Story bits

[tygati]

amatsubu said something which sparked the long-dormant muses, and I've been poking on and off at various scenes of this. I haven't got much in the way of a coherent plot, but I'm working on it.

Some of the characters are not mine, they're amatsubu's. I'm just having my nefarious way with them. :)



Under ordinary circumstances, the man standing casually to the left of the Numarian king would barely have merited a second glance. He was dressed just like every other nobleman present, no telltale edges to suggest weaponry, either hidden or obvious, but there was something about the way he held himself that made Grieve take a longer, more careful look.

Tall, but not unnaturally so, with long green hair that fell almost to his knees. No warrior Grieve knew would ever give himself so obvious a handicap, and yet he couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was no soft noble, no matter how he was attired.

As if drawn by Grieve's gaze, the man in question turned just enough to meet the Guardian's eyes. Although his expression did not change a whit, something in the man's demeanor shifted just enough to cement the impression in Grieve's mind of a warrior to the very soul. Then it was gone, leaving the casual viewer to wonder if they'd only imagined that brief glimpse of something more.

Unexpectedly there was a gentle touch at his arm.

"We need to leave," Frost whispered, a touch of urgency in his voice.

Grieve swore internally and reviewed his mental list of all possible exits from the hall. The best one was the main entrance; unfortunately, it was also the most likely to attract attention if they moved toward it. The closest was a servant's door, roughly twenty paces behind them, and it would have to do. He took a step back, sensing Frost do the same next to him, slowly so as not to attract anyone's attention.

It seemed to take an eternity, those twenty steps, before they reached the partially-hidden door. Grieve opened it, ushering Frost through and taking one last wary glance around before following him. There was no one looking their way, not even the mystery man, and so Grieve slipped out with a sense of relief.




He really ought to know better. Trouble had a way of following Frost around like a bloodhound and just because the coast seemed clear didn't in any way mean that they were actually out of danger. At the moment, danger seemed to be gaining on them in the form of five soldiers, with more on the way.

They ducked into an alley, Grieve hanging back a step to gauge the proximity of their pursuers before heading with Frost toward the far end. They'd nearly reached it when a hand shot out and dragged a startled Frost into a small doorway that nearly blended into the wall around it. Grieve drew his sword, launching himself after Frost and whatever unknown assailant had grabbed him.

It had been a long time since anyone had gotten the drop on him, so it was with no small amount of consternation that Grieve felt his sword knocked away to land with a clatter on the floor. He immediately lashed out with his foot, only to encounter empty air where there should have been a body, but there was no sign of his assailant, or of Frost, only an oppressive blackness that could only be born of magic. Grieve held himself perfectly still, listening carefully for the slightest sign of movement, only to hear the last thing he had expected.

"I suggest you be silent, unless you wish to be found."

It was not a voice he had heard before, although he knew better than to drop his guard on that account. Instead, he slipped a dagger free from its concealed sheath.

"Where is Frost?" Grieve demanded, albeit quietly in deference to the shaken pursuit.

There was a muffled sound, then a warm body was thrust into his arms, a body he recognized as his charge. He didn't lower the dagger, though he did slip his free arm around Frost's shoulders.

"Are you all right?" Grieve asked quietly.

There was no response, only a faint trembling in his young charge's body that could be born of shock, or fear, or something else.

"Frost?" Grieve asked, worry icing through him as his young charge still failed to respond.

Slipping the dagger back into its sheath, Grieve began to gently rub circles across Frost's back, murmuring to him softly, "It's all right, I've got you. You're safe."

After several long moments, Frost drew in a shuddering breath, his hands fisting tightly in the fabric of Grieve's shirt. He was still shivering, though not as badly as before, and Grieve had to strain to catch the words that were muffled into his chest.

"I... I couldn't... feel him. He's not... there..."

Grieve's entire body tensed and he looked up sharply, though futilely, as the unnatural blackness was still present. If Frost could not sense him, and Grieve could not see him, then what did that say about the man who had accosted them?

"Who are you?" Grieve demanded of the darkness. "Show yourself."

There was a quiet chuckle from somewhere slightly ahead and to his right. "And have you attempt to take my head off? I think not."

In his arms, Frost startled and turned his head away from Grieve's chest, searching blindly for the man he could neither see nor sense. Never before had they met anyone that Frost was not aware of; until now, Grieve would have said it to be impossible.

"So long as you do not give me a reason to do so, I will refrain from engaging you," Grieve told the darkness, deciding that the conditional promise was better than remaining at a severe disadvantage. For several moments it appeared as though his offer had been rejected, then slowly the blackness faded to reveal a small, humble room with two doors, and a startlingly familiar face.

"You!" Grieve exclaimed, staring at the warrior-noble mystery man that had caught his attention less than an hour before, although it seemed he had changed clothes since they had last met as the man was now clad in worn leathers and a linen shirt that had been mended more than once. At his hip hung a sheathed sword, in considerably better condition than the rest of his wardrobe.

The mystery man smirked. "Not many people notice me when I am not trying to be noticed," he said, placing a great deal of meaning in an otherwise random statement.

Grieve frowned, though his response was shelved when Frost pulled from his arms and took a few halting steps toward the stranger.

Grieve tensed. "Frost..."

Ignoring him, Frost finished crossing the distance and raised a hand toward the stranger's face. There was no sign of his glove, though Grieve had not noticed him removing it.

"Are you... real?" Frost asked softly, haltingly, the tips of his fingers resting lightly against the stranger's cheek.

An arched brow was the only reaction the stranger gave, though he surely had no way of knowing how bizarre the behaviour was for Frost, who never touched anyone if he could help it. The thought crossed Grieve's mind that Frost might be being coerced, although the surprise in the stranger's expression appeared genuine.

"I have never noticed any indication that I am not," the man said, bemused.

Frost turned, looking back over his shoulder at Grieve with an utterly baffled expression. Grieve shook his head.

"Don't ask me, how would I know?" he answered the unspoken question.

Frost turned back to the stranger, puzzlement in every line of his body. "I can't hear you," he announced, as though somehow the stranger could provide the answers he sought.

"I have the feeling I'm missing something," the stranger drawled, a thread of amusement underscoring his words as he looked down at the bewildered Frost. Several moments passed, then suddenly the man went from relaxed to alert in the same unsettling manner that he had during their prior encounter.

Grieve went on guard as well, hand hovering over one of his daggers. "What is it?"

The stranger met his eyes. "We need to be going now."

Without waiting for Grieve's response, the man picked up Frost and slung him over one shoulder, then strode out through one of the room's two doorways. Swearing, Grieve grabbed his sword from the floor and took off after them.