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entishramblings · 1 year

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The Scorpion of Sarn Ford [Aragorn/F!Reader]

A.N: the amount of weird shit I had to google for this….my FBI agent definitely thinks I’m planning some fucked up crap.

Inspired: this fic was inspired by @estelofrivendell ‘s fic A Change of Heart. I adored the Assassin/Ranger relationship and had to put my own spin on it!

Pairing: Aragorn X Fem!Reader

Summary: The Scorpion of Sarn Forn is a notorious assassin. Much to Strider’s dismay, they are both hired for a job.

Disclaimer: I tried my best with geography, once again, it isn’t my best subject. heh!

Word count: 8.2k (idk why I’m like this)

Warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, humor that will have you peeing, blood, torture, death, murder, brief insinuation to sexual abuse (side character), creepy men that get what's coming to them, a little bit of spice, brief shirtless aragorn. this sounds very dark but I promise you its good, besides: shirtless aragorn. duh.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | WATTPAD

Aragorn never thought he would be in this position. He never even anticipated such a scenario. It was, quite frankly, entirely unfathomable. Not once did it cross his mind that he might be in the same city as her, much less be forced to sit next to her at The Black Falcon Tavern and Inn with a potential contractor. You see, The Scorpion of Sarn Ford—or as Aragorn preferred to refer to her as: the heinous hellspawn that middle-earth would undoubtedly be far better off without—was a notorious assassin. She made her coin from slipping into the shadows and slaughtering her targets, leaving no trace besides a corpse—still warm from the blood that once ran through it. The men of the south-west were wise enough to be wary and the rich of such lands were stupid enough to empower her with their dark wishes. She’s rumored to have a body count in the hundreds, including kings and queens. Though, that is not how she acquired her title.

Percaric Rothswood, one of the richer dukes of Anfalas, sat with them at a table in the back of the tavern. The Ranger and the Scorpion occupied the bench alongside the wooden wall, granting them both a clear vantage point of the entire establishment, while Percaric sat in a chair across from them. Aragorn's arms were folded, a small blade discreetly nestled up his sleeve, and his ale remained untouched on the table. Yet, the assassin reclined casually at his side, her dark cloak draped loosely enough to unveil the myriad of weapons adorning her attire, with two empty pints before her and a third in her hand.

The peculiar grouping drew the attention of onlookers—it was indeed an unusual gathering, particularly with the presence of the infamous Scorpion of Sarn Ford, and her form specifically beside Strider. Nervous and inquisitive gazes, hushed conversations, subtle nods, and even more overt glances from passersby and bar-sitters were all directed towards the pair. If a meeting like this were to take place, something must be going down.

“So, what’s this job, Percaric, that requires a ranger and a shrew,” Aragorn gruffed, his scowl as deep as the sand pits of the eastern coast.

The woman beside him snorted. “A shrew. Just what a lady wants to be called.”

He shrugged. “An argumentative, ill-tempered rat. I see no difference between it and you.”

She raised a brow, twisting her head to look at him. “Technically a shrew is a mole.”

Aragorn sent her a glare in response.

She huffed at him. “A mole that will die if it doesn't eat every two to three hours.” She picked up her ale and took a swing. “That sounds nothing like me.”

“You reckon so? I bet if you didn't get new gold to chew on in that exact time frame you would also die of pompous deprivation.”

A deep chuckle escaped her throat as her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. She turned to quip back an insult; however, Percaric nervously interrupted the hostile hires.

“Well, uh, you see, it's quite a delicate matter. The-the job, that is. My client doesn't want his indiscretions aired out among the common folk because, well, uh, the matter is quite sensitive and—”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Just spit it out, Percaric.”

The man exhaled through his nose, nervously patting the table. “Right, right, very well then.” He cleared his throat. “Well, uh, my client, his daughter was taken by someone of high prestige and, well, he would like her back.”

Aragorn leaned back in the chair. “Why doesn't he just pay the ransom then? Instead of hiring someone to take her back. There is a ransom isn't there?”

“Of course, of course. But, well, you see, this daughter, ehem, she’s bastard-born. His wife doesnt know that she exists and he would like to keep it that way. Paying the ransom directly would cause too much attention. Like I said, he wants this discreet.”

Aragorn sighed, his morals pulling hard on his heart. “How old is the girl?”

Percaric winced. “Fourteen.”

The Ranger cursed under his breath. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you see, that’s why my client asked for you, Strider. Not many would want to help a bastard daughter.”

The Scorpion leaned in. “Then why did he ask for me as well?”

Percaric’s face twitched. “Well, uh, Scorpion, there’s a matter a bit more delicate involved that requires your skill.”

She raised her brows.

“My–my client’s daughter is quite beautiful. Well, we can only assume what is being done to her by her captor during her stay. He, well, he wants the perpetrator killed.”

She snorted, leaning back into the wall behind her. “Why not make Strider here do it?”

The Ranger clenched his jaw. “He should be imprisoned, rotting in a cell for his crime.”

“Ah,” she started. “You would bring him in instead of kill him, and that would mean a trial.” She winked at Percaric. “Too public for this client of yours.”

An anxious and awkward giggle-like breath left the man’s lips. “Precisely.”

“So, where is she being kept?” The Scorpion asked.

The duke glanced around him before leaning in and letting his next sentence come out as a whisper. “The tower of Eastemnet.”

“Eastemnet?” Aragorn confirmed, wide-eyed and surprised. “But that would mean—”

“Lord Theovail,” the assassin interjected. “One of the richest, well-guarded men in Arda.”

Percaric bit his lip. “Yes, yes. Now, well, now you see why my client asked for you, Scorpion of Sarn Ford.”

Aragorn huffed, hot air coming from his nose, as he shook his head—now finally reaching for his ale. “We will take the job,” he stated reluctantly.

“Oi! Not so fast,” the assassin interjected. “What’s the pay?”

The Ranger shot her a glare. “A girl, a child, is being held prisoner, and you worry of pay?”

She glared right back at him before turning back to Percaric. “The pay?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred pieces of gold up front and another three hundred upon your return of the girl, alive, and proof of Theovail’s death. Though you will have to split it, I’m afraid.”

She raised her hands with a tilt of the head. “Fine by me.” She turned, flashing a devilish grin to the man next to her. “Let us go hunt a girl-snatching arsewipe, Strider.”

He offered no-response other than a scowling side eye.

“Fantastic,” Percaric replied, taking two coin pouches out and plopping them on the table.

The assassin was quick to snatch up one of the bundles, standing, ready to take her leave.

Aragorn, however, let his finger drift over the coin. He glanced up at Percaric. “What’s her name?”

The man’s expression softened. “Calista, daughter of Lord Kassim.”

Aragorn nodded, grasping onto the pouch. “We will bring Calista home.”

