Writing: "In Fire and Blood"; Incomplete; Inkheart
...just for fun...
Any Inkheart fans out there?
So, some months ago, I saw that movie again and remembered how much I loved Paul Bettany. I also saw it and saw a whole mess of chemistry between his character, Dustfinger and Meggie, so of course I went looking for fic. There was quite a bit of it, despite the fact that Meggie like 13 in the movie and Dustfinger is in his 30s or so. (I, of course, write them when she's older).
Anyway, as usually happens when I get caught up in a fandom, I realized that the ideas I had in my head weren't being addressed by the fanfiction already in existence, so I started getting my own ideas.
This is one of them.
I'll say no more except that this has become somewhat of a monster and although I have quite a bit written, I no longer know where I'm going with it. (I'm only planning on giving you guys the first bit, unless y'all tell me you want more...)
And although I have read the first book, "Inkheart" (not any of the others in the series), I base this mostly on the movie (because in the book, Dustfinger does not go back into the book...)
Anyway...lemme know what you think, yeah?
So, before you begin reading, some introductory notes about the text itself:
(1) If you haven't seen the movie, you might be lost as to what's going on here...there are references to events from the movie -- possibly from the book as well -- I only read the book once, so I don't remember the nuances.
(2) I KNOW that I change something from the events of the other books in the series, so just go with the fact this is AU from the point that the movie ends. I acted as if whatever happened to these characters after that point had never been contemplated or written about and I made up my own.
(3) There could be some gaping holes in the set up of why Dustfinger is where he is, but I've left that open on purpose -- at first, because I didn't really care about explaining it and later because I think it might be discussed by the man himself later on. He's never been particularly open about things, so...yeah...I figure it's a believable license to take.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
It took Meggie a moment to realize exactly what she was seeing, and by then, her mother had come up to her and started explaining.
His wife and children were dead, had been dead for years in his time, and someone had read him out of the book and, according to him, he’d come to the only other people he thought of as family. Meggie could feel her mouth twisting into a mocking smile at that comment, but before she could speak, her father noticed her and smiled in greeting.
“Meggie,” her father greeted. “Welcome home,” he told her, smiling. “Look who’s come to visit.”
Meggie dropped her backpack where she stood in the entry hall (for once, her mother didn’t comment) and took a few steps toward the two men standing in their parlor. When Dustfinger turned around and looked at her, she stopped, as if she hadn’t really expected to look on him again.
In a way, she hadn’t.
“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Mo asked, noting his daughter’s strange behavior.
“Fine, Mo,” she said, and hoped her tone didn’t sound as mechanical as it felt. It was hard keeping the sudden, overwhelming rage from showing in her voice or her face. Still, something in Dustfinger’s expression made her think he saw it. “Welcome back, Dustfinger,” she said stoically, before blinking and breaking the stare. She bent down and scooped up her bag. “I’ll go and do my homework now,” she said, turning on her heel and walking back through the door, walking quickly through the entryway to the grand staircase leading to the second floor.
“Meggie, wait,” Mo called, sharing a confused look with his wife before walking after her. By the time he reached her, her foot was on the first step. “Is everything alright?”
Meggie looked into her father’s concerned eyes and smiled, sincerely. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I guess my mind’s still on the tutoring I got from Professor Smith on the statistics midterm.”
Mo knew his daughter well enough to wonder about her reason, but respected her too much to press her except to ask, “Dustfinger being here doesn’t bring back bad memories about Farid, does it?” on a whisper.
Meggie blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, before shaking her head and smiling. “No more than anything Inkworld does, pops,” she told him, hand on her shoulder. “I really am preoccupied with the Stats midterm - it’s said to be a killer, and you know me and my left brain just don’t get maths at all easily.” She offered him a wry smile and there was enough truth mixed in with half-truths to assuage Mo’s worry - for the moment.
Enough that he let her go with a smile. “I’ll call you down for dinner, then.”
She felt her throat tighten and had to swallow to be able to speak. Luckily, she had already turned back to the stairs and her father didn’t notice the emotion that flicked over her face. “Uh, probably not the best idea, Mo,” she said. “I really have to buckle down and study all the time I have --” she turned around, already perceiving his argument and prepared to counter it. “I promise I’ll come down and fetch a sandwich later, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mo said. “I’ll bring one up to you, okay?”
“Nah,” she shook her head. She didn’t really want to have to pretend she was okay more than necessary. And if her dad brought her a sandwich he might think it another good opportunity to ask her if she was alright. “It’ll give me a reason to take a little mini-break to come down and make one for myself.” She smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning and bounding up the stairs two at a time.
If Aunt Elinor weren’t in Scotland at some antique book festival, she would surely have scolded her about proper behavior for ladies walking up steps.
---
By midnight, she was starving.
