Fantasy Strong Bonds (Starcaller x GreySwan)

[Starcaller]

GreySwan

The Fox Den Inn, Road to Silverhold

"She's grown quite some, hasn't she?"

The ashen haired man asked Jareth as he sat there, with a mug in hand, watching the girl from a distance. The tavern was quite crowded that evening and she was extraordinary at making new friends over a mug. Indeed she had grown and Jareth was simply swelling with pride. He could hardly believe she was the child that he'd found on the muddy, narrow street, all as hell broke loose around the two of them. Even now, the moment painted itself across the canvas of his mind, pulling him from the reality of the here and now back to a place that was so far and yet, close enough for him to reach.

Jareth and Bastian were old friends, going way, way back. Yet as Jareth traveled so much, they didn't always have the chance to sit down like they did now. It was by a happening of fate that they found each other here, in the middle of a long road to and fro. Of the two of them, Bastian was the older one and it showed, his hair having grown a light shade of gray, promising to be white within the following years. In comparison, Jareth only started to show a few graying hairs within his trimmed beard as well as within the mane of long hair that hung upon his shoulders, though there were many years to come before he would look like Bastian.

"You never told me, where did you find her?" The man asked again, noticing the way Jareth had drifted from the moment, a mere attempt to tug him back into the conversation that they'd had moments earlier. Jareth, suddenly jerked from his reverie, only turned his head to his long-time friend, Bastian, green eyes studying his visage before he gripped on his mug, which was almost empty by now.

"Long story." Jareth responded to Bastian, a grin plastering itself across his lips. The gray-haired man nodded, scanning the crowd to spot the tavern maid who had been ever so busy fetching mugs to keep all her patrons happy. "Another round, will you?" Bastian called out, and her pretty red locks moved with the motion of her nodding head, which meant she'd taken his order in mind. Bastian turned to Jareth again with a smile.

"Well, I've got time, so start spilling." He said, to which Jareth found himself chuckling. "Fair enough. But it'll cost you a few rounds. Ten years ago, I was in Dornwich, getting supplies for the next day's road..."

Dornwich, ten years before...

Jareth buckled the last leather strap to yet another bag that he'd tied to his horse. Ningarnet had been his faithful steed for the last five years now, and she only turned her head briefly as she'd felt him place another weight on her. With a gentle pat, Jareth produced a carrot from one of the pouches strapped to his leather tunic, extending it to the brown muzzle that was more than excited to begin eating it. "Good girl." He cooed, smiling as he gave the mare a gentle pat on the muzzle. It wouldn't be long now before the two of them would set off on the next leg of their journey. There was still a good way to Greywald, one of the larger hubs of civilization in the Westlands.

It was a moment later that Jareth wandered off again, leaving to go and fetch the other goods that he needed for the trip. There were still shops to visit and Jareth also began feeling hungry, so a stop by the tavern to get something to eat and drink was on the list. Not to mention there were quite a few people from whom he could possibly learn interesting things. And Ningarnet could use the rest, too. The man doubted she would object to staying in Dornwich a while longer. With that in mind, Jareth soon made for the tavern, decided to get a stomach full before anything else.

It was an hour later, or so, when he and the other patrons of the small tavern had heard the sounds coming from outside. Horns resounding clear through the noises made by people who yelled and shouted, all as a bell rang the warning with despair. It had been ringing for quite a while, yet only now they could hear it clearly, mixed into the cacophony of shouts and screams and clanging of swords. And while the other men in the tavern cowered, trying to find places to hide, Jareth didn't. Whatever was happening outside, he had to get to Ningarnet and make it out of there. Pulling his leather hood over his head, the man unsheathed his short sword and made for the door, proceeding to exit prudently. Taking in the world around himself, Jareth quickly oriented, hurrying down a narrow street right across from the tavern. The screams and shrieks and noise were louder here, and in the haste, he'd not failed to notice corpses strewn across the street, and by the sounds of it, there would be many more to join them. These must have been the raiders that the men in the tavern spoke of. It seemed as though their fears had come true and Dornwich had fallen to a grim fate.

With the mud giving way beneath his boots, with the sounds of terror ringing in his ears, Jareth turned left on another small, narrow street, trying his best to avoid a confrontation. Somewhere ahead of him, a man ran across, trying to reach safety, though within a moment that felt like ages, Jareth witnessed an arrow lodge itself in the back of his skull, poking out through his eye and causing him to stumble forward a few paces and fall, face first, into the mud. It had made Jareth stop dead in his tracks, though within a few moments the archer who'd shot the arrow came into view, and turned his head right towards Jareth. The latter had barely a few seconds to react, to roll out of the way as the archer swiftly took a shot at him. Jareth found himself in the open now, face to face with the archer who was preparing a second shot, one which he heard as it wheezed by his ear, a few inches shy of striking his head as he continued to move, knowing that standing in one place while facing an archer was being target practice. His eyes had been fixed on his opponent, not daring to leave them as he continued to move. Jareth suddenly felt something creep up behind himself, and it was only a second between him moving out of the way and a blade cutting through the air. With a firm grip on his own sword, the man took a moment to regain balance before leaping into a brutal attack, each of his strikes being parried by the attacker, all as the archer tried to aim.

Jareth moved in such a way so that the other body was between him and the archer, thus making his attempt at shooting even harder, if not impossible. He parried a few sword strikes, deflecting them expertly before dodging one aimed directly to his neck and moving in closer, taking advantage of his significantly shorter blade to close the distance, careful for his opponent not to stab him. Each moment Jareth moved closer, his opponent stepped back, and it was within the moment when opportunity arose that Jareth shoved him, making him stumble back and fall against the archer as he went for the death strike, slitting the men's throats swiftly and rushing away from the scene, not wanting to attract more attackers. Though as he turned left on another narrow street, Jareth found himself facing a scene that caused his blood to run cold. An attacker brandishing a blood stained weapon in front of a scared little girl, no doubt terrorizing her before he would end her life. For a brief moment, Jareth almost felt compelled to pretend he saw nothing and yet, a part of him immediately berated him for such an attitude. Within moments, he hurried to the scene, attacking the invader furiously, leaving him no proper time to react between every sword hit that aimed to put him down. And indeed, the attacker soon fell, having failed to parry a strike that went right for his neck. With heavy breath, with sweat, mud and blood sprinkled across his face, Jareth turned to face the young soul, his heart shattering as soon as he saw that look on her eyes. Oh, what a poor soul.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, the first question coming to mind as he turned his head to look in the distance, to see if no attacker would appear.

 

[GreySwan]

She did not know how it happened. Even standing within all the bloodshed and the danger and the cries of dying men and animals, she did not know how it happened. Only that she was in the middle of it, and that she was all alone.

It had been a market day. Market day was the best day because it meant a retreat from the endless chores of the tiny farm on the outskirts of Dornwich. There were still chores, of course. Morning since the first hint of dawn had been spent collecting eggs, feeding chickens and geese and rabbits, easing the two cows into place so they could do their part for their breakfast and lunch. Checking the garden, shooing off the endless rodents, scolding the lazy barn cats who were not earning their keep. That was every morning, market day or not. But after the chores... That was when they got to leave the farm, leave their normal boring lives, even for a few hours. It was like a holiday.

That was how Edeline found herself astride the back of their aging old draft horse Kettle happily taking in the sights and sounds as they came into the tiny town that might as well have been the capital city for the nine-year-old girl. For most of her life, she was a smaller than average, sun burnt farm girl on a much smaller than average farm. Never having quite enough, never doing anything of note aside from hitting crows with her sling. But on market days, she was a knight on her steed riding to the castle. Not even having to stay at the stall while her mother haggled and her brother flirted could dampen her spirits.

The haggling had taken much longer than it usually did, however. It had been a bad year for leeks overall, and while some of theirs had come in just fine, many were barely fit to be in a soup stock. But her mother was still insisting full price for them, and a higher one for the good ones, because everyone had a bad year for leeks and didn’t that mean they were more scarce? And her brother Joss was off making eyes at the woman who ran the chandler’s store who was five years older than him and a wife and mother besides and... It was just so boring...! And any time she said as much, all she got was a pinch on her ear and a “Lin, be good!” hissed from her mother.

While the lively and heated discussion on leeks and their value continued, Lin wandered a short distance, not wanting to waste her market day on listening to all that nonsense. She did not stray too far, she could still see the shop. But she could also see the fancy bakery with its iced buns she’d never gotten to taste, and the cobbler’s, whose shoes she’d never been bought. And perhaps her secret favourite, which had become a secret after her brother has teased her mercilessly when she’d told him. The blacksmith shop. All the gleaming swords of every shape and length. The daggers with the golden, twisting handles and the arrowheads with the sharp barbs on them like the teeth of a jackfish. They’d be bought by guards and princes and knights and heroes and used to slay dragons, which her brother Joss said didn’t exist but she knew had to. Otherwise who would kidnap maidens?

