Winter's Abyss Part 13/?
Title: Winter's Abyss
Author: robingal1
Pairing/characters: P/E/N
Spoilers: none
Warnings: cursing/blood/death/werewolves
Summary: AU where Neal is a man with a dark and tragic past, Peter is a Civil Enforcer, Elizabeth is a High Priestess, and Bugsy is a horse.
Author's note: Your choices define you. Therefore, in this AU, character choices will be different than those of the canon-verse, but the characteristics will remain. Constructive criticism highly welcomed.
Not mine, USA
With a deep and pleased sigh, Elizabeth awoke from a wonderful slumber. She opened her eyes and saw her husband asleep in her arms. His eyes were shadowed, his brow furrowed. She pulled the charmed blanket up higher to them.
Worse though, was the ridiculous mustache growing along with a rather shabby beard. While vanity was too beneath a Follower's notice, that horrid thing would have to go.
She laughed to herself. In the face of all that they had discussed into the late day, her concern seemed completely undignified and silly.
Careful not to displace the blanket, she rose from the coach and left the horses and stone stable. They had discussed all that had occurred, then settled for what should have been a short nap in the spelled warmth of the ambulance. Neal had been asleep beside them, oblivious to everything. She wasn't certain what Mozzie had done in that time, but she was certain Satchmo likely restrained him from any folly.
As she left her love, she found Mozzie and an enlivened Neal speaking softly near the lake, warming themselves by a smokeless cooking fire. Satchmo curled at Neal's side, the opposite side from Mozzie, who seemed thoroughly content with the distance.
She looked closer; Neal seems much improved, thought his eyes still under wrap, and his skin pale, too much blood lost. Mozzie, leaning as Neal was, against the saddle and bags as they were laughing at some quiet joke, passed a warmed fish to his sightless friend. If either of them found Neal's blindness odd, neither behaved it. There was a sense of familiarity; they had done this before.
El wondered what sort of adventures a Bondservant and a Guildsman would find.
“Good morning. Please tell me that's breakfast.” She sat near the fire, pleasant and chipper. Until Peter awoke, they would not discuss the more serious matters before them. Not yet. Instead, she wanted to discover the workings of these two strange men, a puzzle to solve.
“Good morning, High Priestess. As Neal has already eaten the first serving, you may have the second.” Mozzie set a fish, small and with little meat, likely from the lake beside her, on a roasting stick. “You'll have to forgive the lack of presentation. But I did find some Parsley.” He sounded entirely too proud; El couldn't help but smile.
“My! You have been productive. Fish, herbs, a fire, what next?”
Mozzie's smile was the farthest things from shy, but genuine all the same.
Neal, meanwhile was quiet, smiling too big. He was nervous. “How are you, sweetie? Other than hungry.”
He smiled wider. “Tired, but all of my wounds seem healed, High Priestess. Thank you. And I am eager to leave.”
Steps approached them, Satchmo leaving Neal in favor of the approaching Peter. “It would be foolish to leave until tomorrow.
“I need to inform my team. You can't see. And El needs to return; her absence likely already noticed.
“And Mozzie... I don't trust you. I don't know what to do with you.” He held no malice in his voice. But it held firm against any gainsay; the truth often did.
It burned her that she should have to be the one to return, alone. To hear Diana's “prayers” and convey secret messages. She was no petal atop a rose, wilting and frail. These werewolves had been here too long! She meant to end that. To end them. And yet, here she sat, dirty and cold, eating a small shore fish, being sent to do what was practical and wise. It was prudent that she should go, that she would quietly keep her Followers and her villagers safe, while Peter faced dangers without her. She yearned to stand alongside him, not before him.
“Love.” His voice called her back from her troubled thoughts. He sat, completing the circle about the fire; Satchmo resting near his leg. He looked at none but her. She was the center of his thoughts. The gall of her role was still there, but his love, his respect, and his honor of her was a balm. “I need to meet my team. Will you do this?”
“Yes.” It came out a sigh.
