Chapter Text
The fire had long since died out, when the travelers stumbled upon their broken camp. The horse hobbled to the side awkwardly pawing at the ground, uneasy at the sight of the newcomers. Twilight was shifting into dawn, the stars twinkling in the violet sky, a shade of azure and crimson dyed the sky with the first tendrils of day.
The newcomers peered down at the pair at their feet. At the man who reeked of infection, yet bearing no wound, protectively wrapped around the smaller figure. The smaller person who, despite being in a deep slumber, white knuckled the front of the other’s shirt— a deep knit in their brow. Crows feet and hard jaunting lines across their features as if they never rested their face. Despite the cool winter air, the two seemed to radiate warmth— almost like they were glowing.
This troubled the newcomers.
Mongrel would look down beside his partner, his jaw tight. His bovine-like eyes would narrow, one side scrunched from old burn scars. He would then sigh and run his cloven hand through his dark curls, mindful of his horns. Exasperated, he would look at the smaller figure.
It was you.
“Fuck.” He would curse, before moving to unhobble the mare, his masked partner looking on in confusion.
About time for a family reunion. He thought bitterly.
The masked elf would watch the satyr, before peering down at the sleeping pair, before up again at the other. The lower half of their face concealed, but against pale skin their bright red and green eyes would peer at him. They would sigh and start to gather up the belongings to tack up the horse. Deciding that questions for Mongrel would be better saved when he was under less stress.
Mongrel would heave you over his shoulder, gently. He would bite the inside of his cheek as he followed the cobble path back home. His partner led the horse with the crumpled man on top.
“You are a wanted man, aren’t you, —?”
The name he heard and understood, but his mind could not fully comprehend his birth given name spoken into existence. He bleakly opened his eyes. He took in his surroundings, studying the ancient stone archway he stood on. Blade stared down the balcony into the darkness below. He couldn’t find himself being afraid, only curious. He turned back to the man who had spoken.
Blonde hair billowing in the wind, large black wings tucked neatly behind him. In a dark robe the other man had a soft smile. Despite the starless night, he glowed radiantly.
“You’re one of those gods I’ve heard so much about.” The Blade deadpanned, not expecting the dream to answer.
The dream chuckles, answering, “Yes, if you dare to believe.”
The Blade mulled over these words. “I do not. You are a figment of my infection induced fever, I assume.”
“Always the optimist.”
“I don’t believe in optimism. I simply am rational.”
This produced a hearty laugh from the feathered man. “Oh, dear —. I can assure you I am as real as it gets.” He looks over The Blade’s discomfort. “I suppose though, that is no longer your name, hm?” Silence answered him. “I’ll start then— the mortals call me many names— god of guidance, The Messenger, Hermes, lover of death, father of crows— though… when I journey to the mortal realm… I’ve always favored the name Phil.”
This caused The Blade to raise a brow, “Phil?” What a simple name for a god, not that he was one.
“Silly, isn’t it?” Phil leaned against the stone walls of the balcony, turning to peer down into the darkness. “But I do love the simplicity of it.”
“How would anyone guess you are divine, I suppose?”
Phil lightened at this, “Exactly! I like the way you think… erm…”
The Blade paused, entertained by this man. “Call me Blade.”
The man flicked his wings, as if cocking his head in amusement. “My dear friend chose that, didn’t they?” No answer again, The Blade was stunned. “I’ve known The Warrior for many aeons. I guide the souls into the afterlife and they reap them for me— I suppose they are less of a friend, more like uh… how do you humans put it? Ah, a business partner!”
Hearing Phil flippantly throw your name around , even one unbeknownst, sparked something deep in The Blade. He felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, his knuckles whitening, a burning in his throat.
It frightened him, the almost primal need to protect you. Startled, he stepped away from the balcony and closer to Phil. Pleasantries aside, Dreamscape aside— he advanced on The Messenger.
“What do you want with them? I swear if you are in on it with Alexandis, I’ll strike you down where you stand!” The Blade roared, his voice swallowed by the wind and darkness.
Phil ruffled his feathers and chuckles again, raising his hands in a gentle manner. “Easy, swordsman, I mean no harm to our shared companion— for I’ve only come to make a deal with you.”