There was a man in the blacksmith who was testing a sword, though with his belly and patchy beard he certainly did not look like a hero. But he seemed to know what he was doing with the blade. He seemed to shift it around in his hand, making the point circle, testing its weight. He took a stance with spread feet, raising it to meet an invisible foe. He trust forward with an air of purpose that fascinated Lin. Ultimately he left the sword with the disappointed blacksmith and went into the bakery, but the girl was sufficiently intrigued.

She found a stick in the gutters, fallen off someone’s cart of firewood, and adopted that strong, wide stance. She shifted back on the balls of her feet, making her long braid bounce against her back and her tongue stick out as she struggled to maintain her balance. It was too heavy but she did not mind. Dark oilspot eyes were entirely focused on the imaginary enemy in front of her as she swung the stick through the air, making it sing. She was fighting a dragon. Or perhaps an evil wizard. But she was definitely winning.

“What on earth are you doing, Mouse?”

The break in concentration caused her to drop the stick to the ground, tripping over it and landing herself in the dirt. She could hear Joss’s laughter as she pushed her dress down, hopping up and skinning her shins on the stupid wood in the process.

“You looked ridiculous. Who were you trying to be, a drunk city guard? Mother will kill you for ruining your good dress.” Tall and broad and turning thirteen, he was near a man now and acted far too much like one, even when adopting a shrill mocking voice. “What would you father think, Edeline? Come on, we’re going soon.”

She followed him, pouting nonetheless. What she wanted to say, both to him and her mother, was that she was starting to doubt that they had a father at all. She had never seen him. Even Joss didn’t remember him at all. When their mother made mention of this mysterious man, they all made a face, either disbelieving or sympathetic, which made Lin think they had never met him either. Her mother had not been from Dornwich. She did not quite look like anyone in the village, either. She was much darker, of which her children had inherited a half measure. Her long, wavy hair was as black as night where it wasn’t streaked with grey, and her eyes almond-shaped and just as dark. She was often saying she had been a great beauty when she had met their father. But what their father looked like she had never said. Only became irritated when they asked.

Joss had been dragging her back to the shop by the hand when the bells sounded. At first she had no idea what was going on. She had heard them ring during festivals, but this was an ordinary day. And then... Then the screams had come. And... And it had happened too fast to make sense of it. Only that one moment her brother had been running with her in his arms... And in the next there had been a flash of steel and a blinding pain.

When she opened her eyes, maybe a moment later but maybe longer, she was on the ground. “Joss...?” She pushed his arm, which had fallen over her. It felt strangely heavy. He did not respond. “Joss, get up...” But he did not. He could not. She could barely see through the blood in her eyes but she saw enough to know he would never get up again. Like the pigs slaughtered each autumn. Someone had slaughtered him. And those someones were all over. Looking around, tears starting to clear her stinging eyes, she looked for her mother. She too was on the ground. The white in her hair was now red, as was her best dress. Her leeks were trampled into the ground and the grocer’s head was with them. Lin did not stay to see more. She could not.

She ran. As fast as she could. She was a good runner despite her bare feet. Tattered dress and loosening braid flapping behind her, arrows singing in the air with a far sharper sound than her stick had made. Until she was grabbed. Thrown against a wall. Steel in front of her that had so fascinated her moments ago now made her cower. Made her pray. Made her pity all the crows and rats she’d killed with her sling and stones and made her wish she could take it all back. But she would be with her mother. She would be with Joss. Maybe with her father...

But she did not die like a rat in the garden. Something, someone... Killed him. And was now towering over her... He was not from the village. She had never seen him before. And his sword glistened with just as much blood as the first man’s. She had to do something. Anything at all.

Lunging forward, she grabbed the long dagger out of the dead man’s belt and sprung back into that wide stand, brandishing it forward as if it were truly a sword and not an embellished dinner knife. “Get... Get b-back!” Even to herself, her voice sounded shrill and fearful. And she could not seem to stop her tears. At least they were keeping the blood from her eyes. She could not seem to stop bleeding. “I’m warning you, get back! I'll k-kill you dead!”

 

[Starcaller]

How terrible it must have been for a child to see all those horrors, all the world falling around her, all those dead people, Jareth did not dare to think. No, he could hardly bring himself to even believe that a child had been subjected to all of this. The genuine terror in the little girl's eyes was breaking him, bit by bit, even when he knew that this was no time to be shocked. Enemies could arise any moment now, and he had to leave, yet he couldn't bring himself to abandon the little girl there, not even as she threatened him with something that was only barely larger than a regular dinner knife. He was rather shocked at how brave she seemed, even though he knew it was just an effect of fear. Deep down, Jareth felt happy, relieved that he'd saved her, yet now he was all the more conflicted and didn't know what to do. Should he leave her there, she'd surely fall prey to another attacker and she might not be so lucky that time around. And yet... where could he take her? Caring for a child surely wasn't in any of his plans for the next ten years at the very least.

Yet as he debated with himself, he could hear the sounds of approaching people, and it would've been a safe bet to say they were enemies, surely looking for any survivors to slay. Jareth had only a few moments to decide and against his best judgement, the man lowered himself, crouching in front of the little girl and setting the sword out of her field of view if only for a moment.

"Listen, we have to get out of here. If you don't want to end up like them, you'll have to trust me." He said, big words that he knew probably meant nothing to the terrified girl, yet the only words that came to his mind then. There was a moment when he looked her straight in the eyes, his jade green ones not expressing the range of feelings and emotions that swirled through him as he watched her. Luckily, he didn't fail to notice the presence that attempted, though ultimately failed, to creep behind him, and he turned in time to block a hit of an axe swing, the sheer force of it causing his blade to escape his grip and fly through the air, sticking itself into the mud a few considerable feet away from his reach. "Shit..." He muttered, the savage who was now standing before him staring him in the eyes with a bloodthirsty grin, brandishing rotten teeth painted in blood, red and fresh, leaving no doubts about the fact that he bit at the very least into one human being during the attack.

Jareth's large body had moved into position, hiding the smaller frame of the girl behind himself, signalling for her to stay put whilst he reached for the dagger at the back of his waist. His opponent wasn't nearly as patient as Jareth would've wished, and soon the man found himself in need to dodge an incoming axe swing that aimed to leave him without a head, stepping away and trying to lead the attacker away from the little girl. Armed with his sharp dagger, Jareth moved out of the way of another hit with swift steps, almost graciously dancing away while awaiting for the right moment to strike back. The footwork was tiring, yet the man had no other option but to continue dodging, all as he kept the little girl within his field of view, to make sure that she was, well, as safe as she could be. To manage to grab his sword from the mud and properly fight back would've been ideal and yet, for now, he had to make do and rely on his agility. He watched his opponent with wary eyes, shifting his weight in await of the next axe strike which wheezed through the air just above his head. From there on, Jareth found himself in need to dodge again and again, to distance himself from the attacking man while he held onto the dagger, not getting a proper chance to move in.

With a kick in the mud, Jareth attempted to throw some of it into the other man's eyes, however, the failure of the attempt almost left him weak in the way of a strike that would've cut him clean in two should he not have leapt back. And as he touched back down on the ground, he felt it slip beneath his boots and soon the world moved around him, and he fell on his back. Jareth rolled away as the attacker struck with all his might attempting to split his chest open, axe embedding itself into the ground, giving the man time to stand back to his feet and finally make his swift move, tossing the dagger haphazardly. Aimed at the jugular, it struck deep enough to draw blood, yet not enough to make his opponent fall. The axe finally dislodged itself from the ground, just in time as Jareth picked up his sword once more. He found himself parrying again and again, all as his opponent's strength waned from the loss of blood. Jareth flourished his short blade within a moment of break, preparing for the end of the fight.

And it came swiftly, as Jareth stepped aside from another vicious attack, spinning in place before delivering a clean, finishing hit, so brutal that his attacker's head ended up rolling in the mud. Without as much as a second though, Jareth hurried to the little girl, hauling her careful for the dagger that she still held onto, deciding to not waste one more second in that place. Dornwich had already started burning.

