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It hadn’t been easy.
Jester could hear the screams, the pleas for help, the crying.
Worst were the silent ones, the ones who rocked side to side and stared blankly at her.
But she persevered. The slavers took her sythe, cast her silent, and bound her with a chain. Her clothes were dirty, torn, stained with blood. But she never stopped smiling.
They were unsettled- they were used to their captors acting up, but none had to deal with anyone quite like her before. Only their leader seemed unfazed, whenever he bothered to show up.
Yasha and Fjord were held away from her. Sometimes, if she pushed herself to the limits of her chain, she could see a flash of green or black in the cages, and when she concentrated, she could occasionally hear Yasha or Fjord calling for each other. It was a comfort, knowing her friends were nearby.
Still, she worried. For her and her captured friends. For the captured souls in this hell.
For her friends on the outside, who surely have noticed by now that they were missing.
Gods, she hoped they were alright. All of them joked about how squishy Caleb was, how flashy Molly was, how Nott had no charm, or how Beau lacked diplomacy. But without the rest of the Nein…
No. She had to remain positive.
She had to.
xXx
Her body hurt.
Her captors came when she was resting, grabbing her by her horns and tossing her into the bars holding her. Another reached down, trying to pry her tail from where it had curled up around her leg.
The men would always eye her up, trying to gets handsy with her before the other slavers stopped them- not for chivalry, but a warning. “Lorenzo wants them clean.”
It didn’t stop the women of the group from finding ways. Sometimes they’d run their hands through her hair, or caress her arms in a mockery of kindness. Sometimes they’d blindfold her and whip her, taunting her for her weakness. Sometimes they’d leave her blindfolded, and stealthily enter and touch her- leaving her paranoid for hours later.
The men were easy to ignore, but the women knew how to draw her in, dangle sweetness in front of her, and hurt her.
When it got bad, she prayed the Traveler. Just to grant a respite from the pain in her physical body. She didn’t have her holy symbol anymore, but he still answered her prayers. He rarely offered more than a chance to pass out during their abuses, but his presence left her comforted and calm as they pushed her the brink.
xXx
She woke up a few days after their abduction, ice creeping into her veins.
Only moments later did she feel the jerk of the carts, the neighing from the horses, a loud crash from ahead.
Some of the others murmured to themselves, asking what now? A trick? But nobody came, and all they could hear were muffled shouting, and she allowed herself to deny the ice in her heart and hope.
Then,
Silence.
And the Traveler appeared before her, bowing his head.
He said no words, and she could only pull her arms close to her, the ice spreading through her.
Who?
Who did she lose?
xXx
If she broke down crying when they came for her, well, at least it wasn’t the oddest thing she’s done.
Beau’s arms wrapped around her as Caleb reached out to her, gently pulling her torn and damaged hands and unlocking the manacles that have kept her prisoner for over a week. His hands were gentle as she began to shake, his thumbs gently allowing her blood to reach her hands properly. A third person wiggled forward as Nott pressed a hand to her arm, before taking the key from Caleb and unlocking the chains from her ankles.
It didn’t take long for her mind to catch on, and her tears fell faster.
Where’s Molly?
xXx
His grave was less than Molly deserved and yet more than she expected. His coat fluttered, untouched save for the slowly forming patches due to the sun.
Yasha was silent, tears rolling down her cheeks as she touched the coat with trembling fingers. Fjord pressed a hand against his mouth, eyes wide and disbelief working its way in.
Jester hated herself as she ran through her spells for the thousandth time. It was too late. She knew it was too late. Yet she fell to her knees next to the grave, fingers digging into the dirt, tears dampening the dirt.
Unbiddenly, a song came to mind. A song her mother would sing sometimes, when she wanted to hear something beyond the normal showy tunes her mother sung.
“Won’t you ride the wind and go, white seabird
Ride the wind and go, mollymauk
Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn”
Her voice broke, sobs overtaking her. Then a voice continued, soft but steady.
“He’s the ghost of a sailor, so I’ve heard say
His body sank and his soul flew away
Down upon the southern ocean sailing
Down below Cape Horn”
Fjord smiled uncertainty as he settled next to her, his hand resting next to hers on Molly’s grave.
"A shanty we sang on our ship." He grinned sadly, turning to look towards the horizon. "A perfect song for our Mollymauk."
She agreed- and somehow, she knew Mollymauk was watching from the other side. She didn’t want to let him go, but even as Yasha pressed a hand to her shoulder, and Caleb settled on her other side, she knew she had to.
Ride the wind and go, Mollymauk.