Chapter Text
River never planned on remarrying after his wife and daughter passed.
There was no point at his age, he figured. Inara died during labour, Noor followed soon after delivery, and he was left alone with two graves to dig.
He remembered the empty period of grief he slipped into after the funeral, drinking with his patrons instead of serving them, while they silently offered their condolences.
It had been years since then, the sixth anniversary of Inara’s and Noor’s passing approaching soon, and River believed he had moved on, but not enough that he considered himself ready to try again; he loved Inara so much, even after death, that it was a miracle he didn’t contract Broken Heart Syndrome.
He had accepted losing however many years he and Inara would have had together if she hadn’t died; he had accepted losing what he believed was his only chance of fatherhood.
(He prayed once: to Nafsruh, the God of Soul and of Humanity’s Emotions, back when the wound was still raw and new, and he blamed himself, lamenting why. He doesn’t think it was ever answered.)
“Hey—Adel,” Vagnakr said in a low tone, nudging his elbow.
(He doesn’t think it was ever answered until now.)
“What is it?” River asked, safely stashing his coin away. They were in Kordorul, a city riddled with thieves but home to worthwhile trade in otherwise rare goods; always better to keep your guard up when bringing out gold.
Vagnakr pointed leftwards of River’s vision. “Over there. Didn’t you hear them?”
River shook his head as he turned. He normally tuned out all other sounds when haggling with vendors, but now that he was done bartering and could listen to the open market, he frowned.
There, some stalls away, was a pair of armed men slowly walking their way, probably mercenaries. They looked young, free of scars and holding polished, shiny steel. If they were mercenaries, then they had just entered the field.
One of them, dark-haired and with an axe swinging dangerously from his holster, was holding a thrashing girl by the back of her collar. She looked maybe twelve, had mauve-colored hair, wore tattered and dirt-dusted clothing, and was screaming bloody murder, demanding to be let go. Not even half the market spared a glance longer than a breath; the rest turned a blind eye, scowling at the noise.
“Remember seeing a slave market of sorts down that way,” Vagnakr said, as the girl’s yelling grew louder and raspier.
“Dehma went back there, didn’t he?” River recalled. He tried looking away from the scene. “Said he wanted to check one of the stalls we passed.”
Vagnakr nodded; his stare hardened when Dark-Haired started yelling back at the girl, cursing profanities no kid should hear. He yelled animatedly, swinging his arms and axe, waving his hands and in turn, treating the girl he was holding off the ground like a ragdoll (he’s strong, River will give him that).
“Vagnakr,” River muttered. “None of our business. We wait for Dehma, and then we leave.”
It wasn't any of their business, River told himself; Kordorul was messy, its ‘laws’ even more so. It was why he, Vagnakr, and Dehma always travelled there together.
He kept looking away, repeating his thoughts over and over, waiting for them to stick, only to look back again as the yelling and screaming grew greater. The process looped.
“She’s a kid, Adel,” Vagnakr gritted.
River’s voice remained the same. “You know Kordorul.”
“And that’s reason enough?”
He couldn’t answer in time. He blinked, and then suddenly a figure vaulted onto Dark-Hair’s back, making him stumble with curses of confusion while the other mercenary, blonde with a sword at his hip, jumped and tumbled to the floor in surprise. The girl was let go in the process, and she scrambled back. The figure wrapped an arm around Dark-Hair’s neck in a chokehold, pulling him back as their face was revealed—
“See, Dehma understands me,” Vagnakr hastily clapped River’s shoulder before joining in the fight; Blondie was getting up, drawing his sword, while Dark-Hair was struggling but close to reaching his axe.
River finally processed things, but Vagnakr was already clashing iron against Blondie, separating him from his friend. “For the love of—” River stopped himself and brandished his sword.
Dehma snarled, flipping Dark-Haired over onto his back and bashing his head into a nearby stall, sending the vendor and others nearby running. His eyes were bright, stormy blue, focused on Dark-Hair’s neck, and he was baring his fangs in broad daylight in a public open market.
Fuck.
“Hey!” River yelled, stilling Vagnakr and Blondie’s swordfight by intersecting his sword between theirs. Dehma held his dazed opponent down by sitting atop of him, iron-clawed gloves aimed at his face. River sighed. He had their attention, easily enough. “We’re all civilised men here, aren’t we?”
Blondie scowled, not retracting his sword. He gestured to Dehma, “I wouldn’t call your little friend there ‘civilised.’”
(Dehma hissed, an inhuman sound.
“Dehma, I swear,” River warned, and Dehma switched to silence.)
Vagnakr started laughing. “And you and your friend are?”
“We bought that girl fair and square!” Blondie argued.
Vagnakr’s grin dropped to a piercing glare. “And that makes things even worse.”
I’m too old for this, River thought at age thirty-three.