 

[GreySwan]

The man before her, strange and bloodied, had no reason to tell the truth. But all the same, she realized he had little motive to lie to her. Had he wanted to, her head would be on the ground already. His sword could probably reach her little neck in no more time than a beat of her heart took. Instead he was offering her safety. Why...? All her life she had been cautioned against strangers, terrified with stories of warlocks and monsters carrying off children to an unimaginable fate. But here she was in the village she so adored, turned into a hellscape in a matter of moments. What choice did she have if she wanted to survive? None at all. And she had decided when she had grabbed up that dagger that she did not want to die. Not like this, not like a crow in a garden.

As steel met steel again, Lin could not help but cower, scrambling back as the two men fought. He was strong, this stranger with the green eyes. Knew how to handle a blade far more than the fat man in the blacksmith shop who may well be dead right now. All the same, this was not what a hero looked like. The stories people told never mentioned there being so much blood involved in the practise of chivalry and vanquishing evil. She was about to bolt before she saw the silver of the axe swinging towards her... And that poor excuse for a hero putting himself between her and danger.

He was protecting her. She had no idea why. She did not know him. He was not her family. Though she supposed she had none of that left. Even if she ran now, ran fast and far enough that she escaped all that... What hope did she have alone on the roads? A barefoot young girl with nothing but a tattered dress and a dagger. She was old enough to be aware of the scary stories adults shared. There were more things to fear in the world than dragons. On the other hand... What assurance did she have that this man was not a dragon on two legs?

Dragon or not, despite the terror the girl was still fascinated with how he moved. The sword seemed to be an extension of his body, his power. But then... In one misstep he was on the ground and Lin’s breath hitched painfully in her throat.

She should run. She should save her own life. But... But he had not run when he had seen her. And where would she run? Towards more of the same? No... She stayed, feet planted in the mud, blade raised. Ultimately unnecessary. A small sound escaped her lips when the entire head tumbled into the muck. A sick and scared sound. This man was dangerous. Though he had offered to protect her. But... But people did not do things for free...

But she would still have the dagger. She held it close to her chest as he swept her off her feet, drawing a yelp of surprise from her. He took her up without a second thought, without fear that from here slitting his throat would be a flick of a wrist, even one as small as hers. But still he took her.

Part of her did not want to look, but a larger part could not help but peek out from his arms at the chaos of the once tranquil and peaceful village. The regal glass in the fancy bakery was broken and strewn on the iced cakes inside, and perhaps it was her imagination but she thought that was the bearded man’s form laying in the doorway. The chandler’s wife was nowhere to be seen, but the building was alight with much more flame than their candles ever produced. And the grocer... Here she finally turned her face into the stranger’s shoulder, unable to look. He smelled of dirty leather and death but it was better than seeing her mother and brother laying there like slaughtered animals.

“Where are you taking me?” Her voice was so small she would not be surprised if he had not heard her. She was not sure how useful the question was when she had no assurance he would not simply lie to her. Say he was taking her away to a castle for the rest of her days to be swaddled in silk and waiting on. And then... And then do the things the grownups warned of in hushed voices. She gripped the dagger to her chest the way she still slept with her stuffed mouse made of rags. It was safe at home in her bed under the blanket. She would never see her home again, would she...? How did this differ from death...?

 

[Starcaller]

He moved swiftly, yet did not run. Not while holding a child with one arm and a blade with the other. He rushed, really, through the streets, choosing to ignore the corpses and the bodies that still drew breath, agonizing as it may have been. There was no time for it, for any of it, not when the smoke began turning into clouds that threatened to suffocate any normal human. Jareth barely managed to avoid a weak hand that attempted to grab at his leg, no doubt trying to ask for help, Another few feet away, a woman missing part of a leg crawled towards the body of a man, trying to desperately reach him. The fires grew stronger and higher around the two of them, all as the chaos and cacophony of screams and shouts had moved to the other side of the village. One or two stragglers still roamed through, looting and killing the ones who struggled on the ground, but those, Jareth managed to avoid expertly, each time hiding away behind a building and pressing his back against its wall, holding the little girl tight in his arms and praying that she would not make a sound.

He'd heard the little girl's words, though for long moments he couldn't quite produce an answer. Where was he taking her? The most sensible one would've been that he was taking her to safety, but where in the world was it safe nowadays? He'd hand her to authorities, he knew as much, and so, he could as well have avoided answering her at all. Did she even know where the next hub of civilization was?

"Wherever we're going, it's better than here." He managed to say, striding with ease through the last part of the village as he tried to remember, from mind, of the location of the stables. It was soon that Ningarnet came into view, the poor mare just as terrified as one would've expected, neighing noisily and struggling to escape her binds as she felt someone approaching. Luckily, her eyes and Jareth's met and the horse easily recognized him, which helped, really, in quieting her down. Jareth unceremoniously hauled the little girl up on the horse, making her sit sideways as he easily untied the harness that kept the equine tied to a post, though, before he could properly climb upon her back, a couple of arrows wheezed by, scaring both him and Ningarnet, who quickly sought the easiest way out of harm's way, darting in the direction while Jareth almost found himself falling off her back. Luckily, he managed to hold himself in the saddle, one hand now holding the girl's body against himself while one held onto the harness, tugging and trying to slow the horse down, to make her go in the direction he wanted. With three attackers now behind them, Jareth and the steed shot right through the village's open gates, hooves rapping against the ground loudly as the gallop took to the long, dirty road flanked by small farms and arable lands. In Ningarnet's wild gallop, Jareth could barely witness a savage adding another head to a line of impaled ones, a macabre display surely meant to terrify.

Such cursed fate befell Dornwich, the small and peaceful village that now burned at their back, soon becoming just a wildfire in the distance while the woodlands pictured themselves upon the horizon, green, dark and seemingly endless, a sea of trees that hid dangers and wonders behind its curtains. Jareth didn't speak, didn't feel like speaking and didn't want to bother the little girl. He couldn't begin to imagine what went through her mind, through her poor little heart, and all he knew was that all the words in the world couldn't ease the pain and suffering that she was in. He chose silence, instead, allowing her to mourn in peace while making sure she sat steady upon Ningarnet's back as the faithful mare continued her gallop towards the forests. Jareth knew they would have to spend the night there, the sun was already way past its highest point and was quickly descending behind the tree line that grew ever taller the more they approached it.

By the time the sun was at one of its lower points, Ningarnet had already made it past the first wall of trees, and Jareth's tug made her ease onto the trodden path, the thick tree tops blocking out most of whatever sun light there still was. It would be soon that the nightly predators would come out, and so, Jareth was now mainly focused on finding a place to camp for the night. Luckily, not far off the path, there was an opening to a small clearing. There were, so far, no signs of a running water nearby, not a stream and not even a lake of sorts. The steed needed to rest and soon, Jareth pulled her to a halt, right in the middle of the clearing, a suitable spot for the fire that would keep them warm that night. Dismounting, he extended his arms to the little girl almost instantly, offering to help her get down.

 

[GreySwan]

Lin could not argue with her rescuer’s response. Fire was springing up everywhere like deadly orange flowers, catching easily on the thatched roofs and straw-filled walls. Soon there would be nothing left to be better than, she imagined. She did not have a choice in the matter. Or rather, she had one... A single dark thought about the blade clutched against her chest... But no. No. Had she chosen that she would have already. She would have run from this man and into more certain danger. She did not know where she was going, but it was better than there. It had to be.

That was assuming she was not thrown off the wild horse and broke her neck. At the upset she screamed and grabbed as tightly as she could to the saddle horn with one hand, refusing to let go of the dagger. It seemed to be enough, and in a moment he was behind her and they were off. Still shaking, she did not loosen her grip, tightening it to the point of pain. She had only ever been on their old draft horse, who had never moved this fast in his life. She wondered if he was dead, too...

She kept her eyes shut for most of the ride out of the village, though at the noise of the raider’s work she opened them briefly and immediately wished she had not. Some of the heads she recognized. Many were far too distorted with blood and dirt and death to look anything like they had in life.

Once the horrors had been left at their back, safe the smell of smoke, her dark eyes opened again but stared only straight forward without truly seeing what was in front of her. She made no sound, no gesture, save her crying. Eventually her sobs stopped and were replaced by only silence and stillness. Once the dark came, it was only silence. Her chest felt as if it were burning as her village had. She did not know what to say or do or think or feel. She only knew she was alive, but she did not know how to be in the wake of this horrific day. She was not convinced that the sun would ever rise again, and did not know what she would do if it did.

Eventually the horse stopped and the big man dismounted. She was not sure why. This was not a village. There was not even a farm around. When arms were extended to her, she only stared blankly for far too many moments, unclear what he was offering. Finally some part of her brain pieced it together, and she finally pried her stiff hand from the horn. Unable to keep her grip on it any longer, the dagger slipped from her other hand and fell harmlessly to the ground, even less dangerous than it awas in the hands of an incompetent child. Her legs were incredibly sore from sitting on the galloping horse for so long and felt like painful sticks the moment she moved them and held out her arms. She could only imagine the picture she made to this stranger.

