Chapter Text
In all the world there was never once a musician more skilled than Waverly Earp. Daughter of the King of Thrace and the Muse Calliope, she was often taken for the progeny of Apollo himself, god of music and poetry. For with the power of her voice and lyre alone she could sway the immovable to her will, tame the wild beasts and overcome any enmity. Trees bent to hear her song. Rocks split to let her pass. Waves would calm for the prow of her ship, and her harmony bled into the hearts of all races, all creatures as they followed in her wake.
While she had sung more songs than the hours of her life, she herself, as a heroin, remained unsung. Few knew that it was her who Champ Jason Hardy sought to join his band of Argonauts. It was she who out sang the Sirens’ song, guiding the Argo safely to shore, and that witch Medea had nothing to do with charming the dragon guarding the Golden Fleece. It was all the work of Waverly’s fingers on her lyre while Champ cowered behind her.
Unrecognised and underestimated, Waverly often found herself lonely. If only she could sing someone into existence who could love her.
~*~
Her penchant for adventure sated for the time being, Waverly was reclined on a grassy bank of a gurgling brook, humming softly to brushed chords and debating challenging Pan to a singing contest.
It was then that movement caught her eye across the stream. As she watched, a tall, lithe form with a shock of red hair dropped gracefully from among the trees and crouched, inspecting what must have been tracks in the soft mud of the bank. A bow and quiver of arrows were slung across their slender back.
Waverly was entranced. She did not think that she had ever seen a more beautiful sight in all her life; in all her extensive travels. As if sensing that they were being watched, the redheaded figure looked up. Eyes as wide as the doe they must have been tracking snapped into connection with Waverly’s own. As if in a daze, Waverly rose to her feet and drifted closer to the edge of the water. The stranger tensed in suspicion but did not move away.
Waverly smiled and raised a hand in greeting. The redhead unfurled to their full height and stepped cautiously out of the shade. Waverly’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the features of the gorgeous woman in front of her and the way the sunlight danced on her auburn hair. The stranger’s face seemed to mirror her awe, and a shy smile raised her lips, the slightest hint of dimples gracing her cheeks. Waverly was pretty sure she fell in love right then and there.
“Hello,” Waverly called. “I am Waverly. Earp. Waverly Earp.” She felt like a young girl again and not the woman who had faced down a dragon. Taking another step forward she managed to trip and fall in the stream.
The gorgeous redhead laughed, which was a type of music too beautiful for Waverly to ever hope to replicate. “I don’t think we have wet-tunic competitions in the countryside, Waverly Earp.” The beautiful stranger said.
Then Waverly felt two firm hands on her, helping her up. “Are you okay?” she asked. Waverly could only stare and blush, overwhelmed by their close proximity and the electricity of her touch. The stranger’s grin widened. “I’m Nicole.” She offered.
“Uh...hi.” Waverly returned with a dopy smile.
After an awkward pause Nicole motioned to the instrument Waverly had forgotten in the grass. “Is that your lyre?” Waverly nodded. “I have never seen one before,” Nicole continued, “Only ever pan-pipes.”
Waverly gasped. “Then you have never lived!” She exclaimed. “Come, I have to introduce you to the art of true music.”
“Quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Nicole chuckled as they sat down on the vibrant grass. Waverly blushed again and bit her lip. Picking up her lyre, she changed her mind and handed it to Nicole.
“Here, you try it.” Nicole eyed the craftsmanship of the curved wooden frame and wiped her hands on her tunic. “It’s okay, I made it myself. You won’t break it, and even if you did, I’d fix it.” The bard quipped with a flash of pearly-whites. Nicole huffed out a laugh and took it tentatively. “If you place it in your arm like this,” Waverly adjusted Nicole’s grip, “then your hands are free to reach the strings. Now try.” Nicole gently brushed the strings, her finger-tips barely touching them.
Waverly watched her face closely, lost in the depths of her swirling brown eyes and how the anxious crease in her brow disappeared upon hearing the sweet notes. Waverly showed Nicole how to place her hands and how to draw different notes out of the instrument. Eventually Nicole handed the lyre back and said, “Show me what true music is then.”
“You don’t need me for that.” Waverly replied, gazing at her softly, “But it would be my honour to play for you.” Now it was Nicole’s turn to blush, no longer feeling quite so crude and rustic under this woman’s attention.
Waverly smiled and began to play and eventually to sing. For the first time in a long time she did not sing to any purpose, but simply from her heart.
Waverly’s words spoke to Nicole who lost herself in the music, but their eye contact did not falter until Waverly reached the end of her piece when both women looked away, embarrassed at the intense connection they felt despite only just having met.
When the sounds of the forest filtered back into the air between them, Waverly nodded towards Nicole’s bow, “Now you have to teach me how to shoot that thing.” The redhead’s dimples were back with a vengeance and Waverly was quite sure they were more lethal than the arrows in her quiver, or at least Cupid’s arrows.