……

The pair had been traveling for approximately two weeks at this point, and their interactions during this time were characterized by sparse conversations intertwined with numerous glares and disdainful expressions. In those few moments when words were exchanged, they were often heated disagreements concerning which path to follow, strategies for infiltrating the tower, or debates over the responsibilities of meals. It was, quite frankly, the most miserable trek across Arda that Aragorn had ever taken upon. But it wasn't until they were passing through the gap of Rohan, between the Misty Mountains and Ered Nimrais, that they met any trouble.

An arrow, coming from the mountain’s rocky side, whizzing past Aragorn’s ear was the first sign of danger.

He whipped his head around. “Scorpion!” he called out in warning, his eyes meeting the assassin’s for a brief moment.

She drew her dual silver blades only seconds before a small pack of goblins began descending. She was quick to behead the first goblin whose feet hit the grassy pass they walked through.

“Goblin’s from the Mountains,” she hissed.

Aragorn too drew his sword. “They shouldn't be this far south! They stay up near Ehu Daur and Moira!” He drove his blade through one of the beasts, swinging around to slice another.

“Well, clearly, they dont give a fuck as to where they should or should be!” The Scorpion quipped back as she brought one of her blades through the neck of one of the creatures. “On your left!”

Aragorn twisted his body just in time to block a blow from a rusted scythe.

The assassin dodged the next beast that came at her and sprinted towards the biggest one. She was quick to push herself into the air, flip over the goblin, and slice its throat before her feet even landed on the ground.

She looked up to see the two final goblins, one in match with her companion and the other approaching his back.

The woman moved quickly. Her feet carried her towards the beast who held its blade above Strider’s head. Just before it was to be brought downward, she yelled out a war cry and grasped onto the few hairs the creature had. She yanked hard. The goblin fell backwards onto the ground and she pounced on top of him, sending her blade through his heart—his pungent blood spraying across her face, neck, tunic, and leather armor.

With heavy panting breath, she stood and turned to face the Ranger who had slayed the final beast. Kicking the corpse of the one she had just killed, she spoke. “Only nine. A scouting team. More will be coming upon their lack of return. We gotta get a move on.”

Aragorn’s lips were parted in surprise, realizing that he nearly lost his life. Surprising the assassin, he spoke words that she never would have thought to leave his lips for her. “Thank you, Scorpion.”

She raised her brows. “I have a name, you know, Strider.”

The Ranger turned away from her, continuing along their path. “I don't care to know it,” he gruffed out, his brief sincerity from moments before disappearing.

She snorted, calling out to him regardless. “It’s (Y/N).”

“Don’t fall behind, Scorpion,” he replied.

She huffed, her irritation obvious, before jogging to catch up with his wide strides. “I don’t like you very much either, but if we're gonna be on this job for a while, you could at least not be a dick.”

“Coming from the rudest and most corrupt person I have ever met, that's rich.”

She chuckled loudly. “Wow. Rude, okay, I deserve that. But corrupt? That’s a bit far-fetched.”

He stopped walking, twisting to glower down at her with disgust. “You truly think so? Let’s talk of why they attach the massacre of Sarn Ford to your name. You killed dozens. Women. Children. Innocents. All for what? Gold! Corrupt is too kind a word for you. Wicked, diabolical, vicious is more like it.”

(Y/N)’s brows shot upward as a pained and frustrated laugh thundered in her chest. “Really? Do you even know what was happening in Sarn Ford?!”

“They were farmers! Common folk! Living off the land in peace and you…you slaughtered them!” he yelled.

She got in his face, her hot, angry breath burning against his skin. “THEY WERE ALREADY GOOD AS DEAD, STRIDER!”

“How could you even say that?” he replied, horrified.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, before focusing back on the man before her. “A disease was making its way through their village. Incurable. Painful. An alchemist, who had been working for weeks to try and find anything to help them, hired me. There was nothing to be done for them except extend a hand of mercy. To give them a good, painless death.”

Aragorn stared at her, his brows pulled together with shock in his gaze.

The assassin clenched her jaw. “I had mothers plead with me to end their child's life while cradled in their arms, only to follow them into death. At least, that way, they could die together.” She looked up at him, her tone privy with rage. “So, yes, Strider, feel free to bestow upon me any epithet you see fit."

He was silent, his shock radiating into the wind around him. Quietly, he spoke again, “How did you not get sick?”

She exhaled slowly. “The alchemist instructed me to wear cloth over my face and cover all skin but my eyes. Once the deed was done, I burned everything I wore and paid for new clothes with gold born of their suffering.”

Aragorn nodded slowly, compassion in his gray eyes. “I am sorry. Doing such a thing mustn't have been easy. It was an execution of mercy.” He turned, continuing once more. “Though the tales of your other kills aren't so kind. Come along, Scorpion. There’s a town a couple days ahead.”

(Y/N) snorted, anger seething in her bones, but followed him nonetheless.”

…..

The pair strode towards the Inn, located not far from Gondor’s borders. They forcefully pulled the door open, unveiling a noisy uproar of laughter and boisterous shouting, mingling with the lovely odors of urine, sweat, and stagnant ale. Creating such an environment, one the Scorpion and Ranger were used to, were the disheveled bodies of inebriated men.

With a mischievous grin, (Y/N) expertly navigated through the crowd, leading Strider to a secluded table nestled in a dim corner. It wasn't long before the arrival of steaming platters of meat and bread arrived, along with two pints of foamy ale, both of which they heartily devoured. The Scorpion raised her hand, beckoning the barmaid over and placing an order for two more pints—both of which she downed, much to Aragorn's evident disapproval.

After releasing a loud belch, she casually swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, then rose to her feet. “Gonna go get some air,” she grumbled, her balance momentarily unsteady as she gained her footing. Aragorn, in response, merely offered an exasperated roll of his eyes.

The assassin maneuvered through the bustling throng of men, slipping through the sea of people before pushing through the doors. The sudden rush of frigid tranquility enveloped her skin as she stepped into the embrace of the night. With a deliberate intake of breath, she allowed the crisp air to fill her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tilted her head upwards, letting the misting drizzle of rain kiss her skin. The sound of the tavern was muffled, and the echoes of the celebration they passed down the road drifted into the air. Though it was subtle, for it didn't drown out the sounds of the singing crickets or the croaking frogs. It was peaceful. Well, that is until a form slammed into her and pressed her against the wall.

The smell of ale-laden breath and sticky sweat filled her nostrils as her eyes shot open. Her gaze, fueled by adrenaline, locked onto the burly figure before her—a man with a rugged orange beard—who had forced himself upon her.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone in a dangerous place like this?” he asked, a knife held to her throat.

