Of Honour, Power & Wolves - Chapter Two B
Fic Title: Of Honour, Power and Wolves
Fic Acronym: OH PAW!
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Fic Rating: M
Chapter Rating: PG
Fic Word Count: unknown
Chapter Word Count: 7,498
Beta: Bononoho
Main Character: Stiles
Pairings: Derek/Stiles, Scott/Allison, Lydia/Jackson
Warnings: none for this chapter
Summary:
Stiles' life is about to be turned upside down by his curiosity of the
mysterious prisoner in Duke Guaire's dungeon. You know what they say,
curiosity killed the cat... perhaps in this case it is more like,
curiosity set the cat out on a mad adventure dealing with magic and
politics, wolves and villains, all to clear his father's name and expose
a corrupt duke... but that is kind of a long phrase.
Scott proved himself to not only to still remain completely well,
though he should not yet be healed from the bite, but he was
increasingly more athletic, quicker on his feet, and stronger than
anyone else. Stiles didn't understand, neither did their armsmaster who
looked completely baffled by the sudden change in his least favorite
trainee. He seemed more pleased about it than concerned, but Scott
agreed to take Stiles with him to the library where he met with Deaton,
one of his tutors, in the afternoons, just the same.
"There have
to be answers here," said Stiles, going immediately to the closest shelf
of ancient-looking books and scrolls when they entered the room. "It is
just a matter of finding the correct book."
He ran his finger
along the spines of books as he read the titles to himself, trying to
get a feel for the placement of the room. He heard Scott collapse in the
armchair by the fire.
"Tired?" he asked.
"Not even a little bit," answered Scott. "One would think I would be after working so hard in training this morning, but..."
"Armsmaster
Finstock really ran you through drills," said Stiles. "He seemed to be
waiting for you to finally collapse, but you never did."
"I never did," repeated Scott in agreement.
"And you aren't tired?" asked Stiles, turning from the books to look at Scott.
Scott was lounging in the chair, but not in a defeated or tired way, just relaxed.
"This all started after you were bitten, right?" asked Stiles.
"I suppose..." said Scott hesitantly, a frown creasing his brow. "It could be coincidence, Stiles."
"There
are few coincidences in this world," muttered Stiles as he turned his
eyes back to the titles of the books at his disposal.
"Why would a wolf biting me make me stronger?" asked Scott. "It must be something else."
"I'm
just trying to go with what we know," explained Stiles while reaching
to grab a book from the shelf. "Has anything else strange happened to
you in the last while?"
Scott frowned contemplatively. Stiles
wanted to snigger at how he appeared to be in pain whenever he thought
too hard on something.
"Nothing," said Scott, finally. "There was
the wolf bite, then I healed overnight, and now I'm stronger and faster
than I've ever been."
"Are you sure it was a wolf?" asked Stiles.
"Yes," ground out Scott. "I'm not an idiot, Stiles. I know what a wolf looks like."
"It could have been a doerg," suggested Stiles.
"A doerg?"
"You know, like a wolf but bigger than a wolf, hibernates like a bear... a doerg," said Stiles with an eyeroll.
"I know what a doerg is," ground out Scott. "I also know there aren't any doergs this side of The Great Forest."
Stiles shrugged.
"Oh! What if it was a kaillek disguised as a wolf?"
"They can disguise themselves as wolves?" asked Scott, looking horrified.
"They're magic, Scott," deadpanned Stiles.
Stiles
turned back to the books, pulling a few from the shelf and moving to
drop them to the table. He flipped through the pages, looking for
anything that could possibly point him in the right direction. He had no
idea what he was looking for.
"Gerard Argente is here," spoke Scott. "Do you think that means Allison will be here soon, too?"
Stiles
didn't look up from the book where he was reading about diseases
transferred from animal bites. He hummed in response. Scott was quiet
for a bit and Stiles read about a sickness from an animal bite that
could turn the victim mad.
"I wonder why Gerard came from Fásach so early... and without her," mused Scott, suddenly.
"Probably
to take care of your father's monster problem," replied Stiles with a
shrug, he paged through the book before stopping at an illustration of a
large man being attacked by a wolf.
"What?" asked Scott.
"Wolves..." said Stiles distractedly, tapping his finger on the book. "This all began with a wolf."
"Did you find something?"
"Are you experiencing any headaches or nausea?" asked Stiles.
"No."
"Delusions?"
"I don't think so."
"Sleeplessness?"