Her love chuckled, holding her cheek in his warm hand. “You will be at the heart of the battle, should it come to such a thing. Only a fool would leave a force as strong as you away from any brawl.” He kissed her then, a chaste and adoring flutter against her lips, the silly mustache tickling.
Peter kissed her again, teasing. “You don't like the mustache?”
“No, hun. It has to go.” Her lips curved upward as she said it.
He turned away then, to address the blind Bondservant and the paranoid stranger. “But I mean to avoid any fighting. I plan to gather all in the center of town, when the Judges gather at the council.
“These traitors will be there to speak against Neal. So too, will I be there, to speak of what I made record. Kramer will stand center with Neal. My Enforcers will surround the trial.
“Neal, you must draw out the trial. Give my team time enough to slowly discern who is a wolf.
“Other than the stench, is there any other way to determine who is Cursed?”
“Satchmo could, once he knows the scent.” Neal reached into the saddle bag, pulling out a wrapping, soaked in what seemed blood.
Satchmo went to it, sniffing, then a growl erupted, deep and angry, the ground itself rocked by the mountain spirit.
Neal, needing no eyes to sense the demon's anger, put the offal away. “And should Satchmo not be there, I can See them.” El heard the slight inflection. Whatever Talents a Bondservant possessed, they were admirable and strong.
“Little good that does us now.” Peter muttered.
Mozzie chortled. “Give him another bath in your holy spring; he'll be healed before we supper.”
Fish were passed in quiet, et, and then cleared away. Mozzie passed Neal his meal, without any hesitations; a regular occurrence. Her husband noticed too.
She rose from the group, saw to her needs behind a grouping of trees, and found Mozzie leading a weak and shaking Neal back from a similar state. The trust Neal placed in the Guildsman was awing.
Peter left to see to the horses, to gather more firewood, and ready his message to his Sergeant, to plan; his anger and fear needing an outlet, some display of control. Always the Civil Enforcer, planning, protecting, and caring.
She turned to the pair of Thieves, needing an outlet herself, needing answers. “Neal, come, I will see to your eyes.”
His steps didn't falter, so much as just hesitate, his smile wide, scared. Mozzie guided him to the shore of the iced lake. “I admit, it will be nice to be aware of the 'holy dunking' this go around.” He laughed softly, nervous.
He removed his coat, knives, shirt, and bandage, yet kept his eyes tightly closed.
The bandage had old blood stained into it; her husband's blood, a wound from following Neal. A killing wound. Saved from death by trusting Neal.
The blind man laid, his back on the shore, with only his upper head submerged. He started at the cold, then drooped as the temperature rose.
Mozzie dangled his suddenly bare feet into the quickly warming water. She glared at him, the temerity to take the healing of another! The man shrugged, unrepentant and pleased.
She should strike him down, but she laughed at his boldness instead. ThievesGuild in deed and in name.
She set the water sprites about their work, once again causing Neal to startle, then sigh heavily, each muscle in his body relaxing all at once. “Mozzie, why have we never done this? I would be days blinded, but now... Goddess!” His breathing calmed, his heart calmed, and his mind seemed far away, drifting peacefully.
El allowed him some reprieve. The birds of the forest chirped and flew about. The sun was weak in warmth, but brighter than any days before. The cold wind blew above the small sanctuary, never descending to disturb the surface of the spring.
Then, in a calm and quiet voice, she began to find the answers she needed. “Tell me, Bondsman, why are you blinded?”
No one spoke at that. A sign clear and obvious. El paid it no heed. “My home is under attack by your enemies, Neal. Don't think yourself completely innocent in this.
“My husband risked his life to retrieve you from your foolish trek in this winter. He fought beside you against Fowler and his den. He nearly died, Bondsman!” Neal struggled to rise. “No! Hear me. I am a High Priestess and a wife and a villager and many things more. You will heed me! I will kill you if I so much as suspect that my husband is a fool to trust you.
“You as well, Mozzie!” Neal struggled more. She held him down against his thrashing, water sprites fleeing. “This is my home! You fight for revenge, empty and thoughtlessly.