She snarled up at him. “Oh, you're about to find out—”

Before she could make a move, however, the man was suddenly struck from the side, his body sent sprawling onto the weathered, muddy path.

As (Y/N) peeled herself from the wall, her hand instinctively reached for the slight gash on her neck. Meanwhile, the bearded man found himself seized by the throat, forcefully hoisted upward, and pressed hard against the unyielding stone.

“Do you even know who that is?” Strider uttered sharply.

A chuckle escaped the lips of the man, his bloodied lip spraying a fine mist of red onto Aragorn's face. “You’re whore?” he sneered.

With an unrelenting grip on the man's throat, Aragorn pulled him several inches away from the wall, only to slam him back against it once more. The impact elicited a grunt from the man. "The Scorpion of Sarn Ford," Aragorn hissed through clenched teeth, his voice seething with restrained fury.

The assailant’s laughter was dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah and I'm the fuckin’ King of Gondor.”

The Ranger clenched his jaw, ignoring the secret dig the man's comment produced. “You know why they call her that? Hmm. The Scorpion? Scorpions incapacitate their prey with venom, paralyzing them before they deal the final blow. That woman over there? She severs her targets’ spinal nerve, rendering them unable to move before subjecting them to her torture and kill. And the worst part? She doesn't even need them paralyzed. She gets off from witnessing the terror in their eyes as they're rendered helpless.”

Another laugh escaped the man, but as his gaze shifted towards (Y/N), his amusement faded. The assassin now held a dagger, twirling it in her fingers, a sinister grin stretching across her features.

He turned to look back at Aragorn, the color now drained from his face. “Ye’ c-cant be serious,” he stammered.

The Ranger merely lifted his brows and tilted his head.

Driven by desperation to escape the woman beside them, the man started to shove against Aragorn. However, a single forceful punch to his jaw rendered him unconscious, his body collapsing onto the mud once more.

“I had it handled,” the assassin stated.

Aragorn shot her a stern glare before responding bluntly, "Sure, you did."

The woman emitted a snort, yet settled into a squat beside the man, her dagger poised.

The Ranger, however, was quick to grab her by the wrist, successfully stopping her actions. "Are you out of your mind? We can't kill him. That's the last thing we need – drawing attention to ourselves."

With a huff of mild exasperation, she sheathed her blade. "Fine." She then nodded to the black horse tethered nearby, gesturing with a nod. "That's his horse. Saw him dismount as we entered. Bring it here."

Aragorn frowned, confused, but did as she asked.

“Alright,” she stated, gathering the man’s arms in her hands. “Help me with his legs.”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Strider, just grab his damn legs.”

Exhaling audibly, the Ranger complied, reluctantly gripping the man's ankles. With a coordinated heave, they hoisted the man up from the muck. After a few groans and sighs, he was draped over his horse's back.

The Scorpion then took the leather strapping of the saddle and began binding the man’s hands and feet to it. She nodded to the young maple tree behind the Ranger. “Get me a large twig from that. Bout a foot tall. Keep the leaves on it.”

“What?” he hissed, his hands spreading wide in a gesture of bewilderment.

“Strider, would you just get the branch,” she urged impatiently.

Another loud, reluctant exhale left his lips, yet he trudged toward the tree and pulled off what she requested. He approached her, holding out the twig.

“Ah, thank you,” she acknowledged with a grin, accepting it from him.

With that she moved to the side of the horse, close to the man's legs. She seized the waistband of his trousers and gave it a yank, reaving his bare ass.

“Scorpion,” Aragorn chided.

Undeterred, she grinned, sticking the small branch between his ass cheeks so it stood upright, its leaves rustling faintly in the breeze.

“Seriously?” he gruffed out, his arms crossed.

(Y/N) looked at him with a wicked smirk. “You hear that party still going on down the road? I think they would appreciate some impromptu entertainment.” With that, she smacked the horse's rear and, with a brisk snort, it took off down the path.

Not even a minute passed, when they heard the shouts of anger and amusement funneling from the gathering.

Strider turned to glare at her, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with irritation. He grasped onto her bicep and pulled her towards the doors. "Get inside the damned tavern, quickly."

A loud, hearty laugh flew from her throat, yet she allowed him to pull her along.

Engulfed once again in the clamorous atmosphere of the inn, Aragorn wasted no time in steering her towards the bar. “You can't just put a branch up the arsehole of a person that pisses you off,” he hissed under his breath.

She grinned unapologetically. “Sure, I can.”

He blew hot air out his nose, opting to withhold a retort. With a determined demeanor, he maneuvered them through the crowd of men, navigating as close to the counter as he could get. "Barkeep," he called out, projecting his voice. "Two room keys."

The man approached them with a shrug. “Only got one room left.”

Aragorn huffed. “Fine. Well take it.”

With that, the Ranger deposited three gold coins into the man's palm, secured the key, and then swiftly tugged the Scorpion alongside him as they grabbed their bags and ascended the creaky wooden staircase.

They approached their door, marked the same as the key, and it swung open under Aragorn’s touch. Within, the room exuded a chill darkness, accompanied by a faint draft slipping in through the slightly cracked window. The space appeared quite sparse, furnished with nothing but a small dresser, a modest table accompanied by two chairs...and a solitary bed.

A muttered curse escaped the Ranger's lips as he unceremoniously dropped his bag onto the table. "I'll take the floor."

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Really, Strider? It’s the one night we get the option of having a bed. As long as you stay on your side, I don't mind sharing.”

“Fine,” was his gruff response.

With that, the pair began getting comfortable for the night. Aragorn lit the worn down candle, its feeble golden glow illuminating the area, proving slightly better light as he dug through his bag. Meanwhile, (Y/N) shed her cloak and vast assortment of weapons, earning a skeptical glance from the Ranger. Yet, when she began to unfasten the tightly-worn leather armor that clung to her figure, his reaction was far more dramatic. "What on earth is that stench?!" he blurted out, recoiling.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember those goblins? Yeah, I got an unexpected bath in their blood.”

“That was days ago. You reek,” he retorted. He strode over to the dresser, opening drawers until he came across a gray towel. Returning to the table, he picked up the pitcher beside the candle and gradually poured water into a small basin, also provided. After submerging the towel and wringing it out, he flung the damp cloth towards her, which she easily caught. “Clean yourself up.”

She shrugged once more. Turning away, she shed her shirt and let it drop to the floor. Her swift movements were focused as she wiped her face, neck, and chest, cleansing her skin of the grime that clung to it.

Though Aragorn didn't intend to look, his gaze inadvertently flicked towards her silhouette against the wall. It was then that his eyes fixed upon her bare back, adorned with a network of vivid, angry scars. He’d seen scars like that. He knew what they were from: torture.

“(Y/N),” he whispered sincerely, his steps leading him closer to her form. “What happened?”