She’d actually surprised herself with the amount of studying she’d actually accomplished and supposed, absently[?] that she’d gotten better at compartmentalizing than she thought. After the initial shock of seeing him *in her house* wore off, she’d managed quite completely to forget all about him and focus on her studies. She really *had* a statistics test in two days that had her worried about the health of her overall GPA.
Even as she padded down the quiet hallway, down the steps and familiarly made her way in the half-light from the moon outside to the kitchens, she was thinking about [statistics formulas] and not about the Inkworld at all.
Which was why when she turned on the light in the kitchen and found him sitting at the antique wooden table in the far corner by the French doors, she started and nearly yelped.
Their eyes locked again, but this time, there was no one around she had to hide the surge of rage from and he was able to see it in its entirety as it crashed over her face. With a quick shake of her head, it was gone and she had turned back around to walk right back the way she came.
“You promised your father you’d have a sandwich.”
His voice, the same deep, smooth timbre she hadn’t heard in so long, froze her in her tracks. *‘How dare he speak to me?’* she wondered.
“Meggie?”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, her voice tight, her back still to him. A moment later, she was movement again, walking the rest of the distance to the doorway of the kitchen, stopping only when she suddenly found her way barred. Any one else, any other time, and she might have wondered how he moved so quickly and quietly. Considering who it was, however, she didn’t care. She inhaled to make certain her voice was even and looked up to meet his eyes. Vaguely, a part of her noted that he wasn’t so much taller than her anymore, and she wasn’t even wearing heels. “Get out of my way,” she demanded.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Her eyes flashed. “I don’t have to tell you a god-damned thing,” she retorted. “Get out of my way,” she repeated, sternly.
“I don’t understand,” he started, only to be cut off by a bark of laughter.
“You don’t understand?” she echoed. “Oh, that’s rich,” she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing absently she had worn something more intimidating than her penguin pjs. “What’s to understand?” she asked at his cocked eyebrow. “You can’t possibly expect me to welcome you with open arms, can you? Not after you betrayed me and my family several times over the last time we met.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I’m so sorry about what I did back then, Meggie, I-”
She cut him off with a raised hand between them. “Spare me,” she bit out. “I don’t want your apologies and I don’t need your excuses,” she said. “All I want is for you to get out of my way, so I can leave this room and not have to look at you again.”
Abashed, Dustfinger moved aside. “If your father could forgive me...”
Meggie whirled around. “My father doesn’t know,” she told him. “He doesn’t know that *you* left his only daughter to rot in a *crypt* because you were too cowardly to take the time to find the right key to let her out -- that you *ran away* having the opportunity to free her.”
“How-?” Dustfinger wondered. “Why wouldn’t you-?”
“You were gone,” Meggie said simply, turning her face away from him for a moment. “Why would I break my father’s heart by telling him someone he came to trust and respect,” she turned back to him, “was nothing but a coward and a selfish opportunist.”
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice rough, low. “I came back--” he seemed about to say more, but stopped himself.
“For your own selfish reasons, no doubt,” she countered. “You knew Capricorn still had the book, and that you’d get another chance at going home if you came back and after all, that’s everything you’ve ever wanted.” She challenged him with her eyes. “The rest of us were just a means to an end.”
“That’s not true,” he countered. He took a step toward her. “I came back because-”
“Because what?” she pressed. Then, realizing she had caught herself up in talking to him and listening to his excuses despite her determination not to, she shrugged and turned around. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, starting to walk out of the kitchen.
“Because of you,” he spoke, and although his voice never rose above half-an octave, she still heard him and for the second time that night, his voice froze her in her tracks.
She didn’t know quite what to make of that statement.
“I got out of the city,” he said, sensing his opportunity. “I made it to the bridge - no one was following me - I could have kept going, but then I heard your voice in my head, asking me to stop, to not leave you, and I...I couldn’t.”
“So you do have a conscience?” she asked, a hint of something like sarcasm to her tone, even if she didn’t turn around.
“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done,” he said softly. “I *was* cowardly and selfish, but-”
“I don’t really care,” she cut him off, turning to face him. And although her words were harsh, something in her expression had changed from pure anger to weariness. He knew the look well. After a fire had burned its hottest, it smoldered down to tired embers before it went out completely.
But even those embers were dangerous and could easily spring into a new inferno if fed. So, he waited.
“I don’t see the point of telling Mo anything about what happened, but I don’t trust you, Dustfinger,” she said plainly. “I don’t think you’re reliable, and if I find out you’re really here because you expect my father to help you with something dangerous, I will tell him that I don’t think he should trust you and use any examples necessary to convince him of that fact.”
He walked to the door just as she was passing through it. “So, in this world, people can’t change?” he questioned. “There are no such things as second chances?”
He didn’t really expect an answer, and she didn’t disappoint.