“We can settle this without weapons, can’t we?” he asked. “A compromise?”
Dark-Hair groaned, returning to consciousness. “Fuck your compromises,” he spat. He snatched Dehma’s wrist, twisting it before flinging him at the stall. That stirred up Blondie’s vigour again, and he flicked out of the sword lock to slash at Vagnakr.
River looked at the chaos around him: Vagnakr resuming his duel; Dehma emerging from the stall rubble, before immediately having to barrel away from a swinging axe; sellers and buyers hiding away. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”
He was dragged into trying to disarm Blondie (whose name he then learned was “Cass” after Dark-Hair screamed for assistance; Dehma had found his way back onto his back despite a wounded wrist) while Vagnakr duelled him. Cass was, unfortunately, skilled in swordplay, ambidextrous, and prepared. His free hand flung a throwing knife at River, which he just barely dodged before he had to barrel out of the way of a rogue and unevenly swinging axe.
“Lucian, watch it!” Cass yelled, his and Vagnakr’s swordfight thrown to a halt when ducking away from Dark-Hair’s—now known as Lucian—wild, uncoordinated swings.
“I’ve got a psycho on me right now!” Lucian shouted back, trying to shake Dehma off.
“You’re twice his size!” Cass pointed out in-between striking and defending against Vagnakr and River. “Just launch him off!”
It was true: Dehma was only 5’5, barely 5’6, and Lucian seemed just an inch or two taller than River, and he was 6’1. But maybe that was why the mercenary was having so much trouble wrangling his much smaller opponent off of him.
Somewhere, in the distance but steadily growing louder, River could hear horses trotting, accompanied by yells. He stole a brief glance: it was the vendor of the stall Lucian and Dehma had destroyed. Following her were two armed men on horseback, the closest thing Aegoris had to law enforcement on the streets.
River narrowed his eyes. “We’re wrapping this up now.”
Cass seemed to agree with him, barking out, “Damn right we are! Lucian!”
Lucian was focused solely on Dehma, who had climbed up, hanging off the mercenary while throwing in sharp punches of iron to the face. “Get — off!—argk!”
He staggered back, hunched forward from the extra weight of one Dehma Cole on his back—and from the knife sticking out of his gut.
River squinted harder at the impalement: it was Cass’, the one he aimed at River earlier. He looked back at where it was thrown. He suspected the girl, but found no one.
Smart kid, River thought, just as the horses’ trotting and neighing and the vendor’s yelling of “vandals!” approached nearer.
“That brat!” Cass stared at where Lucian first dropped the girl, dumbly diverting his focus away. “She’ll pay for this—ack!”
Please avoid bloodshed in public, River used to plead to his friends every time they travelled outside of the Swamplands, but did they listen? No, of course not, Vagnakr’s sword partway through Cass’ abdomen was proof enough.
“I’m done here!” Vagnakr announced with pride. He unceremoniously pulled his sword out of Cass and kicked the stab wound, leaving him keeling over in pain. “Dey?”
Dehma swung himself over Lucian’s shoulder, reached for the blade in the taller man’s gut and drove it upwards, yielding a pained cry before dropping back onto the ground.
And with moments to spare.
“Okay, the both of you have had your fill of violence, let’s go.” River sheathed his sword and bolted ahead out of the market with Dehma, Vagnakr following close behind.
“We’re never going to be able to come back here, are we?” Dehma asked.
River sighed. “No.” A shame; Kordorul did have some good wares.
They had put more than enough distance between them and the market, to the edge of the city, a few hours away from the nearest settlement, Gorf’s Rest; they were resting now, laying low while Dehma wrapped up his sprained wrist. His gloves were thrown on a rock next to him, the claws already licked clean of Lucian’s blood.
“Aegoris will get over it,” Vagnakr said with blasé confidence. He lay sprawled out on the grass, gazing at the sky; his sword lying beside him in arm’s reach. “They wouldn’t risk losing business by putting wanted posters of customers. Besides—”
“They’d be hypocrites as thieves,” Dehma finished.
“—they’d be hypocrites,” Vagnakr snapped his fingers, sending a nod towards Dehma’s direction. Dehma grinned, showing off his fangs in the process. The rest of his cloaking spell faded, revealing pointed ears and black sclerae with glowing blue slit pupils.
Speaking of which:
“Dey, you really need to be more careful,” River said.
Dehma hissed at him. “I’m over two-hundred-years-old, Adel; I don’t need a lecture.”
“If you’re going to continue to live among humans as a human,” he explained, “you need to avoid the vampiric instincts.”
“And isn’t two-hundred years in Enderian around twenty in Overworld?” Vagnakr butted in. “Adel’s got thirteen years on you—”
River deadpanned. “Thanks for making me feel old.”