Hearing her name for the first time from his lips, she was caught off guard—her heart skipping a beat. The simple utterance carried an unexpected weight, a rare vulnerability that seemed to momentarily freeze her in place. Uncertainty gripped her as she stood still, her mind racing to process the unfamiliar tone from him.

His touch was tender as he raised his hand to trace the lines on her skin. “Who did this to you?” he growled.

Brought back to the present, she instinctively recoiled from his touch. "I'm an assassin. I've earned my fair share of enemies," she replied, her voice tinged with defiance. Shifting her gaze over her shoulder, she met his eyes. "Have an extra shirt? Mine's beyond saving."

"I, uh, yes. Yes, of course," Aragorn responded, seeming to realize the sudden intimacy of the moment. He retreated to his bag, rifling through its contents until he procured a cream-colored tunic. He tossed it to her. "This should suffice."

“Thanks,” she grumbled, pulling it over her head.

(Y/N) approached the table, the Ranger's shirt engulfing her smaller frame. The fabric's loose drape hung off her shoulder. If she wasn't such a menace, Aragorn would have thought that she looked cute in his clothes.

Ungracefully, she deposited the damp towel on the tabletop before proceeding to yank off her boots and socks, placing them with a deliberate thud upon the chair nearby. “We are not that far from the tower of Eastemnet. Perhaps a two day journey or so. However, our predicament remains unchanged: we don't have a solid strategy. We don't have any floor plans. We don't know how many guards will be stationed. And we don't know where the girl is being kept. We are gonna be going in blind—”

“You’re bleeding,” he interjected, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of concern.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Just a scratch,” she dismissed casually.

Aragorn grasped onto her jaw, lifting her chin up to take a better look. "A seemingly insignificant wound could easily become infected, Scorpion," he asserted, his tone insistent.”

She pulled her head from his grasp with a snort. “I’m fine, Strider.”

He crossed his arms, an unyielding resolve in his expression. “If we are breaking into Lord Theovail’s tower and stealing from him, I'd prefer my partner not succumb to infection-induced delirium, potentially endangering both our lives." Swiftly, he nudged the empty chair towards her. “Now, sit down, Scorpion.”

(Y/N)’s brows lifted, followed by a teasing expression that animated her features. “Oh? So I'm your partner now?” she quipped, her tone laced with playful amusement. "What happened to the 'vicious shrew killer that you would rather leave tied to a tree,' as I seem to recall you once calling me?"

He glared at her. “Sit, or I will leave you tied to a tree.”

Surprisingly, she did as he asked, allowing herself to sink into the chair with her legs casually sprawled and her arms folded tightly across her chest. Aragorn dug through his bag, pulling out a couple small tins and a tiny glass bottle. Grasping the towel, he located a clean section and dipped it into the basin. Squatting down between her legs, he lifted the towel to her neck. "Chin up," he instructed, and she obeyed without protest. Gently, he began cleansing the wound, meticulously removing dirt and debris from the area. Next, he uncapped the small glass bottle. "This might sting," he warned.

She clenched her jaw, but said nothing as the alcohol was poured upon her neck. Aragorn gently dabbed the liquid away. He then opened one of the small tins, extracting a dollop of green goo.

“What is that shit?” (Y/N) asked.

“Athelas leaf paste.”

“Athelas leaf?” she echoed, seeking further clarification.

“Kingsfoil. Athelas is the elvish word for it,” he replied simply, his attention focused on gently applying the paste to the wound.

She raised her eyebrows. “Elvish, huh. You're full of surprises, Strider. Where’d ya learn that?”

“Shush. Be still.”

The Scorpion rolled her eyes, but complied as he completed the task.

Standing up, Aragorn rinsed his hands and addressed her once more. "We can devise a plan for the tower tomorrow. Right now, we need rest."

(Y/N) sighed, nodding in agreement, as she too stood. She made her way towards the bed and pulled back the thin sheet, eager to climb into the softness of a mattress—regardless of how old and worn it was.

The gentle sound of air extinguishing the candle was succeeded by the enveloping darkness that reclaimed the room. Soon, Aragorn’s footsteps followed. She discerned the rustle of fabric as, presumably, he removed his shirt. The bed then creaked gently as he settled beside her, lying on his back.

She, resting on her side away from him, let her eyes close. There she laid, for a moment, before shifting. Then she shifted again. And again.

“Stop moving, Scorpion,” Aragorn grumbled, his patience waning.

“I can’t get comfortable!” she retorted.

“That’s because you keep moving.”

“It’s cold and you're stealing all the blankets.” With a determined tug, she seized more of the fabric, leaving Aragorn with a minimal share.

He merely exhaled audibly, opting for a wordless response. At the very least, she had ceased her constant fidgeting.

Aragorn remained awake during the initial hours, unable to find slumber. (Y/N)'s breathing had swiftly settled into a rhythmic pattern after she commandeered the majority of the sheets, though her small unconscious movements kept interrupting the perceived tranquility. Occasional, soft whimpers escaped her lips, her brows furrowing with evident distress. In truth, Aragorn found himself uncertain of how to respond. He held onto the hope that the disturbances would cease on their own, perhaps that whatever troubled her dreams would eventually pass. And eventually, it did stop, but not without an unexpected turn of events.

The Ranger's senses jolted as the Scorpion’s frigid form rolled towards his side of the bed, seeking refuge in his warmth. Although she had mentioned feeling cold earlier, the intensity of her chill surprised him. The wave of uncertainty that washed over him did not leave as her cheek pressed against his bare chest. Initially, the thought of infection taking hold crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it; her skin would have been hot to the touch if that were the case. It only took seconds for him to realize that the draft from the cracked window was striking her side directly. With a sigh of reluctance, he tentatively encircled his arm around her, drawing her in further.

In her state of deep slumber, she instinctively nestled into him, drawing a slight skip from Aragorn's heart. He cast a cautious gaze downward, taking in her appearance.

She seemed so different—distinctly separate from the notorious assassin he knew her to be. There was an innocence, an unexpected purity, about her in this moment that rendered her almost unrecognizable. Gone was the perpetual scowl that often marked her features. Instead, her face had relaxed into a gentle expression of repose, free from the tension. Her lips, adorned with the faintest hint of a pout, moved slightly as she drew each breath, almost as if he warded off the nightmares that had plagued her.

In this vulnerable state, the Scorpion seemed untainted by her reputation, stripped of her fearsome persona. The layers of her identity, usually shrouded in crude comments and sharp weapons, had fallen away. It revealed that the facade that she showed the world was just that, a facade. A good one at that though. Even Aragorn—a man well-acquainted with the intricacies of human nature—hadn't thought it would be a mask; but her story of Sarn Ford was the first thing that revealed its possibility to him. It was as if the walls she kept built had crumbled away, allowing him a glimpse of the person beneath the lies. And, until sleep claimed him, he allowed himself to savor this glimpse—to see her beyond the assassin.

