fun is not knowing. Who knows? Maybe my purpose for being born here and now is simply to love you.”
She always said it as if loving the Queen of Cups was the greatest purpose she could have ever been given.
It made her feel seen and known and so very loved .
So the Queen of Cups would vow to use her gifts to help her coven in any way she could, because surely that must be the reason she had been born with these abilities. Born to help and save her coven from their dark fate.
But no matter how loud or fierce she screamed and begged, time would not be changed. No one could be saved. And time just kept slipping through her fingers, never stopping. Not until they were all dead.
———————————————————————————————————————
…
…
Three of Swords would never experience her mother’s love;
Later, she would never even consider withholding her own;
Only for others to say she had none.
…
…
———————————————————————————————————————
The High Priestess’ fondest memories are with her mother.
Working side by side as she learned their family craft.
It’s her mother that she associates healing with.
Soft hands that wrapped injuries and held the broken together. Soothing tones that guided mothers through birth and lulled children to sleep. Compassionate eyes that always searched for those in need and a gentle heart that never turned anyone away.
It was her mother that taught her being kind didn’t mean being weak. For sometimes being kind was the hardest thing a person could be.
And even though the High Priestess would never know, it was her mother’s lessons that saved her years later. For when Three of Swords hunts, not much can turn her away. But for the kindness she had witnessed, Three of Swords had left the High Priestess be, knowing and hating in equal measure that kindness such as this was rare.
Regardless, it is the High Priestess’ mother’s love that saves her time and time again.
Even when she wishes to give up, it’s her mother’s voice that pushes her through the hardest years of her life.
“Trust yourself. Trust your instincts. Our family’s hands have healed for generations, it’s in your blood, whether you realize it or not.”
It’s her mother’s love that helps her keep fighting. It’s her mother’s love which makes her think that maybe, just maybe, she could still heal and be that kind person she had once been, if only she could find her center.
It would be decades after being bound that the High Priestess would truly heal someone once more. And she would laugh because, oh , of course, at the end of the day, it would be a lost mother’s love that drove the Priestess to finding herself again. She honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.
———————————————————————————————————————
The Knight of Wands had been a cautious child.
She had taken every warning her mother had thrown her way and written them upon her heart. Always looking over her shoulder, always expecting the end to be near.
The Knight isn’t sure when that changed. Doesn’t know when she stopped listening to the woman who only wanted her to be safe. Doesn’t know when she became something else. Something that was impulsive and reckless and so very angry at her mother.
She told herself there wasn’t a curse, that her mother just wanted to control her. Looking back, the Knight of Wands can recognize the moment the trust in her mother turned to hate. It’s the same time her mother’s fear turned into grim determination.
A month later, her mother would leave to travel her most famous tour, the one that branded her into history. The tour that ended in tragedy. A tragedy that ensured her mother’s legacy and song would never be forgotten.
Her mother had offered her a spot. A chance to travel with her, to chase the Road and the rescue she believed it could offer their family. But the Knight of Wands had been tired of chasing, tired of running from something she didn’t believe in.
Her mother had nodded at the Knight’s refusal, as if she hadn’t been expecting anything else. Her mother’s eyes had been sad, as if she knew it would be the last time they saw each other. And despite everything, in their last moments together, her mother gave her unconditional love and understanding.
“I never wanted this life for you. I never wanted you to live a life of fear. I want you to have adventure, to be fearless.” The Knight’s mother had kissed her brow. “I hope this tour will be enough to give it to you. And no matter what happens, please know that I have always and will always love you.”
Weeks later, the Knight of Wands would learn of her mother’s death. The regret she would carry was the ‘I love you’ she hadn’t said back. And the shame she could never shake was the hatred at her mother for leaving.
Years later, the Knight would let go of that hatred when Three of Swords truly explained the depth of love the Knight’s mother held for her.