“—and we’re a decade apart.” Vagnakr droned for a moment before laughing. “Maybe you do need a lecture.”
Dehma looked at him, baffled. “Whose side are you on?”
“I’m just here for the show, Dey. Nothing personal.”
The vampire flicked a leaf at him, ignoring his offended “hey!” to turn to River. “Just change the subject, please?”
River gave it some thought and shrugged: he may as well. His mind had wandered off either way. “The girl that Lucian and Cass said they bought: she ran off didn't she? Where do you think she is now?” It was a genuine curiosity, although it was highly likely that the girl had thrown the knife at Lucian before bolting.
“Hopefully far away from those two,” Vagnakr said. “And wherever they bought her from. And from Kordorul in general.”
Dehma hummed. “She’s not that far, actually.” His ears twitched, and without looking up, “You can come on out, little lady: none of us are going to hurt you.”
At that, there was the sound of crunching gravel, and from the bushes behind the nonchalant vampire sprang up a pink head of hair. She flicked her gaze nervously between the three of them. River set his sword aside, letting it rest against the tree; Vagnakr sat up in a more dignified position.
“What’s your name?” Dehma asked, all gentle and offering the girl a spot on the dirt with a kind smile.
“Rosetta,” she answered with a rasp, tentatively sitting down. “Mama and Papa called me Rose for short.”
“Called,” River picked up. He stored that detail away for later.
“How long have you been following us for, Rose?”
Rosetta pursed her lips before responding, “Since you three left the market. I wasn't sure where to go—after…” She trailed off. Instead, she looked at each of them, shyly saying a “thank you.”
“It wasn't a problem,” Dehma assured, his uninjured hand covering his bandaged wrist before Rosetta could notice. “Do you know where home is?”
He hummed a note when his question received a firm head shake. “That’s okay. We’re leaving soon—“ he glanced at River, who nodded, “—do you want to come with us? Until we can figure this out?”
She nodded this time.
Dehma nodded as well. “All right then. How long until the tavern, Adel?”
River turned towards the sky. “Two days; just before sundown, I hope. We still have to get our horses.” They had left them back a little closer to Kordorul’s city limits when they first arrived, where the buildings grew farther apart, and the population dwindled. That would set them back an hour at most.
“We’ll be in and out,” Vagnakr assured quickly.
“Or,” Dehma said, handing Rosetta his waterskin, “you and Adel can get the horses and Rose and I will wait for you here?”
Rosetta nodded along at the proposal, before gulping down the offered water as if she hadn’t drunk in days.
It took two full days of travelling, a stop at Aegoris for the night, but they had made it back to the tavern, and not too long ago, either. River had shown Rosetta the bathroom upstairs so she could wash up and change into something cleaner and comfier than the rags she was wearing in Kordorul (they swung by the shops in Aegoris for clothes that would actually fit her, seeing as River lived alone) before meeting Dehma and Vagnakr downstairs to discuss their next course of action, which was apparently this:
“You know I can’t take her in,” Dehma said, his arms crossed. “Von is a gods-obssessed cult, and I will not subject Rosetta to their ‘teachings.’”
Why do you even live there? River asked with his deadpan stare.
Who knows, Dehma replied with a shrug.
“I can’t either,” Vagnakr added. “It’s either that or I find a new occupation to make a living off of.”
And then there was one.
“Good to know I’m the most qualified to take care of an adolescent child out of the three of us. “ River glared tiredly at both of them. “Despite my not knowing how to act around or interact with children.”
Dehma rolled his eyes and, standing on his tiptoes, flicked River’s forehead, which he just about reached. He pointed out, as River reacted blandly in flat pain, “You act well enough with Hien’s little boy; Oísin and Lorviann’s little girl, too. The both of them even call you ‘uncle.’”
Vagnakr followed along, clapping his shoulder and offering reassurance in the form of an encouraging grin. “Dey’s right, Adel. Besides, the kid says she’s got nowhere else to go.”
As if River was going to turn the poor girl away when they were this far into things. “We’re lucky I’ve got that spare room free.” And they really were: that room was meant to be Noor’s nursery and then her bedroom as she grew up; it was only three years ago that he finally found the strength to sort out Inara’s things and clear out what would have been his daughter’s room with the help of some other friends, Hien included. It was free for the taking, just missing some essential furniture to make it livable.
“We’ll help you set up,” Dehma said. “You’ll need to be open tomorrow morning anyway, won’t you? Best to get everything done before then.”
River let out a sigh, nodding. He had closed the tavern for a whole week for their trip to Kordorul because he figured he might as well give his staff (a grand total of five employees) the time off as well; he’ll be needing to make the money back sooner rather than later.
Dehma hummed. “We better start now then.”
“With the three of us, we’ll be finished in no time,” Vagnakr declared, boisterous as always.
River smiled faintly and nodded.