When the first light of dawn began to filter in, (Y/N) stirred, wrapped in the warmth and safety that had cocooned her during the night. She hesitated to peel open her eyelids, savoring the sensation. However, as her senses roused to full awareness, a gentle yet distinct rhythm reached her ears—the steady thud of a heart beating beneath her. In an instant, her eyes shot open, and a surge of apprehension raced through her.

Beneath her, Strider's form lay, his chest rising and falling in slumber. Anxiety tightened her chest and clawed at her throat. Reacting instinctively, she sat up abruptly and, fueled by adrenaline, threw a punch at him.

A resounding groan of pain escaped his lips as he scrambled to sit up, his expression twisting in both surprise and discomfort. "What the hell, Scorpion?!" he managed to sputter, his hand instinctively reaching to dab at his lip.

“I thought I told you to stay on your side of the bed!” she retorted sharply.

He glared at her, his irritation obvious. “I did. If you would take a moment to observe your surroundings, you would see you are in fact on my side of the bed.”

Wide-eyed and perplexed, she twisted her upper body around, casting a glance over her shoulder. As the reality of the situation dawned on her, she faced him once more. Her eyes filtered over his form briefly, taking in his muscled biceps and defined abs. Her expression then turned into a deeper scowl. “Fuck off!” she snapped.

He only stared at her, bewildered.

….

Under the shroud of darkness, the Ranger and the Assassin stood at the base of the tower of Eastemnet on the south side. Concealed within the protective embrace of the tree line, they had spent approximately three hours observing the guards' patterns and identifying vulnerabilities in the tower's defenses. There they had hidden two steeds that (Y/N) had procured for them at the inn—most likely through theft, though Aragorn didn't want to think of that—allowing for a quick escape with Calista. Strategically, they discreetly knocked out all the guards on the outposts, binding and gagging them, for they knew the element of surprise would be their only bet. So, now they stood, with a pretty loose plan, ready to steal back what Lord Theovail had taken.

The Scorpion grasped onto the vine that entwined itself along the stone surface of the tower. A swift, assessing tug confirmed its stability. Her gaze shifted briefly to the man positioned behind her. “About two hundred feet to the top. Best guess, that’s where Calista is being held.”

He nodded. “After you.”

The Scorpion adjusted her grip upon the vine and she initiated her ascent. Aragorn doing the same only minutes after.

They moved in a synchronized rhythm, the sound of their breaths and the faint rustling of vines mingling with the night's stillness. Each handhold and foothold was chosen with precision, the texture of the stone under their fingertips guiding their progress.

(Y/N)’s movements were fluid and practiced, evidence to her agility and experience. Her lithe form seemed to dance with the contours of the tower, making it look easy. Aragorn, not as accustomed to such endeavors, displayed a determination that rivaled his unease. His powerful muscles flexed and strained as he pulled himself upward, his eyes never straying far from the path she took.

After what felt like hours, the assassin spoke. “Nearly there, just a couple more feet.”

Aragorn only grunted in response.

The woman firmly gripped the vine adjacent to the windowsill, positioning her feet against the wall in a manner resembling a vertical walk. This facilitated her upward movement as she pulled herself closer to the window. Yet, as her head reached the level of the glass, she swiftly withdrew, instinctively lowering herself. In an unfortunate circumstance, the unconventional stance she maintained resulted in her ass colliding with Aragorn's face.

He groaned. “Really, Scorpion?! Really?!”

“My bad,” she huffed out. “Hold on a second. I think someone is in there.”

“Yeah, hopefully Calista.”

She resumed her ascent, then promptly lowered herself again. This time, Aragorn effectively maneuvered his head to the side, evading her buttocks.

Regardless of this, he shot her a glare—not that she would be able to see it.

“It was a maid.” she whispered. “I think we are in the clear now.”

With that, she heaved herself up for a final time and reached for the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Duck your head,” she commanded. With as much force as she could muster, she brought the blade against the glass, tucking her face into her elbow. It shattered, falling around them both like deadly snow.

The Scorpion pulled herself upward and through the window, careful not to be pierced by any stray piece of glass, and Aragorn did the same.

The room was small, but decorated to the extreme. The prominent feature was the bed, elevated upon a platform, its tall wooden posts adorned with a luxurious velvet canopy that cascaded in graceful drapes. The mattress was covered in ornate blankets and quilts, complemented by an array of plush pillows. However, any semblance of beauty was starkly contradicted by the grim sight of chains extending from the wall and ensnaring the wrists of a young girl, shattering the room's facade of luxury.

Immediately, Aragorn ran towards her side. “Calista,” he murmured gently. “Wake up. It’s time to go.”

Calista's golden hair framed a face that appeared worn and defeated. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a gaze void of life. Her voice emerged as a feeble whisper. "Who are you?" she inquired softly.

Standing steadfast in the center of the room, (Y/N) maintained her posture with crossed arms. Her unwavering gaze fixed on the imposing wooden door that likely remained locked from the other side. “Your father sent us.”

Aragorn carefully manipulated the cuffs that bound Calista's wrists, gingerly freeing her from their constricting hold. "I'm Strider," he introduced himself, his fingers working skillfully. "We're here to help. Come.”

As if entranced, Calista began to sit up, struggling to rise from the bed. Aragorn extended his support, assisting her onto the floor. However, her weak frame proved too fragile to sustain itself. She leaned unsteadily against him, her body unable to bear its own weight.

The Ranger looked to his partner. “She’s too weak. There's no way I can scale down the wall with her on my back. She won't have the strength to hold on."

The Scorpion uttered a quiet curse. “You will just have to come with me to find Theovail.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can't bring her near him.”

“Well, we don't have any other choice,” she snapped. “But as soon as I kill him, we will have to haul ass. His guard will be coming for us then—if they don't already know we are here.”

Aragorn clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply. “Fine. Get that door open.”

With that, the Scorpion set to work picking the lock and Aragorn scooped Calista up in his arms, her golden head nestled into his chest. It wasn't long before the group was creeping down the tower, level by level. The Scorpion led the way, ducking behind walls and maneuvering around pillars, making sure the way was clear. When they came across a guard that was blocking their escape, she was quick to slice his throat and pull his body out of sight.

“Scorpion, why you can't just knock them out?” Aragorn whispered with exasperation.

She, dropping his legs as she stuffed him into a closet, glared at him. “And risk having him wake up and alert others? I think not."

He huffed, knowing she was right.

However, their path forward soon encountered a challenge they couldn't evade as easily. Just as they were on the verge of turning a corner, a young maid's panicked voice pierced the air. “The-the girl. She’s gone!”