It would be the knowledge of her mother’s love that allows the Knight of Wands to truly embrace the adventure. It would be her mother’s love that drives the Knight into action when faced with a chance to save a woman from her own mother’s hatred.
And at the end, her mother’s love would be the first thing the Knight of Wands felt when her Road led to Death.
———————————————————————————————————————
The Tower had more mothers than he knew what to do with.
Not that he remembered who all of them were, just flashes and feelings and knowing that he has always been loved.
There were the first two. Ancient and unyielding. Ready to burn the world for him. Always showing him he was loved. Never letting the cruelty of the world reach him, surrounding him in the type of love neither of them had ever received themselves.
Then there was the other. The one who wanted him so badly she built him a body from hopes and dreams. The fierceness of her love so familiar and similar to the first two that his soul chose her just as she chose him. And for that short period, he was loved once more.
And there was the last one. The mother who lost but loved him anyways. Who knew, deep down, he wasn’t her son but she still learned the differences and accepted him either way. The one who never pushed him to be more than he was and let him rediscover himself with her support.
The Tower felt their love, cherished it, and acknowledged how lucky he was to be loved in every lifetime. But with that love came fear. For where he went, disaster and death followed. Two mothers were torn apart because of him, one mother was dead, and one was lost, even if she didn’t fully realize it yet.
Sometimes he feels as though the world would be better if he just stopped collecting souls and finally moved on. At least then his mothers wouldn’t have to suffer so much. But just when the idea takes root…
“Don't you dare feel guilty about your talent.” Three of Swords tells him, words resonating within his many souls. “You survived, like witches have been doing for centuries. You saw an empty vessel and moved in. So you broke the rules! That's what kept you alive. That's what makes you special. That’s what makes you a witch.”
And he realizes. Despite it all, every last one of his mothers would do it all again if it meant he was alive and safe.
———————————————————————————————————————
Lilia has always known her covens.
Had always known both of her covens. The coven she had been adopted into and the coven she had been dragged into. She had been unable to save any in the first. She would be damned if she couldn’t save some of the second.
The Tarot trial hadn’t been the danger. The danger was the Salem Seven who managed to access the trial before they could escape back to the Road. The Seven who were threatening Lilia’s coven.
Alice who was gone but her presence lingering around each of them.
Jen who held so much potential if she just allowed herself to believe.
Billy who was lost but would find his way if he learned to trust.
And Agatha who only ever knew the love of Death and their son.
Agatha who was, in typical fashion, insulting her enemies hoping they would focus solely on her and make a mistake. “I don’t know why you’re all so mad. Big Deal! I killed your mothers!” The Seven hissed at the declaration and circled around them in agitation, unknowingly giving the coven an opening to the trial’s exit. “If anything, I did all of you a favor.”
The Salem Seven twitched in rage, but Lilia heard the truth in Agatha’s words. Agatha, who had spared the children of the women who had tried to kill her even as she herself was a child.
“Yes,” Lilia speaks up. “Perhaps you should thank Agatha. For you were never raised by women filled with the same hatred as Evanora Harkness.” Her coven looks at her in shock but Lilia faces the Seven with a determined grin on her face. “You had the chance to live peaceful lives but instead you allowed hatred to twist you beyond what nature intended. Because of that you are a threat to my coven. I failed once. I will not fail again. This is my purpose.” Lilia catches Agatha’s gaze. “This is my chance to show a mother’s love to someone who's never known it.”
Because that’s what the Three of Pentacles means. It means Coven. It can become Family .
So before the Salem Seven could descend on them or the others could stop her, Lilia’s magic filled the cards on the table.
A resounding blast pushed all of them back as the tarot elements filled the space around them following the command of the Queen of Cups. Fire and air holding the Seven at bay as earth and water guided Jen, Billy, and Agatha back to the Road.
And no matter how loud or fierce her coven shouted for her to join them, the Queen of Cups didn’t stop. Not until they were all safe and she was standing before Rio with a grin on her face as Death greeted the Queen with respect.