Whatever skin was visible on her face was ashen. The blood stemming from the gash across her eyebrow was starting to clot and slow, but in the meantime it had coated her face and turned a sickening red brown in the air. Trails were cut through the gruesome paint by her tears, which had stemmed as well. Her hair was askew, not quite out of the tight braid her mother had put in her hair for market day, and similarly matted with blood. Her dress was torn, dirty beyond repair. And still he held out his arms to her. He did not even know her name. And she willingly went into his arms. She did not know what else to do. What else could she do? As far as she knew he was the only person left in the world. She was exhausted of grief and fear and hate. Only emptiness remained.

 

[Starcaller]

His heart shattered, broke into a million pieces and then some, burned in the fires of bitterness and sorrow and turned to ashes that dispersed into the wind. In the little girl's eyes he saw nothing but darkness and despair and that broke him. He mourned, silently, the death of her innocence, that pure white fleeting dove that fell stricken by a masterful slingshot. Yet for all that pain and all that grief, Jareth could say nothing to the little one. What could he tell her that would be enough to express anything? After what she'd seen and heard, how could he gather the courage to tell her that things would be alright? That he would find her a place that was safe? He dared not and did not, choosing to instead remain quiet and allow her to slide from the horse and into his arms, offering as much comfort as he could in an embrace, holding her against himself for the moment it took to set her down on the ground, barely aware of her lack of shoes that would cause her to feel the cold ground and grass beneath her feet. He was at a loss for words and thoughts, hardly willing to leave the little one alone while he worked on setting up camp. He stood in place a moment, gazing at her, before lowering himself in a crouch with a sigh, trying his best to find words to speak to her. What could he say?

"Hey, I need to make ready for the night. It's dangerous to travel in the dark so we'll stay here until the morning. I need you to stay here and take care of Ningarnet for me, alright?" He said, trying his best to smile while he reached in a pouch and pulled out two carrots. "Feed her these, she loves them. But don't stray, it's important not to. I won't be far so just shout if you need anything." He said. He didn't know how to talk to children, much less so to a child who was so hurt and scarred. But he tried his best. Looking upon her, he knew he'd have to see to her wounds, to help her clean up and to find clothes for her. There was still a way to go until the next town and her poor dress was so torn and dirty. But most importantly, he had to find her shoes. With a sigh, he entrusted the little girl with the carrots, encouraging her to approach the beautiful horse, whose attention shifted to the little girl almost instantly.

Standing, he moved to the horse's saddle, unstrapping the small hatchet from it and setting off to search for wood for a fire. Much as he'd instructed the little girl whose name he did not even know, he, too, avoided straying, beginning to check the nearest trees and chopping branches wherever he could. All the while, the man remained aware of his surroundings, listening to any sounds that came from between the trees, all until he soon gathered a nice pile of wood which he brought to the center of the small clearing, armful after armful. When he'd gathered enough, the man set the small hatchet back in its place, retrieving a small flint and a fire striker, moving about to prepare to light the fire. He remained quiet as he arranged for a small fire pit, casting fleeting glances to the little girl. Soon, a small fire was ignited, its limbs beginning to caress the twigs and small branches, to feed on them and grow. It spread a warm and pleasant light, inviting souls to join near it.

Jareth moved back to the horse, unstrapping the bedroll and laying it out on the ground near the fire. There was a small frown as the man remembered he only had one, however, an idea immediately came to mind and he proceeded to unstrap the blanket and lay it out on the other side of the fire, opposite to himself, allowing the little girl to have her own space, which he didn't want to intrude in. Once everything had been set in place, Jareth busied himself with getting something to eat, already beginning to dig into the supplies that he'd managed to buy from the market. Salted, dry meat, bread, and also something to wash it down. For him, it was rum, and it had been costly for finding rum anywhere far from a port was a treasure. Jareth sat down, at last, tired from the efforts of the day, yet just before he reached to grab a bite, he suddenly remembered and turned his head to seek out the little girl with his gaze.

"You hungry? Come over here. The fire's warm."

 

[GreySwan]

The girl barely felt the pressure of his arms as she was lifted down. Her entire body felt empty, and when he lifted her as if it were nothing she was hardly surprised. She felt as if she were filled with air and nothing else, like a dead dandelion about to blow into the wind. She did not feel the cold on her feet, nor the pain in her face. She simply was. It even took her a moment to recognize that he was coming down to her level. When she did, she cringed and recoiled slightly, only able to remember the raider with the rotten teeth and the sword. She knew this man no better than she had this one. She had no reason to trust him beyond desperation.

Lin still was not quite understanding his words. They were spending the night here? In the middle of the forest with no buildings around? Where they’d be eaten by wolves or killed by more bad men or spirited off by fairies... But all she could do was nod dumbly, and that felt as if someone else was controlling her body instead of herself. She could not bring herself to speak. If she spoke, she was certain she would start crying again. She did not want to cry in front of him. She wanted to seem strong. Not something weak to be left behind. And really, she just felt she had nothing left to cry out. That she had finally run dry. Perhaps that was the emptiness. She was out of tears.

Ningarnet... That must be the horse. She did have some idea how to take care of a horse. Or, rather, how to take care of a draft horse. This was definitely not a draft horse. It was smaller, but also definitely in better condition. Kettle had patches of hair missing and loose teeth and a tangled mane even though she brushed it when she could. All the same... She missed Kettle. She silently accepted the carrots with another unthinking nod. She could not imagine where she would stray to. There seemed to be nothing at all around them. It was here or nowhere.

The sight of the hatchet made her nervous, but soon enough he was gone off somewhere. And she was all alone yet again, this time in the midst of an eerie stillness instead of chaos. Though that was not entirely true. She had Ningarnet... Who was very interested in the carrots in her hand. Kettle had liked carrots, though it was not often they spared them on the horse. Offering the first, she kept her hands far back from those teeth. Perhaps she was a war horse, though she did not have a full comprehension on what a war horse was. Knights had been a rare sight in the town. She remembered one once. She thought his horse had been bigger than this one. Although maybe she had just been smaller then.

When it was time for the second carrot, she had worked up enough courage to gently stroke its muzzle. Kettle had loved that, and it soothed her just a little bit to have something familiar. Perhaps he was a raider’s horse now. More likely he was dead. Like everyone else. Still the numbness permeated her, as if the better part of her had died and her body simply did not know yet.

By the time the stranger was gone, the horse seemed more interested in grazing on the meagre grass than in her carrot-less hands. Lin retreated to sit under one of the trees, back pressed against it so she could see anything coming. She had retrieved the dagger and kept it tight in her hand, down on the ground. She watched in silence as he prepared the fire, avoiding his glances when they were directed her way though she was not sure why. He had done nothing to harm her. Quite the opposite, he had brought her away from all that. But in her experience, people did not do things for strangers for free. Her mother had taught her that. How could she help but be wary when she knew she did not have much to give in return?

All the same, she could not help but stare at the fire. That was human nature, to look at flickering flames. And she could not deny that she was cold. The sun was gone now and she was not dressed at all to be out at night on the ground. It was not as if she had planned to be in the woods with a strangers when she dressed this morning. She thought of her rabbit fur lined cloak back at the farm house, half the rabbits she’d killed herself, and of the crude boots from sheep skin with the wool on it she wore in winter. She longed to have them now as she shivered. Yet the offer to get closer, to eat, still gave her pause. She had not even considered that she was hungry... Her stomach had been turning so much today but it had been a long time since her morning milk and egg. And she was cold...

Deciding if he was going to kill her he would have already, she rose on stiff legs and came to sit on the proffered blanket in front of the fire. Immediately the heat warmed her skin, making her shiver in that strange opposite reaction. But still no words came. She could only stare up at him, wondering what came next if she was to be alive after all. Still she kept the blade in her grasp. She had no idea what she would even do with it, but keeping it at hand felt like the only control she had left in her life.

 

[Starcaller]

She'd joined him, though on the other side of the fire, and as she stared up at him, he gazed down at her, not really quite sure of what to say. The flicker of the flame reflected on the dagger in her small hands, hypnotic, almost. She seemed quite fond of the sharp object and really, Jareth understood perfectly why. He might have saved her life but to her, he was probably just as dangerous and strange as the ones who'd taken her home from her. Jareth pried his eyes off and away from hers, instead refocusing on the dry meat, which he now had to share. Unsheathing the dagger at the back of his waist, the man cut into the piece of meat, severing a generous portion of it, placing it on a hunk of bread before reaching out over the fire, allowing its heat to spread across his face. He offered them to the little girl, retreating only when she'd accepted them.

