Chapter Text
A long time ago, on a rocky, rainy island off the coast of what was once the Roman empire, there lived a warrior. He was a proud, mighty man, as tall as an oak tree and as strong as an ox. They called him Jonathan, and he defended his village from raiding parties from the west and vicious Danish berserkers from the north with the might and fury of a thousand suns. It was a warm summer's evening, and the sugary twilight tinted the grass a deep golden-orange shade as Jonathan rode home on his horse. He'd just gone to another town to ensure an alliance, and now he was returning back to Windknight's Lot, the little Anglo-Saxon village where he lived. His brother- the bane of his existence - also lived there, but that didn't bother him. The warrior rode along the dirt paths until he reached a thatched hall. He got off his steed, tethered it, and walked to the door with a wide grin on his face.
"Darlings, I'm home!"
"Jonathan!" Smiled Eleanor, Jonathan's female lover. She was the town's cunning woman, and although she was only in her early twenties, she was a skilled healer who made potions and cures for the townspeople. She also had slight psychic abilities, letting her predict things at will and see the "hidden folk."
"JoJo, love!" Robrand, Jonathan's male lover, said as he pulled the warrior into a hug. Robrand was a bard, and loved to sing songs describing Jonathan's exploits and adventures. It was unusual to have two lovers, and yet Jonathan was not some kind of adulterer, nor was he building a harem. He simply loved two people so much that he could not bear to choose, and thus they both decided to court him. Robrand was a homosexual and Eleanor was heterosexual, but although this relationship was more of a love chevron than a love triangle, they were the dearest of true friends. The three of them were happy this way, and were even happier now that Eleanor had brought a baby into the world a few months ago. The infant giggled and gurgled in his cradle, and as the three lovers sat down around the fire, and Eleanor stirred the cauldron over the flames before cuddling close to her husband, the three of them curled together in a bundle of furs and blankets. Robrand kissed him on the cheek, and Jonathan was certain that life couldn't get better than this.
How terrible it was when it all came crashing down.
One terrible night, Jonathan was awakened by the sound of crashing hooves. He rolled out of bed and pulled on his tunic and boots, before grabbing his sword and opening the door to face whatever was out there. He needed to protect Eleanor and Robrand, not to mention the baby! The warrior gave a gasp as he saw hoards of horsemen tearing through the town, waving burning torches and weapons of all kinds. And there, in the middle of all the chaos, was his brother Dio!
"Bring me the witch and her two assistants!" The blonde man screamed. "She calls herself Eleanor, and she is the spawn of the devil! Her "cures" and "medicine" is demonic witchcraft, made to destroy the brains of your infants! Bring me the witch!"
"Darling, we must get out of here, now!" Jonathan cried, shaking Eleanor awake. Robrand woke up and rubbed his eyes, before his expression became one of terror.
"The baby! Is..."
"I've got him, he's safe!" Jonathan replied, clutching the infant to his chest. Eleanor and Robrand pulled on their clothes, and the Cunning woman walked to the front door of the house with a heavy heart. The Horsemen had trampled her herb garden and the vegetable patches, not to mention that they'd killed Jonathan's horse and burnt the beehives. The air reeked of sticky, burning honey as she opened the door, only to be faced by dozens of cruel blades.
"We've got her, men. Time to do God a favour and wipe this witch off the face of the earth..." Dio sneered.
To keep him safe, Jonathan had entrusted the baby to his friend Straizo. Yet now, as he, Robrand and Eleanor were carted off by the Horsemen, it was the only comfort he could find, knowing that at least the baby would be safe. Dio had apparently paid a neighboring clan to invade the village, swearing up and down that Eleanor was a witch. In reality he was bitter- bitter that she'd chosen the gentle giant Jonathan over him, and out of spite he wanted to get his own back. He was jealous of Jonathan, and was determined to get petty revenge, even if it meant taking innocent lives. He'd done it in the past- he'd killed Jonathan's hound and made it look like an accident. The cart went up the hill path, to where a stake awaited on top of a huge pile of dry wood. Jonathan saw this, and cried out in horror.
"You can't! You mustn't! Eleanor isn't a witch, please, let her go!" He begged. He would've fought back, but he wasn't armed- and what if the horseman killed Eleanor or Robrand before he could save them?
"Oh, but we will. And you're conspiring with a witch, so you'll get the chop too!" Dio sneered.
"Take the cunning woman and her assistant-" A horseman pointed to Eleanor and Robrand - "and tie them to that stake!" The two blondes were tied to the stake, and Robrand yelled out in horror as pitch was poured all over the wood to make it more flammable.
"This doesn't look good! Oh God, only a miracle's gonna get us out of this one!"
"Please, it's not witchcraft, it's science!" Eleanor begged as they tipped pitch all over her.
"Shut up, woman! You're not clever enough to understand healing!" Dio sneered. Eleanor sighed, then looked him defiantly in the eye.
"I know for certain that I understand one thing... As long as I can look Jonathan in the eye, I will be happy."