“My husband fights for justice, for you! I fight for my Goddess and her people, all people. I fight for you.” She leaned in against him, a space from him. “I will not be put off, Master Thief. Why are you blinded?”
Mozzie, his hand holding a sharp and oft used dagger, stood above her. “Stop it! There are some questions without answer! Now, let him go.” The man was an impressive threat. For others.
“No.”
Satchmo growled, deep and fierce behind the barefoot man. He dropped his blade immediately... but did not leave his friend's side.
“You are on his mountain, Guildsman. Your body will never be found, if he feels you a threat to those he calls his.
Now sit, speak!”
Neal was statue still beneath her hands, hardly breathing. “Why, Master Neal, are you blinded?”
“M-moz?” A whispered plea.
“It seems we've met a worthy opponent, my friend.” The man sighed, then stiffened as the demon hound walked past, his head low and ears back, a move to better stalk the shorter man. “I think it best to tell. After all, you are likely going to be fighting alongside them soon enough. Best they know, to spare them from their guessing and accusing.”
Neal took a breath, shaking. “May I sit up?” His head raised from the water, eyes opened. Blue and deeper blue, the summer sky. Glaring up at her, furious and scared, a fox caged and unbalanced.
The beauty of him was nearly her undoing, but the anger, the madness in him only strengthened her resolve. “Vow, Neal. Never lie to me or my husband. This is not a simple matter. Lives are risked by your words. Do. Not. Lie.”
He swallowed, blinked. “I swear.” In a small and sincere voice.
She let him up.
Mozzie, risking Satchmo, passed the wet man his shirt. “Excuse me...” And left them at the shore, uncomfortable, and for some reason, horribly and terribly sad.
Neal watched him go, solemn and mournful, then turned to her. “My eyes, High Priestess, were blinded because I have used too much of the Earthstone. It was never meant to be used for longer than a single night.
“Meanwhile, I have been exploiting the jewel's power since the night I left the Saint of Louis. My body can't handle the stress.
“I'm dying, El.”
Author: robingal1
Pairing/characters: P/E/N
Spoilers: none
Warnings: cursing/blood/death/werewolves
Summary: AU where Neal is a man with a dark and tragic past, Peter is a Civil Enforcer, Elizabeth is a High Priestess, and Bugsy is a horse.
Author's note: Your choices define you. Therefore, in this AU, character choices will be different than those of the canon-verse, but the characteristics will remain. Constructive criticism highly welcomed.
Not mine, USA
With a deep and pleased sigh, Elizabeth awoke from a wonderful slumber. She opened her eyes and saw her husband asleep in her arms. His eyes were shadowed, his brow furrowed. She pulled the charmed blanket up higher to them.
Worse though, was the ridiculous mustache growing along with a rather shabby beard. While vanity was too beneath a Follower's notice, that horrid thing would have to go.
She laughed to herself. In the face of all that they had discussed into the late day, her concern seemed completely undignified and silly.
Careful not to displace the blanket, she rose from the coach and left the horses and stone stable. They had discussed all that had occurred, then settled for what should have been a short nap in the spelled warmth of the ambulance. Neal had been asleep beside them, oblivious to everything. She wasn't certain what Mozzie had done in that time, but she was certain Satchmo likely restrained him from any folly.
As she left her love, she found Mozzie and an enlivened Neal speaking softly near the lake, warming themselves by a smokeless cooking fire. Satchmo curled at Neal's side, the opposite side from Mozzie, who seemed thoroughly content with the distance.
She looked closer; Neal seems much improved, thought his eyes still under wrap, and his skin pale, too much blood lost. Mozzie, leaning as Neal was, against the saddle and bags as they were laughing at some quiet joke, passed a warmed fish to his sightless friend. If either of them found Neal's blindness odd, neither behaved it. There was a sense of familiarity; they had done this before.
El wondered what sort of adventures a Bondservant and a Guildsman would find.