He wouldn't push her to eat. Or to speak. He didn't know what he should do and in that regard he was just as lost as her. Perhaps he should just leave her be, though again he knew the wounds she had could easily get infected and thus, saving her would have been in vain. But how could he, really, ask for her permission? Would she even accept his help? He could easily guess she was scared of him, much like she was scared of everything else around herself now. For crying out loud, the man had truly no experience with children.

It had gotten truly dark now, and one could only hear the breeze through the trees in the grave silence that had fallen over the site. That and the sounds of the night birds that just now came out. Somewhere, very far, a wolf howled, most likely a lonely one, one which much reminded Jareth of himself. He, too, was a lone wolf, though in need he could make friends just as easy. And then there was silence again, hanging heavily in the air, creating a tension that was hard to touch, elusive and most of all, suffocating. What was he to do? The man once more focused his attention on the little girl, watching her for long moments before finally deciding to speak to her, not expecting an actual answer to come back.

"Tomorrow we leave, at first light. Greywald is still a few days away from here, and that's where we're headed. But I'll need to look at your wounds, first. Will you let me?" He asked her, cautiously, setting his gaze upon her as he awaited an answer.

 

[GreySwan]

Despite his kindness, her wariness did not decrease. She wondered if this was her permanent state now. Empty and afraid. It seemed a rather miserable existence if it was. She looked down at the food, not the most unappetizing thing she’d ever been presented with, but it felt as if there were a stone in her stomach. She could not imagine herself eating, now or perhaps ever again. All she could think of was the blood. The screaming... Her mother would have pulled her ear half off for refusing perfectly good food, but she was not here. Would never be here again.

Her nervous only got worse as the sun went down. The darkness was dangerous, everyone knew that. They should be inside, not sitting waiting to get eaten by something much bigger than even this man. She had seen what wolves did to sheep who wandered from the paddock. Or bears... There could be bears in the woods. She had never seen a bear except as a rug and that had been frightening enough.

Sure enough, soon there was a piercing howl that made her jump and tighten her grip on that knife. Except it was not much bigger than one of that dead bear’s teeth. A live one would have her halfway down its gullet before it felt that tickling its throat. She set her food to the side and curled up tighter, resting her head on her knees. She wanted to go home. All she wanted was to go home.

Her eyes flickering up at his words, those startling her nearly as much as the wolf. For all she knew he was just as deadly as one. Her dark eyes reflected the licking flames, regarding him with suspicion and fear. She did not even have a concept about where Greywald was. She had heard the name but had rarely ever glimpsed at a map. Never had cause to. She knew some merchants travelled through there... He was taking her further and further away from anything she’d ever known. The pit swallowing her entire existence deepened.

But finally she closed them, and a rattling sigh escaped her body. She appeared to deflate even more, somehow becoming smaller yet. She did not want him to touch her. Did not want him to come any closer to her than he already had. Infection could be just as deadly as wolves, and a much slower death. Jocepth the tanner had nicked his finger one day with his little trimming knife and a month later he lost half his hand and was lucky not to lose his knife. And she could hardly do much for it. All she had to her name was the remains of her dress and a stolen dagger.

“Fine.” Her voice was nearly quiet enough to be lost among the crackling in the fire. At least she still looked at him. Eyes hollow still, but not averted.

 

[Starcaller]

The little girl begrudgingly accepted his aid, and Jareth felt eased. He returned her gaze, attempting perhaps without an ounce of success to not be intimidating. He was a large man, broad shouldered and rugged, proof of the things that he'd been through thus far. There was an unsightly scar right under his nose, splitting his upper lip in two, though luckily it was mostly covered by the thick, dark stubble. He wore his hair long, allowing most of it to cascade down his back. And there was the matter of those green eyes of his, a piercing gaze which was trained rather on intimidating foes. Compared to the tiny girl, Jareth was a behemoth in the flesh and no matter how much he'd try, he could never quite come down to her level. Most importantly he was armed to the teeth, armored and highly dangerous.

He nodded in acknowledgement, taking a bite and washing it down with the rum before returning his gaze to the flames. Once more, he offered the space and silence that the little girl needed, acknowledging her and yet not pushing her to do anything that she didn't want. Jareth remained quiet as he continued eating, contemplating the sounds of the wood cracking under the power of the limbs of flame. He didn't bother the girl further, not until his makeshift dinner was over, leaving him with a full stomach and a content heart. It was then when his attention shifted to his unlikely companion, noticing that she yet did not touch her share of the food. Was she going to refuse eating all the way to Greywald? He hoped not, elsewise he'd have to eventually constrain her to feed. He understood, though, that she most likely felt sick to the stomach and he didn't blame her.

Standing from his place, Jareth moved back to his horse and the many pouches attached to her saddle, and returned to the little girl's side of the fire with clean cloth and a small bottle of some kind of solution. With care, the man lowered himself again to the girl's level, or at least some semblance of it, keeping his hands on display with the objects, to assure her that he had nothing else. "I have a solution here, it's good for cleaning wounds." He said, shaking the small bottle, its transparency providing the girl with a sight to the liquid that moved inside of it. Jareth finally ended up sitting himself down next to the girl, wary, watching her closely. "I'll look at that wound on your head first, alright? Need to clean it first, then we'll get it patched up, maybe." He said, explaining the process as simply as he could.

Jareth was no medic, however, he had more than a couple of people who had taught him things. After all, in his profession he needed to be able to heal himself, as he hardly spent enough time in one place. He'd learned how to clean, disinfect and even stitch wounds, and always carried the right tools with him. Moreover, the man was not a stranger to alchemical processes either, not nearly versed enough as a full time alchemist, though. His knowledge in the matter was basic, at best, allowing him to brew a very limited range of potions and concoctions.

Uncorking the small bottle, he poured a little of its content upon the clean cloth, until it felt moist in his hands, before freeing one of his hands and gently catching the girl's chin in it, turning her face to the fire to be able to see well. He made no sudden moves, only briefly dabbing with the cloth upon the dry blood to help in diluting it. All the while, he kept his gaze focused on hers.

 

[GreySwan]

Lin could not maintain the eye contact for much longer, and her gaze flickered back down to the knife and its reflections. He was a scary man, her saviour. They had once had a barn cat with eyes like that when she was younger. Not only in that rare, intense colour of green but in their predatory nature. The ability to see everything, to miss nothing, to hone in on weaknesses rather they be in a man or in a mouse. She had always been wary of that cat, even though it had never scratched or hissed. It had not been one for petting, but it had been a good mouser. She wondered what had happened to it, if it had been trampled by a cow or eaten by a wolf. Barn cats were not the type to live very long by virtue of their profession. She had a feeling this man had much in common with the breed.

It gave her a pang of guilt not to take advantage of the food in front of her. He had offered up part of his meal and she was shunning it. She just couldn’t bear the thought of eating when she still had the smell of blood in her nostrils. She was unsure how he had tucked into his meal so readily after that. Perhaps he was used to it. That was an even more frightening thought. That she was in the care of someone for which this horror was mundane.

She watched this display with big doeful eyes before simply nodding and closing them again. Her mother had made ointments from the herbs in their garden and the ones she found in the woods. They didn’t always work but they certainly helped their coffers when harvests were lean. She wondered if this would sting as much as some of those oils. She almost hoped it would. That she would feel something at all to keep her grounded in this world before she drifted off into the clouds, never to return.

The girl flinched at the touch, and a small cry escaped her lips. It had not hurt, but all the same being touched like that so soon... It felt as if her brain was on fire, telling her to run, to flee, to get away at all costs. And still she had to sit here and act as if everything was fine when it so obviously was not. It was not his his fault. He had saved her from an inescapable fate. But all the same she was a little child who wanted her mother so badly. She would not allow herself to cry again. Not in front of him. He might leave her for the wolves if she showed weakness. Or worse yet he might pity her even more.

“... My name is Edeline.” Her voice surprised herself almost as much as his hands on her face had. It seemed somewhere she had a wellspring of courage. And it was good survival sense, to endear herself to him. He was her only way to any kind of a world again, Greywald or otherwise.

 

[Starcaller]

He had been so absorbed in his duty of cleaning her wound, which now showed itself to be a slightly deep cut into her forehead, just barely running past her hairline, that when her small voice finally came through, it took him by surprise and for a moment, he had to stop, to look at her and make sure he had not heard things. Indeed, he hadn't, and Edeline had spoken her name to him, where she had been so quiet until now. He smiled, admiring her courage to speak, and returned to his work, responding her very soon after. "It's a nice name. Suits you." He replied, his voice quiet, as if Jareth was sharing with her the deepest secrets of the world. His work on her wound had almost finished, the dry blood had been cleaned and so had all the rest, leaving only a fresh and clean wound which he intended to cover.

