I read a lovely headcanon on tumblr about Capable looking after the children of the Citadel and growing to become something of a legend, and I just ran with it. (I'm unable to find the post now, so if you know where I can find it, please let me know!)

A million thanks to my beta arborgoldwine, who is a goddess herself.

She hadn't been his first choice. Not at all.

The gods and goddesses hold the world in balance, a delicate scale that could tip into disorder at any moment if not for the divine hands that keep it steady.

Many pray to The Splendid Angharad for her divine blessings. Some pray for strength from Our Lady Furiosa. A fair amount pray to Toast the Knowing for her wisdom, or mercy from Cheedo of the Underworld, and some even pray to the twin goddesses The Dag and The Keeper of the Seeds for a bountiful harvest.

But most boys his age give themselves in the name of Immortan, the God of War, currying his favor, and Nux had been one of them for the longest time.

Immortan is raw, unadulterated power, pumping energy like nitro in the veins. Most boys are drawn to him immediately, this god who decrees that those who seek their fortune must reach out and take it. Immortan accepts only the most perilous offerings before he bestows his blessings, and when he does, it is only for the most worthy.

Not many of his friends had believed The All-Mother, the goddess who watches over the children of the world, had any sort of power worth celebrating, because the last thing they ever wanted to be were children.

Nux had been a young boy at the time, just short of 15, but still, he had considered himself a man.

He doesn't even remember why they'd been so deep in the woods that night. It was a stupid dare, he thinks, to see which one of them would be the first to be snatched away by the night terrors that lurked in the shadows. Something to please their god. An act of bravery and wildness. They had stripped themselves of their shirts, each of them displaying red webs of welts upon their backs from the self-flagellation done in his name, penance for their sins.

Except nobody told them that facing beasts with tens of arms and blood-red eyes and snarling mouths was so very different from hearing the tales of their existence.

They had abandoned him, all of them scrambling over each other to get out of the dark woods. The boys had grabbed at each other, ankles and limbs, canines sinking into flesh, sharp elbows in the eye, anything to cause somebody else to falter, sabotage, distract, a closer target for the night terrors so that they alone could reach safety. (He does not fault them for this now; it is what they'd be taught, to never look farther than the reach of their arms.)

He had been the one to take the most hits, thrown to the end of the line like fresh meat for the lions, and they never looked back, and he had realized that no, he did not want to die. In his desperation, he had fallen to his knees and jammed his fingers together like interlocked pistons and prayed for his god to spare him. But Immortan had turned his back on him, laughed in the face of his cowardice, Mediocre, and Nux could do nothing but curl in on himself as the terrors drew closer and closer.

But they never came, and that's when She appeared.

She was stunning, all blazing glory and brightness that chased away the terrors. Her footsteps were light as She approached, as if She were hardly walking on land at all.

"Come," She said, holding out Her hand. Capable the All-Mother, with hair of flames and burning coal eyes, a guiding beacon in the dark. The sight of Her offered hand, a pale spot in the darkness, nearly brought him to tears.

He had been almost too stunned to move.

Tentatively, he curled his fingers over the tips of Hers; at the time it seemed fragile, to touch Her like that, a mortal holding onto somebody as shining as Her. She had led him carefully through the woods, back home while he trailed after Her, his hand clasped protectively in Hers. He was not afraid; where She walked, the night terrors dared not go, cowering away from Her light. When they had reached the edge of the woods safely and he turned to Her, She was already gone.

He had hurried to the Temple of the Goddesses, to the priestesses that work in their name. It had still been the dead of night, and at first, they had regarded him with wary eyes, skeptical of this boy who had, until moments ago, followed Immortan unflinchingly. But when he spoke of what had happened, of Capable the All-Mother rescuing him from the dark, they must have seen it, the look of pure veneration in his wide blue eyes.

"She saved you," said one of the priestesses, an old woman with wrinkled skin and a kind smile, "so that you may know the beauty of what it is To Live. Life, so precious. Do not let Her gift go to waste." He nodded like his neck had gone weak.

She saved him. And he would dedicate the rest of his wretched life to pleasing Her.

It happened as easily as that.

At first, Immortan does not notice his blasphemy. Nux is not surprised; Immortan did not acknowledge his existence when he'd been a slavish boy begging for something as simple as a look, and Immortan would surely not notice him now that he's placed his faith elsewhere. This he does not regret. Immortan had already cast him aside when he had deemed him mediocre, and he will not turn back. That, in itself, was a blessing in disguise.

