Ficlet: "It Stays Hidden" || Talia & Deaton
Author: write_light
Title: It Stays Hidden
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Talia/Deaton implied, possibly one-sided
Character/s: Talia Hale, Alan Deaton
Summary: When the Hales can't protect us, others must rise. One man's search through a graveyard, keeping his promises to those he lost.
Warnings: Hale fire after-effects
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 495
Prompt: #167: "Legendary"
Author's Notes: I'm indulging in AU speculation and headcanons here, so go with me. 1) The Hales had a library, vast and powerful; some of it survived the fire. 2) The Hale emissary had a bond with Talia that neither could explain; few emissaries could.
The flames devoured the Hales, no question about that. The smell still hung in the night air, stretched between tall trees like strands of a spider's web. It caught me from time to time, burnt-flesh stench over wood char, then mildew, everywhere damp and mildew. I wondered that it didn't sicken me. Onward.
"For you, Talia."
I left the silent woods for the ruined house, left the dark trees where they had run through shafts of full-moonlight - Talia, lithe and dark in full wolf form, and a space next to her that was not for me to fill. The children, once they could shift and keep up. Peter joined them, unable to fully change but still able to terrify the little ones. His chief pleasure, I believe.
The stairs to the porch creaked softly. They were made to handle ten at a time; I was no burden. The main hall, though; that pushed me back against the doorframe and took my breath. It was not now bright and warm with candles and family, but gaped darkly like a jawless corpse.
Up the broken teeth of the staircase I went, further away from the basement. Why did I think of that place? A tear rolled free with the shiver that took me, splashing onto the damp stairs.
"For you, my love."
The room was close, I knew it. It was hidden; I'd hidden it. Magic, though - don't let anyone tell you it's easy. You make your keys disappear, you're no better off than the folks who misplace theirs. I ran my fingers along the soot-covered walls, over the subtle lines of the wallpaper, braille to a blind man.
"Come back to me."
Pressure tingled under my fingers, like the jingle of the lost keys in the last pocket you check. I whispered to the room and it reappeared to me, inky black like the rest of the house, but blessedly free of the smell of fire and water and death. Books and more books stretched up and up, a library to rival that of the Argents, an arsenal if need be. Spared by the fire, but for what?
I ran my fingers up a thin-spined volume and tipped it toward me. Mechanisms whirred, briefly, softly, and a tiny shelf slid forward, just enough. It was there. It was safe. It was anything but safe; we were safe from it, she'd said. I pushed the tiny flap closed again and began selecting other books, but not that one. That thin little book was legendary.
It was Talia's to guard, and now her son's when he was ready. Would Derek become the legend that Talia had been, Talia the alpha amid her books, amid her loving children? What does an emissary do when his pack is slaughtered? He does what his love asks him to do.
I left so many books behind, taking just the ones that she begged me to protect if ever she-. If ever.
Title: It Stays Hidden
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Talia/Deaton implied, possibly one-sided
Character/s: Talia Hale, Alan Deaton
Summary: When the Hales can't protect us, others must rise. One man's search through a graveyard, keeping his promises to those he lost.
Warnings: Hale fire after-effects
Submission Type: Ficlet
Word Count: 495
Prompt: #167: "Legendary"
Author's Notes: I'm indulging in AU speculation and headcanons here, so go with me. 1) The Hales had a library, vast and powerful; some of it survived the fire. 2) The Hale emissary had a bond with Talia that neither could explain; few emissaries could.
The flames devoured the Hales, no question about that. The smell still hung in the night air, stretched between tall trees like strands of a spider's web. It caught me from time to time, burnt-flesh stench over wood char, then mildew, everywhere damp and mildew. I wondered that it didn't sicken me. Onward.
"For you, Talia."
I left the silent woods for the ruined house, left the dark trees where they had run through shafts of full-moonlight - Talia, lithe and dark in full wolf form, and a space next to her that was not for me to fill. The children, once they could shift and keep up. Peter joined them, unable to fully change but still able to terrify the little ones. His chief pleasure, I believe.
The stairs to the porch creaked softly. They were made to handle ten at a time; I was no burden. The main hall, though; that pushed me back against the doorframe and took my breath. It was not now bright and warm with candles and family, but gaped darkly like a jawless corpse.
Up the broken teeth of the staircase I went, further away from the basement. Why did I think of that place? A tear rolled free with the shiver that took me, splashing onto the damp stairs.
"For you, my love."
The room was close, I knew it. It was hidden; I'd hidden it. Magic, though - don't let anyone tell you it's easy. You make your keys disappear, you're no better off than the folks who misplace theirs. I ran my fingers along the soot-covered walls, over the subtle lines of the wallpaper, braille to a blind man.
"Come back to me."
Pressure tingled under my fingers, like the jingle of the lost keys in the last pocket you check. I whispered to the room and it reappeared to me, inky black like the rest of the house, but blessedly free of the smell of fire and water and death. Books and more books stretched up and up, a library to rival that of the Argents, an arsenal if need be. Spared by the fire, but for what?
I ran my fingers up a thin-spined volume and tipped it toward me. Mechanisms whirred, briefly, softly, and a tiny shelf slid forward, just enough. It was there. It was safe. It was anything but safe; we were safe from it, she'd said. I pushed the tiny flap closed again and began selecting other books, but not that one. That thin little book was legendary.
It was Talia's to guard, and now her son's when he was ready. Would Derek become the legend that Talia had been, Talia the alpha amid her books, amid her loving children? What does an emissary do when his pack is slaughtered? He does what his love asks him to do.
I left so many books behind, taking just the ones that she begged me to protect if ever she-. If ever.