"I hope this doesn't hurt. It's made by a friend. She's an alchemist, you see, from a place called Briar Glen. Let me get something to patch this up." He said, standing and moving back to the horse's saddle. He returned with another piece of cloth, rolled up. It was specifically made for bandaging, and so, he began the process of wrapping it about Edeline's head, careful to keep her hair out of the way. "Since you were so nice and told me your name, I'll tell you mine. It's Jareth. Nowhere near as nice as Edeline, but it should do, right?" He asked. He was trying to make small talk, to keep Edeline from drifting back into the dark pit that was surely her mind. Finishing the bandage, he cut it, moving back to take a good look at his work.

"Looks good enough. It should heal in a few days or so. You got any other wounds that I could look at?" He asked her. He'd noticed her shins, though those were barely scratches. Her dress, while torn and ruined, did not seem to have blood on it, and he could not clearly see any major wound on her legs or arms, but still, he simply wanted to make sure.

 

[GreySwan]

He was being kind, and she supposed he had to be thankful for that. He could have responded with a grunt, or told her he did not give a flying flagon what her name was. Instead he was trying to calm her, to make sure she did not die of a slow poison in the blood from some dead raider’s axe that had struck her brother down far more quickly. People were supposed to give thanks for the things they had. And right now even just hearing her name from another human being’s voice was enough to give thanks over. Perhaps that was more grim than uplifting, but it was what she had to work with. “Jareth... A good enough name, I guess...”

It did not sting nearly as much as her mother’s concoctions, but then, her mother had not been an alchemist. If she had been in less shock, she might have been amazed at the fact this man, Jareth, knew an actual alchemist. Though perhaps she could be a fake... But not even a fake alchemist had ever come to Dornwich. They had stories, of course, and every so often a merchant with vials full of dye and water claiming the greatest sorcerer east of Goldenrose had blessed each and every one with eternal vitality, but not even their sleepy village had been as gullible as that. Perhaps it would not even scar... Though some scars looked nice. Intimidating. She would much rather be intimidating than pretty right now.

“I’m... I’m fine.” She had some scuffs and scratches and her feet had certainly seen better days, but it was nothing life threatening. Really, she had somehow avoided the worst of it all between being fast, hard to hit, and simply not being directly in the path of an axe.

She wished there was a potion to heal her from within, though. Something to make her forget this day, or make it all seem like the worst dream. That would be worth more than the mending of a little wound to the head, yes? But she doubted that existed... Or if it did it would be more precious than this man could afford. Eyes still closed, she exhaled again, trying to control her breath. If she could just keep breathing, then she would be alright. “T-Thank you...”

 

[Starcaller]

"Alright." He nodded to her, corking the small bottle and tossing the cloth that he'd used to clean the wound into the fire. Rising again, he moved to deposit the bottle back in the saddlebag that he'd taken it from, noting the silence that hung heavy in the air, once again. He was prepared to try and say something, to cover it, when Edeline thanked him, with a voice that struggled so much not to break. He was taken by surprise and turned, gazing at her for a couple of moments almost as if trying to process her simple words. He still wished there was something he could've done for her, anything that would ease her suffering but in that regard, Jareth was powerless and really, there was nothing worse than the feeling of powerlessness. "Don't mention it." He finally responded, closing the flap of the saddlebag and returning to the fireside, sitting down on the bedroll with a grunt.

It would be a long night, it seemed. He wondered now if Edeline would even be able to sleep. And with regards to that, an idea came to mind, which had him stand again and move back to the horse. He returned to the fire with a small sack in hand, as well as a small kettle and a metallic cup. The sack, as it was opened, revealed the herbs it contained, of which Jareth placed into the kettle before moving to the horse's saddle to pour some water from one of the skins into the kettle. The vase was placed on the fire and it took little before the water and the herbs had boiled. With care, the man poured the resulted drink into the metallic cup, adding a bit of sugar into the mix and finally strolling with the cup to Edeline's side and placing it near her.

"Drink it. It's good for when you're feeling tensed. Should help you sleep." He said. It was a very strong herb, though again, he couldn't quite know if it would actually help her in any way. In a way he felt lucky, he'd never had to deal with the things she dealt with now but on the other hand, he felt terrible for her. Children had no fault in this life and yet they seemed to be the ones to receive the most punishment from... whatever gods, really.

 

[GreySwan]

The silence between them felt as if it had thorns. The girl was not prepared to know what to do in this situation. All her life she had been told that children were to be seen and not heard, but she no longer had a mother to hiss that at her whenever she chimed in. But nor could she think of a single thing to say to the man that he did not already know. That she felt as empty as that glass vial, that she was one single breath away from breaking down and crying until she suffocated herself, that she had no idea where she was or where she was going and she just wanted the darkness to consume her... So she did not mention it. She mentioned nothing. Just went back to staring at the fire with wide near-black eyes, praying that if some tears did fall they could be blamed on the smoke.

Lin watching him in silence as he prepared some concoction She wondered what his profession was when she saw the metal cup. Those weren’t cheap by any means, even if they were more durable than wood. He certainly was no farmer, and he was too light in his load to be a merchant. He wore no crest of arms or symbols so she doubted he was a knight. And he surely wasn’t a priest of any religion in the civilized realm. She was not sure how many professions were left, to be honest. She did not think wizards were quite so adept at killing men with swords as Jareth was.

Her eyes flickered back down when he put the cup beside her. She managed not to flinch at his closeness this time through sheer force of will. If he wanted to kill her or otherwise harm her... She was sure he would have done so by now. All the same her body still burnt with the fear that had driven her through the village and onto his horse. All the same... She was not quite sure sleep in a cup was the safest thing right now.

“What... What about the wolves? Isn’t it dangerous?” She had not heard one howl in a while, but perhaps that just meant they were surrounding them at this very moment. But then again... She and her little knife were not going to fight off a wolf pack. Perhaps being asleep while being eaten was more of a mercy than a detriment...

 

[Starcaller]

"The wolves... yes." He said, almost as if remembering about one such threat. "They are a problem, true. Luckily, wolves here are just puppies. Hardly any real danger, more like a nuisance." He continued, looking out into the darkness beyond the trees. It was quiet but then again, there were no sounds of movement, either. No paws stepping on fallen leaves, no eyes that stared from the dark, nothing. Caution was still best used though at the same time, he wanted Edeline to sleep. He knew, somehow, that her sleep would be tainted by nightmares, haunted by the events of the day that passed, but it was still better than no sleep at all. Jareth tried his best, yet there was only so much he could do for Edeline.

The man picked up yet another piece of wood and added it to the fire, stirring the embers into a new flame, one which consumed with hunger, accompanied by loud crackling that echoed into the night. Jareth had taken to thinking of a way, any way, really, to lull Edeline into some sense of security, to help her have some rest that night. At last, he came up with a proposal.

"Listen, here's how we'll do. You sleep the first half of the night and I'll look out for any wolves and for this fire. Alright?" He began, gazing at her over the flames. "Then I'll go to sleep the other half and you'll keep watch. And if anything happens, you wake me up." He continued, with a conspiratorial smile. "Tell you what, if we're lucky enough to catch a wolf tonight, we'll get you a nice pair of wolf fur boots as soon as we find a tanner and a cobbler. Greywald has both." He grinned. He didn't know if she actually trusted him on that and obviously, he wouldn't place such a task of watching over things on her, but Jareth hoped to somehow build a bridge between the two of them.

 

[GreySwan]

Not all the wolves in this forest could be puppies, otherwise where would more of them come from? All the same, she could hardly call herself an expert in wolves. Their farm had been close enough to town that they rarely saw them. Foxes were more of a problem, and they were far less scary. And she had not heard one howl in some time. And she supposed if today had taught her any kind of lesson, it was that she should fear human beings far more than any beast of the forest.

Which led her back to the problem of if she could really trust this man... She had no reason to, but nor did he have much reason to deceive her. Anything she had left to be of use to him he could obtain by force. There was no reason for her to be alive if he wished her dead. She glanced at the metal cup again with a tired, rattling sigh. There was no sense in wasting poison on her when a blade would be far cheaper. And he had put sugar in it... She had never had sugar, only honey when they could find it or even more rarely buy it.