"No, I sleep soundly."
"Shortness of breath?"
"No," groaned Scott, "I'm perfectly fine!"
"Hmm,"
hummed out Stiles before pushing the book aside and grabbing another
from the pile he had started on the table. "Perhaps it wasn't from the
wolf, perhaps the wound was infected another way."
"The wound is gone," argued Scott. "What monster problem?"
"They
said something about wolves in the meeting as well," said Stiles,
staring blindly at the open books laid out in front of him as if they
would tell him exactly what he needed to know if only he stared hard
enough. "It has to be connected."
"I believe you are looking for this," came a deep, smooth voice, startling Stiles.
He
looked up to see Scott's tutor, Deaton, holding a small, dark green
book out to him. Stiles slowly reached to receive it, staring at Deaton
in shock.
"Uhhh," he stammered.
He hadn't heard Deaton come
in, nor had he known him to already have been in the room. From the look
of Scott behind Deaton, still sitting in the armchair, he hadn't known
his presence until just then, either. Deaton's thumb was in the book as
he passed it. Stiles flipped it open to the page and found a strange
illustration of a wolf-like monster taking up one side while the other
was titled "Irawolf" in large, scrolling calligraphic letters.
"Um, thank you?" stuttered Stiles, looking up at Deaton.
The
older man simply smiled benignly before leaving the room. Once the door
shut behind him, Stiles and Scott both turned to each other with wide
eyes.
"I didn't know he was in here," said Scott.
"Nor did I," responded Stiles, shaking his head. "He just appeared as if from nowhere."
They gaped at each other for a few moments longer before Stiles finally looked down at the book in his hands.
"The legend of the Irawolf," he read aloud.
"What's an irawolf?" asked Scott.
Stiles
turned the book around to show him the both stared down at the creature
sketched in black ink on the page. It was monstrous, standing on hind
legs like a burly, crouching man. Its face was a mixture of wolf
features contorted on a human head. Its body was covered in fur, from
its hand extended long claws, and its feet looked like large wolf paws.
"The
irawolf is an evil daemon," read Stiles, "born from the womb of a human
mother and the seed of a draíodóir or incubus. It is a shapeshifter
with three forms; man, wolf, and irawolf."
"This must be a book of fairy tales," exclaimed Scott in response. "There is no way such a thing can exist!"
"It
says that even as humans, you can tell an irawolf because they have
glowing eyes," said Stiles before pausing as realization hit him.
"What does this have to do with me?" asked Scott.
Stiles
bit his bottom lip as he read further. The next sentence explained that
in human form the irawolf was stronger and faster than was considered
possible for humans. He swallowed heavily then looked up at Scott with a
faked smile.
"It doesn't," said Stiles with a shrug. "Let's go, I'm starving."
"Okay," said Scott, giving him a suspicious look before seeming to shrug off his worries.
Stiles
slipped the little green book into a pocket inside his tunic once
Scott's back was to him before following him out. He felt like he was
only a few sentences away from learning exactly how everything fit into
place.
That evening Stiles stayed
up reading by candlelight. He read through the section of the little
green book Deaton had given him about the irawolf and realized that it
was precisely what the mysterious prisoner in the tower must be. It was
no wonder the soldiers were scared of the prisoner. Stiles' stomach
turned at the memory of the man's eyes glowing red at him.
Stiles
couldn't sleep. He laid in his bed tracing the image of the irawolf
drawn in the book with his finger while wondering. Man or beast, Stiles
truly felt that the prisoner did not deserve the fate Gerard Argente had
in store for him. He had to grin at himself, though, when he thought
back to the talk of the doerg he had with Lydia that morning-he had been
closer to the truth than he could possibly have imagined. Was he even a
man in any way? Could he even speak? Was he just a monster in a man's
skin? If Stiles were to free him, would he be damning the entire town?
He
couldn't take it anymore, Stiles got out of bed and pulled on some
clothes. He would go to the tower and look upon the face of the irawolf.
If he could find even a hint of humanity in the prisoner, he would set
about freeing him that very night. He had no idea how, but he would.
Stiles
cursed at himself as he approached the castle in the darkness. The
flickering light from the torch by the heavy door the only thing
lighting his path. He tried to be stealthy as he edged along the stone
wall separating the baileys. He had absolutely no plan and he was only
going to get himself into more trouble. He had already put his father on
edge by listening in on the meeting in the duke's hall, if he were to
be caught that night, he would surely be whipped. As he got closer to
the tower, though, he heard the muffled sound of snoring coming from
within. Perhaps fortune was in his favor.