Any Inkheart fans out there?
So, some months ago, I saw that movie again and remembered how much I loved Paul Bettany. I also saw it and saw a whole mess of chemistry between his character, Dustfinger and Meggie, so of course I went looking for fic. There was quite a bit of it, despite the fact that Meggie like 13 in the movie and Dustfinger is in his 30s or so. (I, of course, write them when she's older).
Anyway, as usually happens when I get caught up in a fandom, I realized that the ideas I had in my head weren't being addressed by the fanfiction already in existence, so I started getting my own ideas.
This is one of them.
I'll say no more except that this has become somewhat of a monster and although I have quite a bit written, I no longer know where I'm going with it. (I'm only planning on giving you guys the first bit, unless y'all tell me you want more...)
And although I have read the first book, "Inkheart" (not any of the others in the series), I base this mostly on the movie (because in the book, Dustfinger does not go back into the book...)
Anyway...lemme know what you think, yeah?
So, before you begin reading, some introductory notes about the text itself:
(1) If you haven't seen the movie, you might be lost as to what's going on here...there are references to events from the movie -- possibly from the book as well -- I only read the book once, so I don't remember the nuances.
(2) I KNOW that I change something from the events of the other books in the series, so just go with the fact this is AU from the point that the movie ends. I acted as if whatever happened to these characters after that point had never been contemplated or written about and I made up my own.
(3) There could be some gaping holes in the set up of why Dustfinger is where he is, but I've left that open on purpose -- at first, because I didn't really care about explaining it and later because I think it might be discussed by the man himself later on. He's never been particularly open about things, so...yeah...I figure it's a believable license to take.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
Chapter 1
It took Meggie a moment to realize exactly what she was seeing, and by then, her mother had come up to her and started explaining.
His wife and children were dead, had been dead for years in his time, and someone had read him out of the book and, according to him, he’d come to the only other people he thought of as family. Meggie could feel her mouth twisting into a mocking smile at that comment, but before she could speak, her father noticed her and smiled in greeting.
“Meggie,” her father greeted. “Welcome home,” he told her, smiling. “Look who’s come to visit.”
Meggie dropped her backpack where she stood in the entry hall (for once, her mother didn’t comment) and took a few steps toward the two men standing in their parlor. When Dustfinger turned around and looked at her, she stopped, as if she hadn’t really expected to look on him again.
In a way, she hadn’t.
“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Mo asked, noting his daughter’s strange behavior.
“Fine, Mo,” she said, and hoped her tone didn’t sound as mechanical as it felt. It was hard keeping the sudden, overwhelming rage from showing in her voice or her face. Still, something in Dustfinger’s expression made her think he saw it. “Welcome back, Dustfinger,” she said stoically, before blinking and breaking the stare. She bent down and scooped up her bag. “I’ll go and do my homework now,” she said, turning on her heel and walking back through the door, walking quickly through the entryway to the grand staircase leading to the second floor.
“Meggie, wait,” Mo called, sharing a confused look with his wife before walking after her. By the time he reached her, her foot was on the first step. “Is everything alright?”
Meggie looked into her father’s concerned eyes and smiled, sincerely. “I’m fine,” she assured him. “I guess my mind’s still on the tutoring I got from Professor Smith on the statistics midterm.”
Mo knew his daughter well enough to wonder about her reason, but respected her too much to press her except to ask, “Dustfinger being here doesn’t bring back bad memories about Farid, does it?” on a whisper.
Meggie blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, before shaking her head and smiling. “No more than anything Inkworld does, pops,” she told him, hand on her shoulder. “I really am preoccupied with the Stats midterm - it’s said to be a killer, and you know me and my left brain just don’t get maths at all easily.” She offered him a wry smile and there was enough truth mixed in with half-truths to assuage Mo’s worry - for the moment.
Enough that he let her go with a smile. “I’ll call you down for dinner, then.”
She felt her throat tighten and had to swallow to be able to speak. Luckily, she had already turned back to the stairs and her father didn’t notice the emotion that flicked over her face. “Uh, probably not the best idea, Mo,” she said. “I really have to buckle down and study all the time I have --” she turned around, already perceiving his argument and prepared to counter it. “I promise I’ll come down and fetch a sandwich later, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mo said. “I’ll bring one up to you, okay?”
“Nah,” she shook her head. She didn’t really want to have to pretend she was okay more than necessary. And if her dad brought her a sandwich he might think it another good opportunity to ask her if she was alright. “It’ll give me a reason to take a little mini-break to come down and make one for myself.” She smiled at him and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning and bounding up the stairs two at a time.
If Aunt Elinor weren’t in Scotland at some antique book festival, she would surely have scolded her about proper behavior for ladies walking up steps.
---
By midnight, she was starving.