“Maybe some other time.” Nicole said, standing to leave. “I have to go.”
“But wait!” Waverly cried, jumping to her feet. “Will I see you again?”
“I’ll see you around Waverly Earp.” The redhead winked, and then like a spirit of the forest, she was gone.
~*~
Waverly did in fact see her around. Many times, until it got to the point where neither could leave when dusk fell. One day, Waverly summoned all of her courage and dropped to one knee in front of Nicole, asking the redhead to marry her. Nicole flung herself into the shorter woman’s arms and showered her face with kisses. Of course she agreed.
Together they built a cabin in a grassy clearing in the woods. They tended a small vegetable garden and spent hours fishing together in the streams and rivers that intersected the forest. When their catch was light, Nicole would set out hunting for small game and the occasional venison. When the days were warm and cloudless, and the hum of bees could be heard around the blossoms, the couple would lie in the meadow and Nicole would weave flowers into Waverly’s flowing locks as the bard sang of faraway lands and troubles that could never touch them.
Their days were filled with endless music, even when Waverly set down her lyre. The symphony of smiles shared, fleeting touches, playful conversations and the general sounds of daily life were a composition so perfect that Waverly knew she would never want for anything else for as long as she lived. Nicole was her everything.
~*~
It was a morning as fine as any other when the pair made their way down to the small pool where they liked to bathe, with the early sunlight casting dappled patterns on their skin. As Waverly was about to undress, a light touch on her arm stopped her.
“Wait.” Nicole said; her attention focused intensely into the dense undergrowth of the surrounding trees.
“What’s wrong?” Waverly whispered.
“Someone’s watching us.” Nicole replied uneasily.
It was then that she noticed the birds had stopped singing. Taking Nicole’s hand, Waverly interlaced their fingers and squeezed gently in reassurance. They stared at the bushes for so long that when the branches twitched it took them by surprise.
Releasing Waverly’s hand, Nicole made her way stealthily towards the disturbance, and as she expected, there was no sign of anything. But a chill crept up her spine, causing her to shiver, and returning to Waverly felt like returning home to the hearth in winter.
~*~
The feeling of being watched persisted for days to come and Nicole’s anxiety increased to distraction. Born and raised in the forest, Nicole always seemed to have an uncanny awareness of her surroundings that Waverly did not, and when Waverly suggested tentatively whether Nicole might be being paranoid, it did not go down well.
“You don’t believe me do you?” Nicole asked, her voice trembling with betrayal.
Waverly sighed and tried to reach out for her, but that only made the redhead retreat further toward the door of their cabin liked a spooked animal. “I just...I hate that I can’t feel whatever is affecting you! I have tried asking it to reveal itself in song, and I have never known my music to fail. ”
“Ah, so since the voice of the prodigal bard never wavers, that can only mean that I am wrong!”
“You are a great tracker Nicole, but you’re only human. If there was something there, it would come into the open when I call to it in music.”
“I’m going hunting.” Nicole said flatly, and left. The door closed with finality, and now Waverly could feel a sense of foreboding.
She wanted desperately to go after her wife, but hunting was something Nicole liked to do alone. She said it cleared her head. They both probably needed some space; they had never fought before.
And so she let her go.
~*~
Nicole sprinted through the clearing, delving deep into the forest. She wandered aimlessly for a while, too upset to focus on tracking any animals. Eventually she found herself in the meadow where Waverly had lain the first day they met. She remembers wondering what manner of goddess she had happened upon, lying there, honey coloured hair splayed out, fingers paused over the strings of her lyre.
Wiping at the stray tears leaking from her eyes, Nicole froze. A twig had snapped behind her. Slowly she turned around, notching an arrow in her bow. That coldness that had seemed to haunt her in recent days bled into her veins, turning her roaring pulse into a numb crawl.
A man stepped into the meadow from the fringe of the trees. He was tall and thin and wore a menacing smirk that matched his predatory movements.
“Who are you?” Nicole called, standing her ground, bow raised in warning. “Come no further if you value your life.”
The man halted his advance but the tainted smile did not fall from his face. “My name is Tucker Gardner.” He replied in a thin voice. “And you are Nicole, wife of Waverly Earp.” His tone tripped over the word ‘wife’ as if it were something to be avoided.
Nicole swallowed imperceptibly. “You’ve been spying on us.” Her voice raised like a question at the end, challenging him to refute her.
“Not at all,” Tucker’s leer widened, “I simply like to hunt in your area.” He began to stalk forward once again, forcing Nicole to retreat a few steps. She did not want to shoot, but nor did she want to show any weakness. “You know,” Tucker continued, “Your marriage is a charade. You have no witnesses. You will never be more than Waverly Earp’s whore. She is too good for you. A legendary bard in love with a common wood’s person? Please. You cannot hope to hold her attention for long when the wide world is beckoning her. You are holding her back.”
“That is our own private business. And perhaps you do not know us as well as you think.” Nicole contended. “Waverly says nothing she does not mean, and she tells me she loves me every day.” At that, Tucker’s expression hardened.