The Blade paused, making deals with gods never went well in the stories, nor would it ever make sense now. Yet, he stood still as the man approached him, wrapping a wing across his shoulders. It surprised him how warm and light the black wing was despite its mass.
“You see, there are many immortals that want nothing more than to see The Warrior fall. A sum benefits from peace times, as their presence relies on their people being happy. With no war, their temples blossom with life.
“Not ones like us though, hm? Bounty hunter? POW, deserters, thieves and long lost sons, you search for them all. As do I. Myself and my goddess of death would fade away without it. As would our Warrior dearest. For without discord, there is no peace, without death there is no life.”
The Blade mulled this over, his thoughts rational as the steady wing that supported him. “I suppose the world would be thrown out of balance.”
Phil hummed, withdrawing his wing. The Blade felt a tickle at his chin, and immediately went to wipe it away— surprised to find a beaded braid, woven with crow feathers. He looks at Phil in confusion.
“A talisman, for your safe travels. And travel you will.” He lifted out his large wings and hopped onto the rail of the balcony. “Travel back to the perfidious pass, find The Warrior’s ancient temple, only then will your path be made clear. Now…” he raised his wings and blew a blast of wind towards The Blade. “You’ve overstayed your welcome in the halls of the afterlife.”
“Awake.”
He awoke.
Not suddenly— very peacefully— he felt the soft touch of linen sheets, a heavy woolen quilt laid over him. His bare skin scratched against the coarse sheepskin. A flutter of a breeze from an open window— the singsong of birds outside and the cool air signaling dawn was seeping its tendrils into noon. He faintly heard bare feet against wood, rooms away. If he kept his eyes shut, he knew he could pretend he was back at home with his father and sisters. But he must wake once more.
For he did not know where he resided.
With a jolt, he lunged up, arms screaming at the strain. He took in the small room— barely a room, truly. A small nook in a small house, he assumed. Probably added on later in its life. He looked down at the woven quilt, in its reds and greens— most of the house seemed to be reds and greens. He suddenly longed to stay under its warmth once again, as he looked out the open sill into the world of white outside.
He looked down at the small nightstand, where charcoal pen smudges had stained the spruce. He mused how his feet dangled over the side of the bed— at the toys in the corner. This was a child’s room.
He suddenly felt filthy. He had orphaned many, and done horrible deeds to many more. He tainted this poor child’s room for breathing in its vicinity. He did not deserve to be here.
A rattle of a handle, a squeak of a hinge. A door opened, basking warmth and light into The Blade’s darkness. He shrunk back from it.
A lithe figure stepped into the room, a tall elf in a plain dress and apron. A veil covered their face; but kind red and green eyes peered down at him. The Blade did not feel defensive, he felt safe. He dipped his head in greeting.
The elf hummed in greeting. “Ah, you’re finally awake! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up…” They picked long nails at the hem of the bundle of clothes in their hands. “Here, some of my clothes from my military days— er— may be a bit big.” They chuckle, towering over The Blade.
The Blade murmured his thanks. “Why am I here?” His voice gravelly from little use.
The elf crossed the room and placed the folded clothes on his bed. “My partner and I found you and your companion passed out in the cold, we took you in, is all. Well— not all, but that’s not a question for me.” They shuffle, “I’m Beau, by the way. I hope you slept well?”
The stutter in their words confused The Blade, but their intentions seemed true. “My name is not important, where is my companion?”
Beau sighed softly, looking out the open window. “They are basking in the late harvest sun. I warned them they would catch a cold… but they did not seem to care. They’ve been doing that a lot, standing outside and looking to the south. I worry.”
“How… How long have I been out?”
Beau made their way towards the window, softly clasping it shut. “A couple weeks, I fear.” They turn to leave the room, “get dressed, I’m sure you are hungry.” As if on cue, The Blade’s stomach began to rumble. Beau chuckled, and then left.
The Blade hopped up quickly, wobbling on sore legs. He threw on the musty smelling tunic, rolling up the loose sleeves. As he did the trousers, and the suspenders tightened considerably. And the socks. Man, this guy was tall.