She’d actually surprised herself with the amount of studying she’d actually accomplished and supposed, absently[?] that she’d gotten better at compartmentalizing than she thought. After the initial shock of seeing him *in her house* wore off, she’d managed quite completely to forget all about him and focus on her studies. She really *had* a statistics test in two days that had her worried about the health of her overall GPA.
Even as she padded down the quiet hallway, down the steps and familiarly made her way in the half-light from the moon outside to the kitchens, she was thinking about [statistics formulas] and not about the Inkworld at all.
Which was why when she turned on the light in the kitchen and found him sitting at the antique wooden table in the far corner by the French doors, she started and nearly yelped.
Their eyes locked again, but this time, there was no one around she had to hide the surge of rage from and he was able to see it in its entirety as it crashed over her face. With a quick shake of her head, it was gone and she had turned back around to walk right back the way she came.
“You promised your father you’d have a sandwich.”
His voice, the same deep, smooth timbre she hadn’t heard in so long, froze her in her tracks. *‘How dare he speak to me?’* she wondered.
“Meggie?”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” she said, her voice tight, her back still to him. A moment later, she was movement again, walking the rest of the distance to the doorway of the kitchen, stopping only when she suddenly found her way barred. Any one else, any other time, and she might have wondered how he moved so quickly and quietly. Considering who it was, however, she didn’t care. She inhaled to make certain her voice was even and looked up to meet his eyes. Vaguely, a part of her noted that he wasn’t so much taller than her anymore, and she wasn’t even wearing heels. “Get out of my way,” she demanded.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Her eyes flashed. “I don’t have to tell you a god-damned thing,” she retorted. “Get out of my way,” she repeated, sternly.
“I don’t understand,” he started, only to be cut off by a bark of laughter.
“You don’t understand?” she echoed. “Oh, that’s rich,” she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing absently she had worn something more intimidating than her penguin pjs. “What’s to understand?” she asked at his cocked eyebrow. “You can’t possibly expect me to welcome you with open arms, can you? Not after you betrayed me and my family several times over the last time we met.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him. “I’m so sorry about what I did back then, Meggie, I-”
She cut him off with a raised hand between them. “Spare me,” she bit out. “I don’t want your apologies and I don’t need your excuses,” she said. “All I want is for you to get out of my way, so I can leave this room and not have to look at you again.”
Abashed, Dustfinger moved aside. “If your father could forgive me...”
Meggie whirled around. “My father doesn’t know,” she told him. “He doesn’t know that *you* left his only daughter to rot in a *crypt* because you were too cowardly to take the time to find the right key to let her out -- that you *ran away* having the opportunity to free her.”
“How-?” Dustfinger wondered. “Why wouldn’t you-?”
“You were gone,” Meggie said simply, turning her face away from him for a moment. “Why would I break my father’s heart by telling him someone he came to trust and respect,” she turned back to him, “was nothing but a coward and a selfish opportunist.”
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice rough, low. “I came back--” he seemed about to say more, but stopped himself.
“For your own selfish reasons, no doubt,” she countered. “You knew Capricorn still had the book, and that you’d get another chance at going home if you came back and after all, that’s everything you’ve ever wanted.” She challenged him with her eyes. “The rest of us were just a means to an end.”
“That’s not true,” he countered. He took a step toward her. “I came back because-”
“Because what?” she pressed. Then, realizing she had caught herself up in talking to him and listening to his excuses despite her determination not to, she shrugged and turned around. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, starting to walk out of the kitchen.
“Because of you,” he spoke, and although his voice never rose above half-an octave, she still heard him and for the second time that night, his voice froze her in her tracks.
She didn’t know quite what to make of that statement.
“I got out of the city,” he said, sensing his opportunity. “I made it to the bridge - no one was following me - I could have kept going, but then I heard your voice in my head, asking me to stop, to not leave you, and I...I couldn’t.”
“So you do have a conscience?” she asked, a hint of something like sarcasm to her tone, even if she didn’t turn around.
“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done,” he said softly. “I *was* cowardly and selfish, but-”
“I don’t really care,” she cut him off, turning to face him. And although her words were harsh, something in her expression had changed from pure anger to weariness. He knew the look well. After a fire had burned its hottest, it smoldered down to tired embers before it went out completely.
But even those embers were dangerous and could easily spring into a new inferno if fed. So, he waited.
“I don’t see the point of telling Mo anything about what happened, but I don’t trust you, Dustfinger,” she said plainly. “I don’t think you’re reliable, and if I find out you’re really here because you expect my father to help you with something dangerous, I will tell him that I don’t think he should trust you and use any examples necessary to convince him of that fact.”
He walked to the door just as she was passing through it. “So, in this world, people can’t change?” he questioned. “There are no such things as second chances?”
He didn’t really expect an answer, and she didn’t disappoint.