"Heaven is a place where I'm with him. And you can't take that away from us!" Robrand snapped. Dio gave a cruel smirk, and drew his sword as he threw a burning torch onto the pitch-smeared pyre.
"Oh, but I can, you bitch!"
All Eleanor and Robrand could do was scream as the horsemen pulled back Jonathan's head, and Dio decapitated him in one fell swoop.
Hours later, the pyre was left on top of the hill as a warning to those who disobeyed Dio. Jonathan's head was stuck on a spike outside Dio's long house, where he pointed and laughed at it as he feasted on ale and roast boar. However, Jonathan's spirit was far from gone- it was still there, a wispy little pale thing.
"Eleanor? Robrand?" He said in a small voice, terrified to even look at their burnt remains. But there was only silence- as sometimes, the dead don't become ghosts. Sometimes they are reborn, yet there is no way of telling who will do it, and when they will if they do. Jonathan gazed at the charred heap in front of him, and was filled with a mixture of rage, sorrow and determination at the sight.
"I swear, both of you- until I hold you in my arms again, I shan't rest! I will find you again, I promise!"
Years passed. Centuries passed. Lifetimes passed. Eleanor and Robrand were reborn in many bodies, and yet they never saw Jonathan's spirit. Sometimes Eleanor's Second Sight would manifest, and sometimes it wouldn't. However, they'd never seen him, and he was powerless to do naught but watch as they were killed over and over again- in plagues, in wars, in fires, in murders. The year was 1888, and they'd just died again. Jonathan hovered around the graveyard as an elderly man and woman wept for their dear, dead daughter- forever 19 and taken from them by consumption, now lying beneath the cold, cruel earth, marked only by a delicate white marble angel. Meanwhile, Robrand had been hung for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his seven hungry little sisters, all of whom were perishing of scarlet fever, just as their parents did. The police didn't care that he was living in the ogre street slums, nor that he was rejected from every job he applied to on behalf of his poverty- they just jammed the noose over his neck, and now he was rotting in a mass pauper's grave, alongside 20 others who were taken by the ravages of poverty. Jonathan sat on a gravestone and wept as the sun went down and the moon rose, as he felt as if all was truly lost. Then, suddenly, he heard a voice.
"Hey, baby."
The ghost turned. Standing in the shadows was a strange man in a chequered top hat, holding a glass of red wine. He had no shadow, and was followed around by the strange scent of brimstone.
"Who are you?" Jonathan asked, shivering in the tunic, leggings, cloak and boots he died in.
"You can call me Barone Zeppeli. You're searching for your lovers, correct? I can help you with that... At a price."
"What is it? Name it." Jonathan replied, looking the strange man in the eye. Zeppeli grinned, showing off sharp white teeth.
"I need a rider. Somebody to chase the wicked to their graves, to the ends of the earth. If you agree to reap the souls of evil men and send them away to Tartarus, I could make a deal with you. You'd get immortality and all kinds of dark powers, and in return for reaping a few souls and scaring a few folks every Halloween, I could help you find your lovers. Once you find them- and they recognise, remember and love you- you will be freed from servitude, and you may keep your new form to live with them with."
"I... What's the catch?" Jonathan said, holding his head in his arms. He'd been decapitated, so he was a headless ghost who had to tote his head around like a bowling ball.
"Only your two lovers can see your true head. Others will just see something suitably spooky."
Jonathan considered this, then extended a hand.
"It's a deal."
Zeppeli shook his hand, then disappeared in a puff of sulphurous smoke. Suddenly a huge crack appeared in the ground, and Danny, Jonathan's long-lost pet dog, crawled out. The dog howled as he warped and stretched, becoming a gigantic black and white horse, the size of a gigantic shire horse. He was 23 hands tall with a mane and tail of blue fire, fanged teeth that gnashed as it foamed at the mouth, spiked gunmetal horseshoes, a saddle made from human skin leather, and a bridle of barbed wire. The horse's eyes glowed with blue fire, and Jonathan gasped as he felt himself become corporal. His clothes burnt away, becoming a black Victorian suit and a white shirt (A/N: Imagine his wedding outfit), with a long black cloak. Black riding boots appeared on his feet and black leather gloves appeared on his hands as silver bands appeared on his wrists, showing that he was now in service to Zeppeli- whatever he was. Jonathan lifted his head in his hands, seeing his blue hair tumble down and grow longer. His skin turned pale, and although to him his face stayed the same (albeit with sharp white teeth and glowing blue eyes), to others it became something sinister. Something linked with Halloween in every way. After all, what is a Headless Horseman without a pumpkin head? It burned with blue flames, and Jonathan's sword reforged itself into an enormous silver scythe.
"Go, my horseman. Jack the Ripper won't deliver his own soul to Tartarus." Zeppeli's voice whispered on his ear.
"Yes, sir." Jonathan replied as he got into the saddle of his old pet, now a creature from a nightmare. As he rode through the dark streets of London, hope bubbled in his heart of darkness like a potion in a cauldron.
He could finally find Eleanor and Robrand like this! And so, he rode on through the night.