It isn't until Nux sweeps away the altar he had erected in his name does Immortan show his wrath. The God of War tries to punish him divinely: a sharp object out of place from where he'd last put it, a gale strong enough to knock over his ladder while he's fixing the roof, falling icicles during the wintertime that just barely miss his head.

But Capable the All-Mother is there, granting her divine protection. She combats Immortan's demand for blood and shatters any attempt Immortan makes upon his life. (Nux does not fear for his mortal life so much as her well-being.) But Capable is brave and fierce, a pillar of strength. She protects him; he is Hers now.

(That is when he learns Capable isn't the only one to stand against Immortan. All the Goddesses do. Together they stand, bonded in Sisterhood. They pick up the pieces in the wake of Immortan, and grant life where there would be nothing but waste.)

In place of Immortan's altar, he erects another in Her name instead. It is simple, and rather slapdash, cobbled together with strips of gauze and little trinkets he believes the All-Mother favors. A small goddess idol crafted by one of the priestesses in Her likeness. Little bells that chime a sweet tinkly tune. Candles made of ivory wax that he leaves guttering throughout the night. He wishes he had the means to build the most splendid altar for his Goddess, to express his admiration for Her, but whenever he kneels before it and raises his clasped hands, he can feel the pleased warmth of Her laughter wrap around him like a blanket.

O, Capable! Blessed Capable! Glorious Capable! Glory be, You grant me life! You are Hope, and You are Light! By Your hands, I am whole!

This is something he had never received from Immortan, this warm affirmation that he is not wrong in where he's chosen to place his faith. She is grateful, and so he is grateful, and he can never forget.

He grows, and he prays.

He recognizes that he is quieter than he'd been as a boy. Perhaps it is from the company he keeps now, mostly the old priestesses at the temple. He is saddened to see that many of his former friends have gone on as unwitting sacrifices to Immortan's will. (He fears it is that alone that keeps Immortan upon his divine throne.) Though perhaps they had never been quite friends, he hopes that they, at least, have found what they were searching for, even if he himself does not believe in it anymore.

Capable the All-Mother weeps for every soul She cannot save – he can feel it – and Nux is touched by the extent of Her Love for even the smallest of lives. It is a swift reminder of the gift She's granted him, one he will not let be in vain. He will prove time and time again that he is worthy of it.

Of course, he doesn't care to speak of the dull ache in his chest whenever She grants her favor upon others. It is like an animal, a beast, growling savagely in his chest. He knows it's selfish. The All-Mother's love is for everybody, and he would never, never wish to cage her, never limit her reach, but still he revels in her every smile, every loving gaze She blessedly bestows upon him. (Capable never has many words for him. It's not like how it was with Immortan. Words are too ephemeral, too fleeting to convey the extent of what he feels for Her.) But he loves Her enough to want Her to spread Her warmth in the way She wishes, and his thoughts are the silly thoughts of a mortal, and She will forgive him for his human mind.

He directs his savage energies elsewhere, so that the beast does not consume him whole. When Morsov the shopkeeper spirals into drunken depression, he asks Capable the All-Mother to grant the man Her peace. When one of the youngest town boys is reported missing for two days, he prays to the All-Mother for his safe return. She does not answer all his prayers, and She cannot, but She listens, and whenever She does answer his quiet pleas, it is enough. It is enough to hear Morsov say that while he is struggling, something keeps him holding on. It is enough to see the missing boy returned to his family a day later safe and unharmed. It is enough, that they, too, now know the power She possesses, and only then does the savage growling in his chest dull to a bearable rumble.

"You love Her," one of the temple priestesses says to him while he is there cleaning the altars. She doesn't say in what way, but when she looks at him, he thinks she can tell.

Nux simply smiles enigmatically and nods.

(He hears the stories, the rumors that The Goddesses were nothing more than Mere Girls who had ascended into Godhood after leaving behind the wretched wasteland. They had led tormented lives, more than one should ever bear, their bodies shredded while the purity of their souls remained. He doesn't know how far to believe these stories, because Girls with tortured souls just as easily become witches as they become goddesses. Perhaps it is by sheer willpower alone, the need to save other tortured beings from similar fates, that propels their souls into greater heights. Or perhaps goddesses and witches are one in the same.)

Nux is 25 when he first takes ill.

It starts off as nothing more than a cough, a slight pinching of his windpipe. He ignores it, waving it off as a simple cold. But the cough quickly turns into headaches, which turn into difficulty breathing, which turn into fevers in the night. It isn't until he coughs flecks of blood into his palm that he realizes something is terribly wrong.