Random apologies and
excuses already waiting upon his lips, Stiles pushed open the door and
stepped into the tower. The night guard was slumped over in the corner,
snoring loudly. Stiles glanced around, there was no one else except for
the prisoner who was staring at him intently from behind the bars of his
cell. Stiles closed the door behind him, wincing when the guard stirred
at the noise it made, then tiptoed down the steps and across the floor.
"Hi," whispered Stiles as he reached the supposed-irawolf's cell. "I.. uh... have come to.. rescue you? Perhaps?"
Stiles
wasn't sure what he was doing now that he was there. He had wanted to
see the prisoner, thinking that seeing him would help him determine
whether he were human enough to deserve freedom. Standing in front of
his cage, though, Stiles didn't know what sort of test he should put the
prisoner through to determine such a thing.
"But it isn't just
humans who deserve freedom," said Stiles, suddenly. "Anything that
breathes deserves that... don't you think?"
The prisoner's eyes flashed red in the flickering light cast by the torch.
"You're an irawolf," spoke Stiles, his voice always low because of the sleeping soldier.
The
prisoner didn't growl when Stiles got closer to the cell bars, unlike
last time. Stiles squinted at him, moving closer and closer to the cell
until his hands were wrapped around the bars. The prisoner bristled
under Stiles' scrutiny, showing long fangs where human eye teeth should
reside. Stiles took a step back.
"You've got to work with me, here," hissed Stiles. "Do you even understand anything I'm saying?"
He stared at the prisoner for a few beats.
"Blink once for yes and twice for no," said Stiles.
That got a low growl out of the prisoner. The corner of Stiles' mouth twitched at that. He would try a different tactic.
"I
don't think I will let you out, afterall," sighed out Stiles with a
shake of his head. "They are planning on killing you; putting you down
like a dog. They say you are nothing but an animal. I wanted to free you
so such a fate wouldn't meet you, but perhaps I was wrong to think you
were more human that wolf."
The growling subsided at that. Stiles grinned triumphantly.
"Just get me out of here you little prick," ground out the prisoner in a deep, low voice.
"So you can talk."
The prisoner's eyes flashed red in obvious annoyance.
"What's your name?" asked Stiles. "Can you really change into a wolf?"
"That
idiot soldier could wake up at any moment and see you in here," said
the prisoner. "Do you really want to be found out, or could we perhaps
save our introductions for once we are safely away?"
Stiles glanced back over his shoulder at the guard.
"You may have a point," said Stiles. "Okay, how do I get you out?"
"You don't have a plan?" asked the prisoner. "What kind of idiot-"
"Considering
that you're the one sitting in his own feces and piss in a dungeon cell
and I'm the one free as a bird out here," cut in Stiles, "you may find
it wise to keep the insults to a minimum."
The prisoner shut up at
that, his jaw clenching and his eyes flashing red once again. Stiles
nodded approvingly at his silence before straightening and surveying the
room. There was no expectation that someone might want to free the wild
creature, so there would be no need to safeguard the cell key.
"Aha," breathed Stiles victoriously when he spotted the ring of keys hanging from a wooden peg on the opposite wall.
He
swiftly crossed the short distance and grabbed up the keys. They
clinked together and Stiles froze. He glanced over at the guard who was
beginning to stir. He mentally went through the entire list of curses
known to him while turning and running on tiptoes back to the prisoner's
cell. The snoring came back in full force and Stiles breathed a sigh of
relief before attempting the first key on the ring. It did not work,
but there were only three more.
The prisoner crept closer to the
cell door. Stiles tried the second key and it fit. Before he turned it,
though, it suddenly hit him that in a second the person behind the bars
would be free. The person who was possibly some sort of wolf-like
creature, who supposedly feasted on human flesh. He shuddered and looked
up, his eyes finding the prisoner's.
"Will you kill me once I let you out?" asked Stiles.
"To find out, you will have to turn the key," responded the prisoner in a low whisper
Stiles
licked his lips nervously. He looked over the figure of the prisoner
standing in the shadows. The man's body was tense as if every muscle was
flexed, ready and waiting. He looked impatient, his breathing a little
too heavy for someone so stationery.
Stiles glanced down at the
key in his hand and then back up at the prisoner. Lydia's words from
earlier came to him. Yes, he really was stupid enough to free the beast.
Stiles turned the key.