#04 Message / Bob the Skull
Title: Signs and Portents
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Prompt: 04. Message
Word Count: 1,294
Rating: G
Summary: Bob comes to the rescue of a damsel in distress.
Disclaimer: Not mine but I can dream, can't I?
Table: Here There be Ghosts.
The study was her least favorite room in the house. It gave every appearance of invitation with its rich dark woods, cheery fireplace, and overstuffed leather chairs, except that it was always in shadow. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn nearly shut, necessitating the use of the tiffany lamps on even the brightest day. This was not the sort of place she wanted to spend her time; no surprise that, since this refuge belonged to her father and her brother, Justin.
And yet, here she was.
She paused in the doorway, listening. Waiting. The thick silence of the house settled heavily around her. Extending her senses, she felt the movement of Maria, the upstairs maid, as she went about the business of airing out the beds. In the kitchen, Cook was washing vegetables for the noon-day meal. Lunch was a formal affair in the Morningway household.
Reaching with her mind, gently probing with her power, outward through the house and onto the grounds, she found more servants but no evidence of her brother's presence. Apparently he had been truthful when he'd said he had an early meeting in the city. But he wouldn't be away long. He was distrustful, even of those he thought closest to him. Perhaps especially of them. She would have to hurry. He must know nothing of what she was about to do.
Edging into the study, she trod softly on slippered feet around the heavy masculine furniture toward the antique desk. The relic she sought sat there in plain sight, grinning toothily from its perch upon a leather-bound tome of Poe. Arcane symbols marred the desiccated surface of bone that had long ago turned yellow with age. Seeing it close up for the very first time, she was surprised to discover that the skull had not been polished smooth from the handling of so many owners. Perhaps they preferred not to touch the thing while invoking its power.
With a hasty glance over her shoulder to ensure herself unobserved, she said in a quiet yet firm voice, "Come out, please."
Yellow light flared within the bony eye sockets then leapt forward and out, swirling upward into the room. In its wake it left the solid-looking image of a man. Tall and lean and surprisingly regal, he presented himself in a finely tailored suit of dark silk with a weskit embroidered in fine silver. His hair was a shock of white edged with gray, his eyes a pale blue. He looked nothing like the monster that had been described to her but knew all too well that appearances could deceive.
For his part, the newly summoned Hrothbert of Bainbridge was startled to find himself facing a dark eyed, slender young woman in a sensible blue dress and slippers. He instantly knew who she was, of course. Her heart-shaped face had the exotic features of her mother, hinting at a Native American heritage and its ancient mysteries.
She expected to dislike him immediately, this cursed sorcerer who had been damned for sins even her father refused to recount. Yet now, standing here, she discovered that she could not. There was a hint of loss and sadness reflected within those spectral eyes; she ought to know, for it mirrored her own. In that brief moment of meeting, she felt as if they were improbable kindred spirits looking across a chasm of time.
Hrothbert inclined his head, bowing to her without mockery. "How may I be of assistance, my Lady?"
"I have had a dream," she said.
"And it troubles you."
"Yes." It had terrified her.
Hrothbert nodded his understanding. "I will help if I can."
"What is the price for invoking your service?"
"Price?" He offered her a melancholy, wry little smile. "It is already paid. I am the one with the damned soul, after all."
She instantly felt guilty. "I'm sorry, ghost. I don't mean to be insensitive. This is new to me."
First a 'please' to call him forth and then an apology for possibly hurting his feelings? How sweet and endearing the child was! If he'd had a heart, it would have gone out to her.
"No offense taken," Hrothbert assured her in a gentle tone he'd not used in centuries. "Now then. Tell me of your dream. Spare no detail."
"I saw myself in darkness. Complete and utter darkness. There were . . . Things . . . moving around inside of it, all around me. I could feel them. They wanted to grab me. I think . . . I know . . . they wanted to tear me into pieces."
"Do you know why?"
She looked down at her slender hands. "I had something it wanted. The Darkness."
He watched her closely, studying her body language with a practiced eye. "You were holding something," he surmised.
"Yes. A doll."
"You mean, a fetish? You were holding a magical construct?"
"A baby doll." Her favorite doll, in fact. The one with that would wet its diaper after you fed it a bottle of colored water. She hadn't thought of it since she was a little girl.