He's confined to his bed for days at a time. He curls up underneath the sheets because he does not want Her to see him like this, weak as he is. (He is always, always at odds with this need for Her.) Had he still been a follower of Immortan, he would have been beside himself, suffering in such a way that holds no glory.Sputtering out soft. (Perhaps Immortan's retaliation has finally taken effect.) But now he just wants to disappear, because he would sooner throw himself off the nearest peak than to upset Her.

He loses himself in fevers and nightmares. It is a pain that sears at his nerves, alights him from the inside out. His lungs have become burdensome things, and he struggles just to keep his eyes open for short bursts of time. Living is agony, but still he tries to hang on for Her, because She gave him back this life, and he will not throw it away.

He never tries to pray to any of the Goddesses for their guidance, not Our Lady Furiosa for strength nor Toast the Knowing for a clearer mind, not Cheedo of the Underworld for mercy, and Capable the All-Mother especially. He hopes She will forgive him, but this he needs to battle on his own, to prove his resolve. He needs to prove he is strong.

But She comes to him one night while he's hot and shaking with fever. At first, he can hardly believe his eyes. He has only ever seen Her once before ten years ago in the woods; or perhaps She's nothing more than a hallucination, a trick of his fevered mind, but Her touch is soothing on his heated skin, stroking across his brow and skull, gentlest of gentle. She doesn't say anything, and he couldn't possibly ask for more. Having Her here, with him, is enough. He would endure this pain ten times over just to feel Her touch. She awaits.

In the afternoon, when he is awake again and certain of where he is, She is gone.

Every breath he takes is labored, forced gulps of air and wet rattles. He has visions, disjointed and strange, of lapping at pools of chrome with his tongue, of pockets full of glass shards, of pink and orange skies, of wheels that spin fast, of firefirefire that eats him alive. He knows they are simply a product of his weakened state. They are not real. But, oh, how they stick to the back of his eyelids like a memory he cannot shake.

And then, one day, it's gone. The sweating, the visions, the pain. All of it. Gone. The fever leaves his body like a cooling spring. Nothing hurts, nothing aches, and he nearly sobs in relief, because he did not remember what it felt like not to hurt. His body feels weightless, lighter than he's ever known it, and when he opens his eyes, he sees why. Capable is there, gently cradling his head in her lap.

"Sweet boy," She murmurs, smiling down at him. "Are you ready?"

He nods, even though he does not understand what She asks of him, and he does not need to know, because no matter what it is, he will do it for Her gladly.

She traces Her fingertips across his normally dry lips; Her touch feels electric, thrumming in his blood from the top of his skull right down to his toes. "You've done so well in your mortal life. Where that ends, so too shall another begin."

He looks at Her, brows knitting in confusion. What does She mean by— But Capable doesn't lie, never lies, which means—

"I'm gone?" he whispers fearfully.

She nods.

It is then that he realizes he is not where he knows. He moves off Her lap, quickly, quickly, and oh, surely he's offended Her, but he can't help it; he doesn't deserve Her touch, not after failing Her so miserably.

"I'm sorry," he despairs, because he knows death upsets her so, and to know that he had died so pitifully pains him to the core. "I tried to live— For you— All— I tried—" No matter what he says, he cannot find the words to convey the depths of his sorrow. She had asked of him only one thing, just one, and still he hadn't been capable of something as simple as living. He wonders why Cheedo of the Underworld has not appeared to collect his wretched soul, why Capable is here in her stead, because he cannot bear to see the look of disappointment in his Goddess's coal eyes, the blaze of it as She casts him aside once and for all.

"You lived," She soothes gently, when She sees how upset he is, and there is no disappointment in Her eyes. "You have given everything and I could not have asked for more. You have sparked a flame where there was no warmth. You have nurtured where there was no love. Now you are here with me, and you will never be alone." Her fingers ghost over his brow. "My boy. Sweet Nux," She says, and there is no way he is able to miss the affection in Her tone. "Will you join me?"

He couldn't have heard Her right. He is only Nux the Mediocre, a silly boy who had lost his way in the woods years ago. That She has chosen to Lift him, he cannot believe it. Water prickles behind his eyes. "I'm… claimed?" he breathes softly, because he never thought he would ever have this, this sense of belonging.

She smiles, and it is so radiant, he wishes he could live in this moment forever. He would gladly give up everything, mind, body, and soul, so he could hold onto this.

"Come," She says, holding out Her hand to him.

He tucks his fingers against Her palm, and that same thrill of touching Her, of Her touching him, shoots up his spine. She weaves their fingers together, gentle but firm, a promise, and when She kisses him, it is the happiest he's ever known.

Together, they walk down the road to Eternity.

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