(Y/N) slammed her back against the stone wall, Aragorn doing the same.

“What do you mean ‘she’s gone’??!” A deep male voice thundered.

A shared realization passed between (Y/N) and Aragorn—Lord Theovail had now entered the fray.

“FIND HER!” he snapped. “Or it will be your head!”

The servant scurried down the hall, running right past the Ranger and Assassin who slunk into the shadows with their charge.

(Y/N) cautiously peered around the corner. The room before them was every bit as lavish as the one that had imprisoned Calista, if not more so. A roaring fire crackled in the grand fireplace, casting flickering shadows that danced across the two plush velvet couches by it. Luxurious fur blankets adorned each sofa, hinting at Theovail’s rich indulgence. A sprawling fur carpet lay before the fireplace, while an ornate wine cart laden with deep reds was conveniently placed nearby. And there, infuriated, stood Lord Theovail himself, a glass of crimson liquid in hand, his temper fuming. To make matters worse, his guards were positioned near the room's exit—the very door that Aragorn would need to pass through in order to escape with Calista.

The Scorpion drew her knife, sending Aragorn a look. It was time. In a hushed tone, she whispered to him. “When you hear it’s over, take her and run to the doors. I'll be right behind you.”

He nodded in agreement.

She then disappeared into the shadows. Not even a minute passed before Aragorn heard the thumping of two bodies, one right after the other, followed by the telltale crash of a shattering wine glass meeting the floor.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Lord Theovail’s voice thundered, a mix of surprise and outrage lacing his words.

Aragorn cautiously peered around the corner, his heart pounding. Lord Theovail was now a whirlwind of fury and frustration, his gaze darting in every direction and a knife clutched in his hand. “I am not one to indulge in games!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber as he brandished the blade. “Reveal yourself, you coward!”

Within seconds, the Scorpion’s blade was poised menacingly at Lord Theovail's throat, her grip firm and unwavering as she held him in check from behind. Her voice dripped with a sinister malice as she spoke, her words slithering through the air like a venomous serpent. “Lord Kassim sends his regards.”

A broad chuckle bubbled from Theovail's lips, mingling with a mix of disbelief and arrogance. “A woman?! Kassim sends a woman to kill me?!”

Aragorn watched as the assassin drew another blade from her lethal arsenal, the steel glinting in the dim light. He winced inwardly, knowing what was about to unfold. In one swift, calculated motion, the Scorpion's blade found its mark, slicing deeply into Theovail's spine. The lord's body crumpled to the floor, staining the pristine white fur carpet with a gruesome red pool. His once-commanding presence now reduced to stillness. Though his eyes, wide and drifting in panic, showed his fear.

She then sat on top of him, bringing the blade to his neck once more. The Scorpion's lips curled into a chilling grin, her eyes alight with a dark satisfaction. “Not just any woman. You ever hear of The Scorpion of Sarn Ford?”

Instantly, a tidal wave of horror engulfed Theovail's blue gaze, his previously defiant demeanor shattered like the fragile glass of Calista’s window.

He knew the legend. He knew there was no escape for him.

However, at that moment, a large, burly guard burst in. Seeing what was unfolding, he was at his Lord’s assistance in a flash. His hand grasped onto the assassin’s hair, yanking her form from Theovail.

Aragorn clenched his jaw, giving her a moment before he intervened.

The collision sent shards of glass and splintered wood flying as the guard and the Scorpion crashed into the wine cart, locked in a fierce struggle. The guard, towering in his size, managed to regain his footing first and hauled the Scorpion up with him. His meaty fists struck out, landing brutal blows that drew crimson from her nose and brow.

The Ranger cursed. Quickly, he sat Calista upon the ground and rushed to his partner's aid. Unsheathing his blade, he lunged into the fray. His sword found its mark in the guard's back, the steel emerging through the man's stomach. Time seemed to freeze as the guard's bloodied gaze locked with the Scorpion's, a moment charged with shock and shared disbelief. The guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Aragorn.

With a swift motion, Aragorn twisted his blade downward and reached out to grasp the Scorpion's face, his hands marked by a blend of relief and fear. The touch, both tender and urgent, brought her gaze to his. Blood marked one cheek, while the other felt the cool press of his blade's hilt against her skin. His deep voice, a mixture of anxiety and care, called out her name. "(Y/N)," he stated, the word a lifeline that pierced through her dazed state.

"(Y/N)," he spoke once more, the urgency remaining. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, forcing a response. “Yes, yes. I'm fine.”

Aragorn released a sigh of relief, yet his hand remained for another heartbeat, a reassurance in the form of touch. "Take care of Theovail. I will get Calista," he instructed, his hands finally and reluctantly withdrawing as he moved to tend to their young charge.

The rest was a blur: (Y/N) slicing Theovail’s throat and grabbing his ruby ring, Aragorn hauling Calista into his arms, and the trio racing down the tower's corridors—fending off any obstacle that dared to stand in their path. Adrenaline drove them to the treeline, panting breath heavy and loud, as they climbed upon their horses and took off into the night—leaving behind the bloody assassination of the Lord of the Eastemnet Tower.

…..

Weeks later, at three in the morning, the trio stumbled into The Black Falcon Tavern, where they first met with Percaric. The establishment was eerily quiet, save for the slumbering figure of the barkeep, who had succumbed to the late hour with his head on the counter. At the far end of the room, Percaric and Calista's mother stood, their figures illuminated by a flickering candle on the table. An air of anxious anticipation clung to the atmosphere.

As soon as their feet crossed the threshold, that stillness was disturbed. Calista's voice pierced the quiet as she called out to her mother, her strength visibly renewed since the ordeal. Without hesitation, mother and daughter closed the distance between themselves, embracing as if they had been torn apart for eternity. Tears flowed freely, mingling sorrow with joy. The warmth of their reunion dispelled the darkness that had clouded their lives.

Percaric approached the Scorpion and the Ranger.

The assassin tossed the man Lord Theovail’s ring. “Proof of death,” she stated bluntly. “I was gonna bring you his head, but figured it would smell pretty rotten after the long journey.”

He nodded awkwardly, the thought making him feel ill. He took a quick moment to examine the ring. Seemingly satisfied, he spoke. “You did well. Lord Kassim sends his thanks.” He then tossed them both pouches of gold before turning back to the mother and daughter. As Percaric prepared to take Calista and her mother back home, he turned back to the two rescuers. His voice carried a sentiment with his words. "Thank you."

Aragorn's silent nod and the Scorpion's subtle acknowledgment conveyed their understanding and their shared commitment to a world that often demanded their sacrifice.

With that, Percaric, Calista, and her mother left the inn, leaving the assassin and the ranger alone.