“Maybe I will just have to teach her what pure love is by weeding out what has perverted hers.” His stride increased suddenly and his hand disappeared behind his back. He was several feet away when Nicole spotted the flash of a metal dagger in his grip. She released her arrow, but she would not aim to kill a human being.
The flint struck his shoulder, but barely impeded his advance. Ripping the shaft out of his flesh as if it were nothing, Tucker gave chase.
Nicole ran, and ran, and ran. She was fast and light on her feet, leaving few tracks. She knew these woods like she had come to know Waverly’s body. That is to say very well. Barely breaking her stride, she jumped, grabbing onto a low branch and pulling herself up. As she scaled the tree she felt cobwebs break against her face until she came to rest among branches that would provide her more cover.
As she sat there with bated breath, waiting to see if she had lost her pursuer, a sharp pain blossomed in her forearm. She looked down to see a Black Widow spider, stark against her pale skin. She brushed it off quickly, shaking her arm on impulse as a shudder wracked her body and her heart dropped into her stomach once again that day. Two red pricks remained and had already begun to swell.
Nicole dared not leave the tree for fear Tucker still lurked in the shadows, and as one hour passed, and then two, the pain in her arm spread and increased exponentially. Shivering and alone, she soon found her sight failing as the world spun around her. Her last thought was of the safety of Waverly’s arms before blackness overcame her, and she fell like a leaf in autumn.
~*~
Waverly could not take it any longer. The shadows stretched into late afternoon, stretching with them the terrible sense of dread that had coiled itself around the musician’s heart. Leaving the confines of their peaceful glade, she set out to find the love of her life and repair the damage she had done. She did not doubt Nicole’s abilities, but nor was she able to accept that her music could fail her and put her wife in danger.
She roamed the woods, scouring all the places that Nicole had told her held sentimental value, until she came across the meadow where they first met. There among the tall grass she found one of Nicole’s arrows. It was covered in blood. Waverly felt all the air escape from her lungs. She couldn’t breathe.
If Nicole made a kill, she would clean the arrow and re-use it. Her aim was always true. If the arrow was still here, she hadn’t made the kill, and if she hadn’t made the kill, she hadn’t aimed to. But Nicole would never cause an animal needless suffering. Something was wrong, and Waverly had never felt such fear.
Desperately she searched for her wife with mounting despair, until among a thicket of scrub surrounding a tall tree, she caught a flash of auburn in the waning light. There was Nicole. Skin a luminous white in the encompassing shade, red locks splayed out around her head in a vibrant halo of fire.
“Nicole!” She cried, felled to her knees beside her beloved. “Nicole?” Waverly’s voice wavered as she placed tentative hands upon twisted limbs. Her skin was cold. So cold. Too cold. “No, no, no, no, no...” she choked, shaking the dear body gently and then more firmly when there was no response. “Please, Nicole, please.” Sobs began to wrack her frame as she searched frantically for an injury that would explain something. Anything. A wrist swollen and discoloured with some kind of toxin. Broken bones and dried blood. Blood dried. No heart beat.
“NO!” A primal scream ripped from Waverly’s throat and should have left her vocal chords raw and bloody. Birds settling in to nest for the night shot out of the trees, and throughout the forest, all manner of creatures felt her pain.
Cupping Nicole’s face tenderly, Waverly rubbed the spot where dimples should have been, tears streaming from her eyes and dropping onto cheeks that lacked their usual blush. Deep brown eyes were closed over, never to share their mischief nor love with her ever again. Pulling the prostrate form into her arms, Waverly stroked Nicole’s hair and kissed her forehead, rocking backwards and forwards gently as if she were a putting a baby to sleep. As if this would assuage her own anguish. And as she cradled her love in her arms, no longer able to offer her safety, she began to sing, brokenly through her tears.
She sang throughout the night, and the nights and days to come. She sang until her voice was raw, until she could sing not one note more. She sang of suns rising on distant shores, of moons casting their glow on burbling brooks where amorous lovers held their trysts. Of colourful markets in far off lands, and the sweet tasting juices of the fruits they sold. She sang of pain and blood and war. She sang of belonging and truth and warmth. Of the peace of the woodland that was their home, and the outstanding love that she held for Nicole. Of all she wished she could have said. Of her wife’s kindness and light that an early death stole.
Still she sang as her lips moved and no words came. And then she vowed to sing no more.
~*~
Silence weighed heavily in the clearing as Waverly lit the funeral pyre. The whole forest had been silent for days. Not one bird dared to make a sound, nor one breath of wind dared to disturb the branches.
It was rumoured that there was a way to enter the Underworld in the city of Taenarum in Laconia. And so that was where Waverly would go. Because the one thing that she refused to sing was goodbye.
When Tucker came creeping a few days later, he found nothing except an empty cabin and a fresh gravestone. He died painfully of septicaemia soon after.