She took up the cup, still plenty warm, and pressed it to her mouth. It was very sweet... She wanted to sleep. She needed to escape. Just for a little while. She felt she would go mad if she did not. “Alright... Just... Promise you’ll wake me...?” She did not want to be completely useless. Or wolf bait. She barely heard his promises, though she dimly thought that she really did need a new cloak. She’d left hers at home, it hadn’t been cold... She wondered what would happen to their farm now. The animals... It was easier than wondering what would happen to her.

Before long her eyes were heavy and with the help of the herb and the roaring fire, she was slumped over into herself, breath slow and form still. Just for the night in a world where nothing was wrong, pain a distant problem for when she woke.

 

[Starcaller]

There came no wolves that night. Jareth had heard their howls again just after Edeline had fallen into slumber, yet they were few and far between. He stood vigil, watching the hypnotic fire while contemplating what was to come, all until it became too tiresome, even painful, for him to keep his eyes open. In moments when they'd fall closed he could hear the little girl shifting, groaning and whimpering every now and then, reason enough for him to at least keep himself grounded into wakefulness. Yet as the hours passed, as the darkness grew even deeper and overwhelming, the wakefulness was hard to maintain and soon, he, too, remained still, though he sat instead of lying, clutching the grip of the sword that he'd pulled from his waist and laid into his lap. It wasn't sleep, but rather a state of meditation which left him aware of the world surrounding him.



"And?" Bastian asked, leaning over the table and his now empty mug. "What happened then?"

Jareth smiled at the older man's impatience. Though much like then, he now felt sleepy. It must have been past the middle of the night and he was so many drinks deep. There was still something left on the bottom of his large mug, and with a gesture, he threw it back, drinking it and setting the wooden pint down on the table. "I'd tell you more but I feel I would die if I don't get some sleep. We're leaving for Silverhold come sunrise." He said, much to the disappointment of Bastian. "Alright. But you owe me the rest of the tale next time we meet. If I still live." He said, a hint of sadness audible in his voice. Much like Jareth, he was a nomad, having no home, no family of his own and quickly racing to the evenfall of his life.

Jareth stood from the table, fishing a good number of coins from his pouch and leaving them on the table, next to his tankard. The tavern was emptier now, yet for all that, Edeline was still at another table with her new friends, at the very least for the night. Much like him, she had the gift of tale telling, though she was even better than him, which always gathered people around her wherever they went. Even now she seemed to be caught in the middle of a recounting, and for long moments, Jareth remained standing behind her, listening with a smile before soon interrupting her, placing a hand on her shoulder to make her aware of his presence.

"Are you sure that's how it went? You left out quite a few details. And you say I'm old." He chuckled, teasing her. "I'm going to sleep. See you at sunrise." He said, before departing and disappearing on the stairs that led to the sleeping rooms.

 

[GreySwan]

Lin tilted her face towards him with a broad smile, giving his hand a fond clap. “Yes, I’m sure! And I’m being modest, else no one would believe half what I say! And I think I used the term experienced, not old...”

Had one seen the Edeline who rode out of the ruins of Greywald that day with the Lin who walked into the tavern that night, they might have denied it was the same person at all. Unless they really looked at the eyes. She had never quite grown into them, and they remained large, expressive spots of oil that seemed to absorb everything in a room and reflect it back into the world. Most everything else had changed, however. Her skin had darkened somehow even more than it had working on the farm, a healthy light brown that did an admirable job fending off sunstroke on long days. Her black hair had been cut off long ago and was kept in a neat, short cut that lent her an impish appearance, though just long enough to not be entirely boyish. Her face had changed from the cherub of childhood to sharp cheekbones and a wry smile. She had grown quite tall as well, not nearing Jareth’s height but taller than the average woman, and as sinewy as the bowstrings she favoured. Their lifestyle lent itself to building essential muscles, and her willowy frame was certainly more practical than provocative.

Another thing the keen observer might notice to link the child to the near woman was a familiar dagger. She never had managed to let it go. It was a fine blade, stolen originally from someone who had paid a pretty coin for it. Though even if it had been naught but rust she would likely still have it strapped her her side. She had traded her rag dolls for a dagger far too young, but still carried about that scrap of sentimental security. She was much better at using it than she had been that first night, however.

She was no great beauty in the traditional sense, certainly not one of the blonde princesses paraded about for foreign marriages, but her confident stride and uncomplicated smile had certainly sent young men (and young women) to their pockets to buy her a drink. Certainly tonight she did not seem to have to fish for companions, stories or not. All the same, she knew nothing would happen once the tavern hearth burnt down to embers. Like the little girl afraid of wolves, her trust was not easily placed.

“Ah, you are old, then... It’s barely past sunset! But I’m sure I’ll be up soon enough, don’t let it keep you awake. I won’t be too long.” She watched him ascend the stairs with a smile, not a large and open one she reserved for these temporary friends but a small, slight one. But once he was gone she resumed the tale of them, of sword and bow and victory. It was a story that made people laugh, made them happy. The story Jareth had told Bastian that night was never one that crossed her lips. She had rarely even discussed it with Jareth since that night, not in any meaningful terms. In her mind there was little to say. It had burnt to the ground and all that was in it was ash now. It was to be the subject of tears in the dead of the night when no one would hear her, not of conversation. Though even those had stopped as she grew, learned, tried to forget. She was no longer that little girl afraid of wolves. And eventually she had gotten that promised wolf skin cloak to prove it.

 

[Starcaller]

Dawn had come soon, and with it the endless seas of white that had covered the ground, trees and the inn overnight. Sun hadn't yet risen in the sky when Jareth, donning his winter clothing, armor padded with fur and a wolf fur cloak much like Edeline's, was already preparing the saddles of their two horses. His beloved Ningarnet had died of old age, and now the man rode a black stallion, which he'd named Midnight. Right next to it was Lin's horse, for as soon as she grew enough that carrying her on his horse was difficult, Jareth had taught her how to ride properly and, as a gift, allowed her to choose her own steed. It had been a favor offered by a stable keeper, an older debt that neither Jareth nor him had forgotten.

Checking the saddle straps on both horses, Jareth then made sure that everything was in place and ready for the trip ahead. Silverhold should now be no longer than a day away on horseback, if the two of them moved at a constant pace. It was the city that bordered on the mountain region and so, both Jareth and Edeline knew well enough that they'd face the winter in its home once they reached Silverhold. With a brush, the man busied himself with grooming the two horses, receiving content huffs that released steam into the air. It was cold, Jareth could even feel it through his gloves, which had thick fur on the inside. He wondered if Lin had woken yet, or if perhaps the cold had persuaded her to remain in the comforts of her room, gleefully tucked away under the pelts and furs provided to every traveler who stayed at the inn during winter time.

After giving each horse a thorough brushing, Jareth finally decided to go and knock on Lin's door himself. They had too little time to waste if they wanted to reach Silverhold before another sunset, however, it seemed that the girl had heard his thoughts and before he could even make his way back into the tavern, she exited it, dressed in just as much clothing as him and apparently ready for the travel. Oh, only seeing her was able to put a smile on his face and brighten his day. Of course, Edeline perhaps didn't even know just how much the man loved her, though the many things he'd gone through only for her sake should've been proof enough. But he did not show it as often, reserving the outright affections for certain moments, be them sober or otherwise. But he would never stop feeling it, that swelling that came from the depths of his chest every time he saw her, knowing how much of a part he had in raising her.

They looked far apart but for all that Jareth cared, Lin was his daughter, and he would not have it any other way.

"Comfortable beds they got here, don't they?" He asked her with a grin, hinting at her slight delay in presenting herself outside and ready to go.

 

[GreySwan]

Edeline had learned soon enough with Jareth was dawn rarely meant more than a sliver of light, and never meant the sun had actually risen. She wished she had remembered that lesson more clearly last night when just one more log on the fire seemed like a fine idea. She could exist on surprisingly little sleep, as all young people of her age seemed to have an uncanny ability to do, but when the knock on her door came she still groaned and turned deeper into the feather mattress. But only for a few moments. There was no sense delaying the inevitable, and if they made it to Silverhold today the bed and the company would be even nicer there than at this crossroad inn.

Tearing herself from the warmth of the bed, she dressed with long-practised quickness. It had been some time since she had worn let alone owned a dress; breeches were much better suited to days on horseback and moving quickly. On top of her tunic she added her warm wolfskin coat and her fur lined boots, well made but well worn. Dunking her hands into the wash basin, cursing as her hands pierced through the thin layer of ice on its surface, she splashed enough of it on her face to rinse the sleep from her eyes and wake her up. Packing was no more than a few moments. All she owned, or cared to own, fit in a single rucksack or strapped to her person. She checked that her dagger was secure on her hip, her short sword and unstrung long bow on the side of her back, and her smaller but denser bow would go on her saddle along with her quiver. Just in case. And of course there was time to snag a few boiled eggs and some fried bread out of the kitchen with a wink. An army marched on its stomach, even an army of two.