“Well,” (Y/N) began, as she walked towards the snoring barkeep and leaned over the counter, fishing for the room keys. “I don't know about you, but I could do with a good night’s rest.” She pulled the ring from his waist and turned back to Aragorn. Holding it up, one key dangling, her grin faded. “You're kidding, right?” She shook her head with a huff but turned and made her way to the rickety stairs. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed this time, Strider—”

“Scorpion,” he interrupted as he followed her.

The wood creaked under her feet. “I am serious. Keep yourself in check—”

“Scorpion.”

“I will not hesitate to paralyze you—”

“(Y/N)!”

She froze upon the stairs, slowly turning to look at him on the step directly below her. Now they stood at the same height, face to face, only inches away from each other.

“You almost died out there,” he whispered, his hot breath brushing against her skin.

“Yeah, so did you. It happens,” she shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

“(Y/N),” he persisted.

“What?!”

With that, he grasped onto her face, his finger warm and calloused from the lifetime of travel and battle. Time seemed to freeze as the moment lingered, the air changing between them.

And then, his lips were on hers.

At first, a sense of uncertainty held her still, her mind grappling to comprehend the sudden intimacy. But as his touch deepened and the kiss became a dance, she surrendered to the moment. Her fingers found their way into his hair, tangling themselves among the dark waves, as her lips moved with just as much force—if not more—as his. He tasted of pine and fresh soil, she wast sure if she quite literally was consuming the dirt upon his face, but she didn't care. She couldn't stop herself from becoming enthralled by his lips.

“Scorpion,” he mumbled against her mouth.

She hummed a reply as her lips continued to move with his.

“Room. Now,” he practically growled.

She grinned, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Make me.”

Aragorn pulled away from her, raising his brow with a smirk. With that, he grabbed her by the hips and hoisted her up. Her mouth found his again as he stumbled up the stairs, ignorant to the barkeep who woke and was now squinting at the pair.

“The Scorpion and Strider,” the old man huffed. “The boys aren't gonna believe this one.”

Everything Tag: @scxundress @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust @elvish-sky @red-riding @brun-lieve @idiotic-canadian @hey-its-nonny @angelxnaa @bisexualdragongirl @mirclealignr @edensgarnden @elizabeth-anya-knight @sydney-1209 @laneynoir @straysugzhpe @runningfeather @awarwithinitself @finallyforgotten @kaiawrites @commanderawkward @xxbluestrifexx @slytherinambitious @redbirdbluebird333-blog @angelgracesworldofchaos @desert-fern @hellsitegivemeafreeusername @galadaelin @glorfindelofgondolin @skairipakomtrikru @genderfluid-anime-goth @tpwkcalli @hemera1227 @sotwk @007gogabi @sirenofavalon @hobbitsesoftheshire @asianbutnoteastasian-deactivate @mgchaser @heavenshumour

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#lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #Aragorn #Aragorn x reader #Aragorn/reader #Aragorn fic #Aragorn oneshot #Aragorn one shot #aragorn son of arathorn #vayawrites #LOTR fic #lord of the rings fic

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anozumis-art-blog · 1 year

Photo

Drew some creatures that live in a semi-living-semi-decaying-petrifying dungeon! Setting: Carcass Dungeon is a giant petrifying creature with an interior resembling that of a typical dungeon, albeit more flesh based. There are boney spire forests, caves of fat and lakes of blood, surrounded by muscular stone-flesh and riddled with arterial hallways. The deeper you go, the fleshier it becomes. Deeper down also has more mana which equates to weirder animals.

Bonus design tidbits:

The wolf mole I took traits of a star nosed mole, golden sand shrew, wolf and orca teeth! For the bore worm I mostly based it off of a normal earth worm but also added the ring hooks of a tape worm and a flattened tail of a sea snake. Blood weevil was a weevil and a honeypot ant. Cave troll was a proboscis monkey, elephant seal, gorilla’s stance, bear feet and ant eater claws.

The Skitterer was the first doodle that launched this idea and while more whimsical, I included it here to show were I got the idea from.

#art #creature design #spec evo #speculative evolution #cave troll #mythology #dungeon #fantasy #fantasy creature

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mousetoe-wc · 1 year

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I Got bored one time awhile ago and made a list of every prefix plus some into organised sections so I thought I might as well share.

All the ones that aren’t cannon to warriors, yet at lest are bold

Describing names

Colours: red, russet, copper, golden, amber, yellow, green, blue, violet, pink, white, gray, black, ebony, dark, pale, silver, brown, tawny, fallow

Pattern, Texture + Size: spot/ted, dapple, speckle, freckle, brindle, patch, mottle, ragged, tangle, kink, bristle, fuzzy, curl/y, wooly, soft, sleek, little, tiny, small, slight, short, tall, long, big, heavy, crooked, broken, half, stumpy, shred, torn, jagged

Actions + Character: flip, pounce, bounce, jump, hop, crouch, down, low, drift, flail, strike, running, fidget, mumble, whistle, snap, sneeze, shiver/ing, shining, flutter, fallen, lost, rush, fleet, quick, shy, sweet, brave, loud, quiet, wild, hope, wish,

Other: claw, whisker, dead, odd, one, spike, fringe, echo, song, hallow, haven

Elements

Time + Weather: day, night, dusk, dawn, morning, sky, sun/ny, moon, storm, lightning, thunder, cloud/y, mist/y, fog, snow, blizzard, ice, frost, dew, drizzle, rain, clear, wind, breeze, gale, shadow, shade, bright, light,

Earth/Water/Fire names: stone, rock, boulder, slate, flint, pebble, gravel, sand/y, dust, mud/dy, meadow, hill, rubble, river, ripple, whorl, float, rapid, shimmer, lake, swamp, marsh, wave, wet, bubbling, splash, puddle, pool, creek, fire, flame, flicker, flash, blaze, scorch, ember, spark, ash, soot, cinder, smoke

Plants

Trees: alder, aspen, birch, beech, cedar, cypress, pine, elm, willow, oak, larch, maple, bay, rowan, timber, bark, log, wood, twig, acorn, cone, seed, spire

Berry/Nut/Fruit/Herb: juniper, elder, sloe, holly, yew, mistle, bramble, hickory, hazel, chestnut, nut, apple, cherry, cranberry, olive, pear, plum, peach, chive, mint, fennel, sage, basil, mallow, parsley

Flowers: aster, poppy, primrose, rose, bluebell, marigold, tansy, pansy, briar, cherry, daisy, dandelion, daffodil, tulip, violet, lily, myrtle, thrift, yarrow, heather, lavender, blossom, bloom, flower, petal

Other: leaf, frond, fern, bracken, sorrel, hay, rye, oat, wheat, cotton, reed, pod, cinnamon, milkweed, grass, clover, weed, stem, sedge, gorse, furze, flax, nettle, thistle, ivy, moss, lichen, bush, vine, root, thorn, prickle, nectar