"I see." Easy enough to understand the symbology there. "What else do you remember?" he coaxed. "Were there any sounds? Any colors? Smells?"
"The doll blanket was yellow." She rubbed her fingers together, as if once more feeling the cloth against her skin. "It was frayed around the edges but it was soft and warm. The Darkness couldn't touch it."
"A shield, then, protecting the child." Hrothbert arched an elegant eyebrow. "But I suspect you'd already surmised that."
"Yes," she admitted.
"Then why come to me if you already knew--?"
"The blanket was covered with symbols," she blurted out and pointed toward the desk with a trembling hand. "Those symbols."
Hrothbert turned and was taken aback. "You can't possibly mean . . . those?"
"Exactly those symbols." Taking a step forward, she reached out to touch the skull's bony brow. "This one repeats itself, over and over again."
"That one?" Had he a grave to walk over, he would have felt a chill to the very core of his soul.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a binding spell, to serve and safeguard."
It was no more than she had expected. She had always been precognitive but this dream had been too close; too personal. Too real! She needed reassurance to know that she had not misinterpreted its meaning.
"You're the blanket," she said, now with certainty. "It's you, holding back the Darkness."
"I fear not," he said with infinite sadness. "I am no knight in shining white armor. Quite the contrary. The catalog of my sins would repulse you."
"People change."
"I am not people."
"You have a soul. You care, or you did once." Had he substance, she would have reached out to grasp his hands. Instead, she could only look up into that lean, proud face and implore. "When the time comes, promise me that you'll hold back the Darkness. Be his champion."
"Me?"
She nodded.
He shifted uneasily beneath the urgency of her gaze. "Perhaps the High Council is better suited to-"
"Please!" she begged. "Promise me!"
Deeply moved and touched by her faith in him, however misplaced, he found that he did not have the heart to refuse her. "On my skull and soul, I swear," he said, binding it formally. "My Lady, if it is within my power to do so, I will protect your child." When and if he is ever born.
"From anyone who would do him harm."
"Yes."
"Even from my brother?" she pressed, for she had recognized at least one of the Monsters that had lurked within the Darkness.
Understanding better than she knew, Hrothbert solemnly nodded. "Especially from him."
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Prompt: 04. Message
Word Count: 1,294
Rating: G
Summary: Bob comes to the rescue of a damsel in distress.
Disclaimer: Not mine but I can dream, can't I?
Table: Here There be Ghosts.
The study was her least favorite room in the house. It gave every appearance of invitation with its rich dark woods, cheery fireplace, and overstuffed leather chairs, except that it was always in shadow. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn nearly shut, necessitating the use of the tiffany lamps on even the brightest day. This was not the sort of place she wanted to spend her time; no surprise that, since this refuge belonged to her father and her brother, Justin.
And yet, here she was.
She paused in the doorway, listening. Waiting. The thick silence of the house settled heavily around her. Extending her senses, she felt the movement of Maria, the upstairs maid, as she went about the business of airing out the beds. In the kitchen, Cook was washing vegetables for the noon-day meal. Lunch was a formal affair in the Morningway household.
Reaching with her mind, gently probing with her power, outward through the house and onto the grounds, she found more servants but no evidence of her brother's presence. Apparently he had been truthful when he'd said he had an early meeting in the city. But he wouldn't be away long. He was distrustful, even of those he thought closest to him. Perhaps especially of them. She would have to hurry. He must know nothing of what she was about to do.
Edging into the study, she trod softly on slippered feet around the heavy masculine furniture toward the antique desk. The relic she sought sat there in plain sight, grinning toothily from its perch upon a leather-bound tome of Poe. Arcane symbols marred the desiccated surface of bone that had long ago turned yellow with age. Seeing it close up for the very first time, she was surprised to discover that the skull had not been polished smooth from the handling of so many owners. Perhaps they preferred not to touch the thing while invoking its power.
With a hasty glance over her shoulder to ensure herself unobserved, she said in a quiet yet firm voice, "Come out, please."
Yellow light flared within the bony eye sockets then leapt forward and out, swirling upward into the room. In its wake it left the solid-looking image of a man. Tall and lean and surprisingly regal, he presented himself in a finely tailored suit of dark silk with a weskit embroidered in fine silver. His hair was a shock of white edged with gray, his eyes a pale blue. He looked nothing like the monster that had been described to her but knew all too well that appearances could deceive.