Coming out into the even colder courtyard, she felt a pang of guilt that Jareth had prepared both the horses on his own. Not that it was unusual for him, which added a pang of affection alongside the guilt. All Jareth did for her hardly escaped her notice. He had not needed to save her that day, or keep her by his side when her fate ought to have been some orphanage somewhere. But here she was all these years later. It occurred to her just then that by now she must have been with him longer than the mother whose face she struggled to remember now.

“You should have woken me earlier. Farfall is my responsibility.” She gave the gelding’s muzzle a stroke as she strapped her pack and weapons to the saddle, finishing with a firm pat on a broad ginger side. The copper-coloured animal had been a fine companion and always gentle, especially considering how green they had both been when they had met. Now that she was more grown, she felt the name was a bit foolish but he would not likely respond to anything else at this stage. She had heard it was the name of a noble house, in the northern mountains. A family of legendary archers whose bows all had just as noble names and whose crest was a copper moon with an arrow. At the time it had been so romantic. Now she thought it was stupid to name a bow. The way she used them, they snapped far too much.

“Had much worse.” She swung into the saddle easily, though a yawn escaped her once she was in it. “Thanks for letting me enjoy them a bit longer. Supposed I shouldn’t have started on that story about that bag of rubies... It goes on for far too long and I couldn’t leave them without the ending, now, could I?”

 

[Starcaller]

Reading Lin's emotions was one thing that Jareth had become an expert at. Then again, her big eyes always betrayed her, even when she tried her best to conceal what she was going through. Those pools of oil had the unique ability to turn the man into a puddle and dear Lin knew it well. No matter how restrained Jareth was, he could not hold it back when facing the girl. It was the same now, when Edeline's guilt poured over onto him. It was true, he'd always been the very early bird, waking way before her and preparing things. So it had been when she was a child and so it was now. And he'd never truly scolded her for it, though sometimes he simply liked to remind her that they'd have to be up early the next morning.

"You should have gone to bed earlier." He laughed softly, his remark bearing no trace of scolding. With a huff, the man climbed into his saddle, wrapping the reins around his gloved hands to get a better grip on them. Yes, the story about the bag of rubies was long, it was one of Lin's favorites and one that always seemed to earn her an impressive audience. It wasn't long since the young Count of Alnwick was caught in the story that the near woman weaved, thoroughly enchanted by her vivid expressions and her lively eyes.

"I guess you're right..." Jareth said, remembering how he'd left Bastian without the end of his own story. He wondered if the old man was still sleeping, seeing as his horse was still tied just a few paces away from where theirs had been. And moreover he wondered when or if he would ever get the chance to see Bastian again. One could never know in their line of work. However, once the Fox Den was at a reasonable distance behind them, Jareth's thoughts all shifted to what was ahead. The mountains painted themselves along the horizon, in the pale, dim light that only grew brighter each moment. The two horses' hooves left their marks in the snow as Jareth and Lin rode out towards Silverhold, soon crossing a stone bridge over a small river than had frozen overnight.

"Hope we get to Silverhold before nightfall. Weather isn't looking too promising, looks like it might snow again later and we don't want to end up on the road during a blizzard." He said, tugging twice at the reigns of Midnight and pressing his heels into the stallion's sides, causing it to hasten its pace.

 

[GreySwan]

“I know that now, it wasn’t so obvious last night. Besides... Couldn’t disappoint an adoring audience, could I?” Her smile was wry despite her early morning fatigue. There had been a time in her life, barely remembered, when she was not certain she ever wanted to speak to another human being again. She wanted to retreat from the world as a whole, isolate herself so that no other person or loss could ever hurt her again. Jareth had made that impossible. She could not shut herself off from someone so dedicated to ensuring that she survived, that she thrived... And now it was almost the opposite. She had an urge to surround herself with these temporary comrades. To not be alone if she could help it. More importantly to not be alone with her thoughts and memories too long. That was when the night got the darkest.

Still, it was not much of an excuse to be this sleepy before a long ride, and she left her hood down hoping the sharp, cold air would snap some life back into her. All the same she squinted against the bright light. “I snagged breakfast from the kitchen, some egg and bread.” She offered up half with an apologetic smile, knowing that and the food would be more than enough to make up for her tardiness. And they’d have a few moments to eat in the saddle as they left down before they had to ride harder. The fried bread was still warm and tasted of the bacon she’d been too late to steal. It was better than the dried meat and hard tack that would likely be their lunch if they had enough time to stop.

As they crossed the bridge, she swallowed the last of the boiled egg and took the reigns properly, gently pressed into Farfall’s side to bring him to Midnight’s pace. Her seat in the saddle was no less firm; she figured she had ridden as much as she’d walked in recent years. Finally she pulled up her hood before her ears froze enough to fall clean off. She could see her breath clearly in the air. “You don’t say. No inn between here and there. If the weather holds out for us we should make it there... What’s the plan in Silverhold, then? More of the usual?”

 

[Starcaller]

Her gesture of offering Jareth from the food she had grabbed was nothing short of heartwarming. Edeline had a good heart, perhaps too good for her own good, though the years spent in Jareth's company had chiseled her into a warily charitable person. However, with Jareth it was an entirely different story, and as the years passed and the girl grew she seemed to take more and more care of him. Now was just the same, when she knew he hadn't gotten the chance to enjoy the fresh, warm food, having woken too early, before the kitchen of the inn was even open. She shared her food with him and he accepted it with a smile, thanking her for caring. The bread infused with a vague scent of bacon was vastly preferable to the dry meat and the hardtack. He'd not been upset with Lin for sleeping in, but after her offering and that sweet smile that melted his heart, Jareth was all a sunshine, at least on the inside.

With the pace hastened, with their horses performing something of a soft gallop, they were gaining precious time. Hooves fell against the thick snow blanket, stirring it, all as the sun gained prominence through the otherwise gray clouds. And as it did, it reflected its light upon the vast seas of white, causing the visage to become upsetting to the eyes. Jareth watched the road ahead with squinted eyes, turning his head to regard Lin as she caught up to him. As for her question, well... it was something he'd asked himself. In one of the saddle bags there were a couple of things they were supposed to deliver but aside from that, they had no clear business to attend to in Silverhold. Though Jareth was fairly certain that the relatively big city definitely needed some form of help, one which the two of them could most possibly provide. There was never a shortage of monsters to slay, thieves to catch or other sorts of problems to solve for coin.

"No plan at all." He said. "We have a couple of items to deliver, but if we get there by nightfall, we'll just do it tomorrow." He continued, tugging the reins of Midnight to make him run closer to Farfall as the road became suddenly narrow. "I'll have to go to a blacksmith to fix my dagger." He explained. The blade on it had been dented during one of their encounters and as it was, it could hardly serve as anything more than a glorified knife.

The road went on and on, the two horses rushing through the snow, the sun peeking through the clouds as it ascended into the sky and the frozen vistas only spreading further and wider. Somewhere, in the distance, to the left of the road, the snow covered roofs of houses could be seen. That was without a doubt Garen's Well, a small, peaceful village so far off the road that no one really bothered to visit it. And ahead of them, scattered trees took the place of the open field, nothing but a small patch of forest in disarray. Though what was more interesting was something that now pictured itself ahead, becoming larger and larger and ultimately revealing itself to be blocking the road. Jareth couldn't tell exactly what it was, at first, though the sight of a wheel in the air made it clear that it was nothing else but an overturned carriage. Such sights were not nearly uncommon on open roads, where bandits could act without fear of any authority.

Tugging at Midnight's reins, Jareth brought the black stallion to a halt at a reasonable distance from the carriage, signalling for Lin to follow in suit. He dismounted, only now realizing that his legs had grown slightly stiff, and, with precaution, the man drew the long sword that rested at his left hip. A thorough gaze around the surrounding area could easily reveal that there was no one there, not even whoever had been in the carriage, let alone whoever overturned it. There was snow that covered parts of it, which made it clear that it had been there for at least the night. Perhaps the ones who had overturned it left with the horses. It was interesting, to say the least, and so, the man approached the vehicle, trusting that Lin would be watching his back. Her skills with a bow were nothing short of incredible so there could never be a lack of trust on his end when it came to her guarding his back.

"No blood, no signs of a struggle, no horses... What could've happened?" He asked, kicking open a chest that was flipped on its side. From within, clothes rolled out over its lid, both women's clothes and men's.