“Good morning. Please tell me that's breakfast.” She sat near the fire, pleasant and chipper. Until Peter awoke, they would not discuss the more serious matters before them. Not yet. Instead, she wanted to discover the workings of these two strange men, a puzzle to solve.
“Good morning, High Priestess. As Neal has already eaten the first serving, you may have the second.” Mozzie set a fish, small and with little meat, likely from the lake beside her, on a roasting stick. “You'll have to forgive the lack of presentation. But I did find some Parsley.” He sounded entirely too proud; El couldn't help but smile.
“My! You have been productive. Fish, herbs, a fire, what next?”
Mozzie's smile was the farthest things from shy, but genuine all the same.
Neal, meanwhile was quiet, smiling too big. He was nervous. “How are you, sweetie? Other than hungry.”
He smiled wider. “Tired, but all of my wounds seem healed, High Priestess. Thank you. And I am eager to leave.”
Steps approached them, Satchmo leaving Neal in favor of the approaching Peter. “It would be foolish to leave until tomorrow.
“I need to inform my team. You can't see. And El needs to return; her absence likely already noticed.
“And Mozzie... I don't trust you. I don't know what to do with you.” He held no malice in his voice. But it held firm against any gainsay; the truth often did.
It burned her that she should have to be the one to return, alone. To hear Diana's “prayers” and convey secret messages. She was no petal atop a rose, wilting and frail. These werewolves had been here too long! She meant to end that. To end them. And yet, here she sat, dirty and cold, eating a small shore fish, being sent to do what was practical and wise. It was prudent that she should go, that she would quietly keep her Followers and her villagers safe, while Peter faced dangers without her. She yearned to stand alongside him, not before him.
“Love.” His voice called her back from her troubled thoughts. He sat, completing the circle about the fire; Satchmo resting near his leg. He looked at none but her. She was the center of his thoughts. The gall of her role was still there, but his love, his respect, and his honor of her was a balm. “I need to meet my team. Will you do this?”
“Yes.” It came out a sigh.
Her love chuckled, holding her cheek in his warm hand. “You will be at the heart of the battle, should it come to such a thing. Only a fool would leave a force as strong as you away from any brawl.” He kissed her then, a chaste and adoring flutter against her lips, the silly mustache tickling.
Peter kissed her again, teasing. “You don't like the mustache?”
“No, hun. It has to go.” Her lips curved upward as she said it.
He turned away then, to address the blind Bondservant and the paranoid stranger. “But I mean to avoid any fighting. I plan to gather all in the center of town, when the Judges gather at the council.
“These traitors will be there to speak against Neal. So too, will I be there, to speak of what I made record. Kramer will stand center with Neal. My Enforcers will surround the trial.
“Neal, you must draw out the trial. Give my team time enough to slowly discern who is a wolf.
“Other than the stench, is there any other way to determine who is Cursed?”
“Satchmo could, once he knows the scent.” Neal reached into the saddle bag, pulling out a wrapping, soaked in what seemed blood.
Satchmo went to it, sniffing, then a growl erupted, deep and angry, the ground itself rocked by the mountain spirit.
Neal, needing no eyes to sense the demon's anger, put the offal away. “And should Satchmo not be there, I can See them.” El heard the slight inflection. Whatever Talents a Bondservant possessed, they were admirable and strong.
“Little good that does us now.” Peter muttered.
Mozzie chortled. “Give him another bath in your holy spring; he'll be healed before we supper.”
Fish were passed in quiet, et, and then cleared away. Mozzie passed Neal his meal, without any hesitations; a regular occurrence. Her husband noticed too.
She rose from the group, saw to her needs behind a grouping of trees, and found Mozzie leading a weak and shaking Neal back from a similar state. The trust Neal placed in the Guildsman was awing.
Peter left to see to the horses, to gather more firewood, and ready his message to his Sergeant, to plan; his anger and fear needing an outlet, some display of control. Always the Civil Enforcer, planning, protecting, and caring.
She turned to the pair of Thieves, needing an outlet herself, needing answers. “Neal, come, I will see to your eyes.”