Lastly, he threw the thick woolen coat on, he gingerly walked towards the door, his hand on the knob as he listened to the chorus of voices outside. A mumble of a deep voice, a soothing one of Beau’s singing tone, a ring of laughter of a child. Followed by the chime of silver against platterware. He opened the door.
Beau was sitting down beside a child, wiping the dark haired boy’s face of crumbs, a soft simper on their face. An eyepatch was across the boy’s face, and they had small tusks protruding out of his mouth. A piglin-satyr. Beau lit up as The Blade entered the room. Waving him over.
“Ah! I didn’t think you’d get up so soon, come, we were just finishing up breakfast, how do you feel about biscuits and gravy?” Beau called, dusting crumbs off their knuckles as they motioned to a duo of plates. “I have your companion’s plate too, why don’t you take their food too? Maybe with a warm belly they will be inclined to come in.”
The Blade nodded curtly, reaching to take the plates, balancing the cups of cider in the crook of his elbow. He glanced up at the silent man who was glowering at him. The goat-satyr had a ripple of burn scars across his face and hands, and under his fur collar The Blade could see the scars scattered further down. Bright green eyes watched him gather the plates. The man didn’t say anything, but Blade had seen that calculated look before. One of the panthers who waited to strike. Blade would not chance it, and nodded respectfully to the man of the house. The man nodded back, and then pointed towards the back door. Throwing the hood of his jacket over his head to protect against the biting cold.
“Warrior was feeding the chickens in the barn, but seemed to have lost their way. I don’t need them wandering around like a fox to a coop. Go on.” The man said with a surprisingly young voice. The Blade dipped his head and then turned to go.
As he walked, he thought deeply. The two men had only referred to you as The Warrior. Same as the mercenaries back at The Guild. Same as Phil had. The dream he had seemed to have sunk into reality.
Were you really a god?
And if so, what were you doing down here?
All questions he would have to get you to answer, as he rounded the corner to the barn. He saw you. And his chest fluttered, and he watched you with wide worshipping eyes. As you glowed, you smiled down at the chickens you fed.
You were in light clothes. The unbroken boots damp with the snow that had started to cascade down, his poncho draped over your shoulders dusted with snow powder. A lift of your hands to gather more feed, and your midriff snuck up bare underneath. Now his heart really was beating fast. Too big trousers rolled up still grazed the ground. You had your hand out, as the fowl grazed and cooed into your palm. You looked peaceful, if he didn’t see the jagged bags under your eyes, or the pink in your knuckles and the chattering of your teeth.
“You look cold, crimson fists.” The Blade says softly, as to not startle you. But you still jump to your feet, grain spraying down as you raise your trembling fists to your face in a fighting stance. A wobble and a wince showed how weak you had become. In the crook of your arm was a cane Blade had not noticed before. His heart hurt as he watched you lean heavily against it.
With a set to his jaw, Blade put the food down on the small bench that overlooked a cliff beside the barn. In the distance, the mountains glowered purple in the dawn light. He approached you, with little hesitation despite your wariness. He raised his hands, flipping the hood of the jacket back. You froze at seeing his face fully.
“Oh. You’re awake.” You say bluntly, he couldn’t tell if your cheeks were flushed from the cold or not.
“Uhm… yeah.” An awkward beat. “Er— Beau made us breakfast, hungry?” You didn’t say anything, but nodded. The two sat on the small bench, legs bumping and breath shared as you two feasted.
The food was— delicious. Every bite was better than the last, warm white gravy slathering airy and buttery biscuits. The Blade was in heaven. The bittersweet warmth of the apple cider burned his throat and sat warmly in his belly. Before long, he had wolfed it all down— you were not far behind.
“Beats stale bread over a fire in the forest, huh?” The Blade jested. When you didn’t answer, he knocked his thigh against your knee. You glanced at him, “Hey? Talk to me.”
You did not speak. Merely brushing the crumbs off your lap and collecting the rest of the grain. You didn’t look at him as you turned to leave. With a set of his jaw he reached and lightly gripped your wrist. “No wound heals like that, not in a couple weeks; not infected, and not without a scar. What happened that night?”
This caused you to pause, you let out a shuddering sigh. “It does not matter, I should have left you to die that night. A better fate than what we face now.” They look across his face, landing on the braided talisman. “There are fates worse than death.”