For his part, the newly summoned Hrothbert of Bainbridge was startled to find himself facing a dark eyed, slender young woman in a sensible blue dress and slippers. He instantly knew who she was, of course. Her heart-shaped face had the exotic features of her mother, hinting at a Native American heritage and its ancient mysteries.
She expected to dislike him immediately, this cursed sorcerer who had been damned for sins even her father refused to recount. Yet now, standing here, she discovered that she could not. There was a hint of loss and sadness reflected within those spectral eyes; she ought to know, for it mirrored her own. In that brief moment of meeting, she felt as if they were improbable kindred spirits looking across a chasm of time.
Hrothbert inclined his head, bowing to her without mockery. "How may I be of assistance, my Lady?"
"I have had a dream," she said.
"And it troubles you."
"Yes." It had terrified her.
Hrothbert nodded his understanding. "I will help if I can."
"What is the price for invoking your service?"
"Price?" He offered her a melancholy, wry little smile. "It is already paid. I am the one with the damned soul, after all."
She instantly felt guilty. "I'm sorry, ghost. I don't mean to be insensitive. This is new to me."
First a 'please' to call him forth and then an apology for possibly hurting his feelings? How sweet and endearing the child was! If he'd had a heart, it would have gone out to her.
"No offense taken," Hrothbert assured her in a gentle tone he'd not used in centuries. "Now then. Tell me of your dream. Spare no detail."
"I saw myself in darkness. Complete and utter darkness. There were . . . Things . . . moving around inside of it, all around me. I could feel them. They wanted to grab me. I think . . . I know . . . they wanted to tear me into pieces."
"Do you know why?"
She looked down at her slender hands. "I had something it wanted. The Darkness."
He watched her closely, studying her body language with a practiced eye. "You were holding something," he surmised.
"Yes. A doll."
"You mean, a fetish? You were holding a magical construct?"
"A baby doll." Her favorite doll, in fact. The one with that would wet its diaper after you fed it a bottle of colored water. She hadn't thought of it since she was a little girl.
"I see." Easy enough to understand the symbology there. "What else do you remember?" he coaxed. "Were there any sounds? Any colors? Smells?"
"The doll blanket was yellow." She rubbed her fingers together, as if once more feeling the cloth against her skin. "It was frayed around the edges but it was soft and warm. The Darkness couldn't touch it."
"A shield, then, protecting the child." Hrothbert arched an elegant eyebrow. "But I suspect you'd already surmised that."
"Yes," she admitted.
"Then why come to me if you already knew--?"
"The blanket was covered with symbols," she blurted out and pointed toward the desk with a trembling hand. "Those symbols."
Hrothbert turned and was taken aback. "You can't possibly mean . . . those?"
"Exactly those symbols." Taking a step forward, she reached out to touch the skull's bony brow. "This one repeats itself, over and over again."
"That one?" Had he a grave to walk over, he would have felt a chill to the very core of his soul.
"What does it mean?"
"It's a binding spell, to serve and safeguard."
It was no more than she had expected. She had always been precognitive but this dream had been too close; too personal. Too real! She needed reassurance to know that she had not misinterpreted its meaning.
"You're the blanket," she said, now with certainty. "It's you, holding back the Darkness."
"I fear not," he said with infinite sadness. "I am no knight in shining white armor. Quite the contrary. The catalog of my sins would repulse you."
"People change."
"I am not people."
"You have a soul. You care, or you did once." Had he substance, she would have reached out to grasp his hands. Instead, she could only look up into that lean, proud face and implore. "When the time comes, promise me that you'll hold back the Darkness. Be his champion."
"Me?"
She nodded.
He shifted uneasily beneath the urgency of her gaze. "Perhaps the High Council is better suited to-"
"Please!" she begged. "Promise me!"
Deeply moved and touched by her faith in him, however misplaced, he found that he did not have the heart to refuse her. "On my skull and soul, I swear," he said, binding it formally. "My Lady, if it is within my power to do so, I will protect your child." When and if he is ever born.
"From anyone who would do him harm."
"Yes."
"Even from my brother?" she pressed, for she had recognized at least one of the Monsters that had lurked within the Darkness.
Understanding better than she knew, Hrothbert solemnly nodded. "Especially from him."