His steps didn't falter, so much as just hesitate, his smile wide, scared. Mozzie guided him to the shore of the iced lake. “I admit, it will be nice to be aware of the 'holy dunking' this go around.” He laughed softly, nervous.
He removed his coat, knives, shirt, and bandage, yet kept his eyes tightly closed.
The bandage had old blood stained into it; her husband's blood, a wound from following Neal. A killing wound. Saved from death by trusting Neal.
The blind man laid, his back on the shore, with only his upper head submerged. He started at the cold, then drooped as the temperature rose.
Mozzie dangled his suddenly bare feet into the quickly warming water. She glared at him, the temerity to take the healing of another! The man shrugged, unrepentant and pleased.
She should strike him down, but she laughed at his boldness instead. ThievesGuild in deed and in name.
She set the water sprites about their work, once again causing Neal to startle, then sigh heavily, each muscle in his body relaxing all at once. “Mozzie, why have we never done this? I would be days blinded, but now... Goddess!” His breathing calmed, his heart calmed, and his mind seemed far away, drifting peacefully.
El allowed him some reprieve. The birds of the forest chirped and flew about. The sun was weak in warmth, but brighter than any days before. The cold wind blew above the small sanctuary, never descending to disturb the surface of the spring.
Then, in a calm and quiet voice, she began to find the answers she needed. “Tell me, Bondsman, why are you blinded?”
No one spoke at that. A sign clear and obvious. El paid it no heed. “My home is under attack by your enemies, Neal. Don't think yourself completely innocent in this.
“My husband risked his life to retrieve you from your foolish trek in this winter. He fought beside you against Fowler and his den. He nearly died, Bondsman!” Neal struggled to rise. “No! Hear me. I am a High Priestess and a wife and a villager and many things more. You will heed me! I will kill you if I so much as suspect that my husband is a fool to trust you.
“You as well, Mozzie!” Neal struggled more. She held him down against his thrashing, water sprites fleeing. “This is my home! You fight for revenge, empty and thoughtlessly.
“My husband fights for justice, for you! I fight for my Goddess and her people, all people. I fight for you.” She leaned in against him, a space from him. “I will not be put off, Master Thief. Why are you blinded?”
Mozzie, his hand holding a sharp and oft used dagger, stood above her. “Stop it! There are some questions without answer! Now, let him go.” The man was an impressive threat. For others.
“No.”
Satchmo growled, deep and fierce behind the barefoot man. He dropped his blade immediately... but did not leave his friend's side.
“You are on his mountain, Guildsman. Your body will never be found, if he feels you a threat to those he calls his.
Now sit, speak!”
Neal was statue still beneath her hands, hardly breathing. “Why, Master Neal, are you blinded?”
“M-moz?” A whispered plea.
“It seems we've met a worthy opponent, my friend.” The man sighed, then stiffened as the demon hound walked past, his head low and ears back, a move to better stalk the shorter man. “I think it best to tell. After all, you are likely going to be fighting alongside them soon enough. Best they know, to spare them from their guessing and accusing.”
Neal took a breath, shaking. “May I sit up?” His head raised from the water, eyes opened. Blue and deeper blue, the summer sky. Glaring up at her, furious and scared, a fox caged and unbalanced.
The beauty of him was nearly her undoing, but the anger, the madness in him only strengthened her resolve. “Vow, Neal. Never lie to me or my husband. This is not a simple matter. Lives are risked by your words. Do. Not. Lie.”
He swallowed, blinked. “I swear.” In a small and sincere voice.
She let him up.
Mozzie, risking Satchmo, passed the wet man his shirt. “Excuse me...” And left them at the shore, uncomfortable, and for some reason, horribly and terribly sad.
Neal watched him go, solemn and mournful, then turned to her. “My eyes, High Priestess, were blinded because I have used too much of the Earthstone. It was never meant to be used for longer than a single night.
“Meanwhile, I have been exploiting the jewel's power since the night I left the Saint of Louis. My body can't handle the stress.
“I'm dying, El.”