Animals

Mammals: mouse, rat, mole, vole, shrew, squirrel, hedgehog, bat, rabbit, hare, ferret, weasel, stoat, mink, marten, otter, hog, wolf, hound, fox, vixen, badger, deer, doe, stag, fawn, sheep, cow, pig, lion, tiger, leopard, lynx, milk

Birds: robin, jay, cardinal, thrush, sparrow, swallow, shrike, starling, rook, swift, dove, pigeon, crow, raven, duck, goose, heron, wren, finch, swan, stork, quail, gull, lark, owl, eagle, hawk, kestrel, buzzard, kite, hoot, feather, bird, egg, talon

Fish, Reptiles + Amphibians: pike, perch, pollack, trout, tench, cod, carp, bass, bream, eel, minnow, fin, snake, adder, lizard, turtle, frog, toad, newt

Bug type Names: bug, lady or ladybug, moth, spider, ant, snail, slug, beetle, bee, wasp, dragon or dragonfly, bumble, worm, maggot, cricket, fly, midge, web, honey

Skyclan + Warriorclan: Bella, Billy, Big, Harry, Harvey, Snook, Ebony, Monkey

#warrior cats #wc

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caelusproject · 3 months

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"Talk to me" (Chapter 1?)

Pairing: Royalkay

Rating: SFW (minor sexual talk/thoughts, death and injury mentioned, cursing)

Wordcount: 6385

This is a fanfiction based on another fanfiction! This story takes place mostly during chapter 4 of the Jalim fanfiction "Say Nothing" by @katzenprinz and @thunderwhenhepurrs ! It's the same story but from a different point of view with a different relationship focus! Please read Gabe and Holden's Jalim fanfiction, it's seriously so good and still being written!! Go show them some love!!

(Sorry for any inconsistencies or errors I made, I tried my hardest to do my research but I'm an overworked human so mistakes are a given oof)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nick patrolled through the camp, letting the slowly fading rays of sunlight elucidate his path across the sand in a deep orange. Although he kept his mind sharp enough to immediately recognize any strange sounds and movements, so much so that he pointed his gun at an innocent little shrew hiding in a bush earlier, ready to pull the trigger and feeling bad about it right away again, he noticed his mind running wild in his skull. He felt his jaw muscles tighten as he looked towards the earth underneath his boots. Those fucking monsters were probably waiting for them. Sure, this time they came in prepared and with a purpose, as much as said purpose made him want to scream into the sky in a blind rage until his vocal chords snapped. Of course they would send them back in. Of course these idiots would want to know more about these creatures out of greed and blind thirst for knowledge. Of course Eric would run his mouth during the interrogations and mention how intellectually advanced they were.

But no matter how much Nick wanted to find a scapegoat to unleash his frustration and anger upon, Eric wasn't the one. Even if he hadn't talked about the vampires the way he did, those hazmat-freaks would have still gotten curious about them. The colonel didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of Nicks rage. Or at least not to a certain degree, after all it was Caelus that led them all down there in the first place.

“Wasn't his intention, though,” Nick reminded himself quietly as he circled around the tend where the newbies bunked, checking for anything noticeably concerning but ultimately finding nothing unusual. So he decided to keep on walking around the campsite until his short lived patrol was over.

Nick had quite some time to reminiscent about his treatment of the colonel. Sure, he had plenty a reason to hate that mans guts. Eric led them into this wasteland. His program mistook an ancient underground temple for an enemy storage facility. Nick was dating Eric's wife.

And yet there was a spark of admiration for the colonel blooming inside Nicks chest. One he tried to ignore as best as he can. Eric had saved him multiple times down there, putting his own life at risk to protect Nick of all people, which took a lot of strength of character and courage to do. Of course Nick, who was aware of his own gentle and sensitive nature, would be unable to shrug those acts off like it was nothing. He was merely grateful, Nick reassured himself.

The marine kicked a pebble across the field and sighed. Just as he was about to turn on his heels, he had wandered a tiny bit too far from site and would most likely get an earful from either Jason or Eric for it later, he heard his name being called from somewhere behind him. Elliott was jogging up to him and waving.

“Sargent Kay, thank you for taking over my patrol for a minute. I'm back now so you can return to your tent.” the young man nodded at Nick with a friendly smile. Nick mirrored the gesture.

“Sure. I've got nothing to report, if you don't count the poor traumatized shrew I almost shot.”

Elliott pulled his brows together in a sympathetic way.

“Poor thing,” he commented and then joked, “I'll make sure to apologize to it on your behalf.”

Nick didn't bother holding back a chuckle, “I would be most grateful.”

On his was back into the middle of their campsite Nick followed the tracks that their truck had left in the sand earlier with his eyes. Jason had been sent off with a few of the new guys to fetch Zain and bring him here. A sigh escaped Nicks lips when he was walking past the tent where Jason, Salim and himself were supposed to be bunking. Salim had decided to retreat to their tent after Nick was asked to jump in for Elliott's patrol for a minute, files of the inventory in hand so he could read through them to get his mind off of things. Nick couldn't blame him. He had seen the face Salim made whenever he talked about his son down in the tunnels, their first encounter ended in a conversation about how Salim wasn't supposed to be on his mission to fight some marines and instead spend Zain's birthday in the comfort of their home. A strong feeling of empathy flooded through Nick and he found himself going back and forth on whether he should enter and at least ask Salim if he needed anything. Against his better judgment he turned away and decided that some quiet might help him a lot more.

“Sargent Kay!”

Rachel's voice pulled Nick out of his train of thought. He looked up to see the CIA agent wave at him from the colonels tend, motioning for him to come in. The corner of Nick's lips curled up slightly as he looked at the woman, pure affection racing through his veins at the sheer sight of her, and he jogged up to her, entering through the opening.

“How's he holding up?” Rachel asked as Nick walked past her. The marine shrug with his shoulders.

“Mmh, as well as one can expect from him.” Nick replied and took a look around the tent. Eric was sitting at the fold-up desk with his back turned to his wife and her lover, typing away at a laptop. A few feet next to the desk was a cot, certainly bigger than the ones in the marine's tents, even garnished with two pillows and a blanket. Quite the luxury in the field.

“I figured he would be nervous,” Rachel sighed and sat down on the cot, her gaze trailing off into the distance, “I hope Jason can get the boy here without trouble. If all goes to plan then they should arrive here soon.”

Eric nodded, but didn't verbally participate in the conversation, eyes still glued to the screen in front of him. Nick shifted his weight, unsure on what to do with his body.

“He'll manage. As much as he is a jarhead, Jason is also capable and understanding of Salim's situation. Although I wouldn't be surprised if he returned with a few bruises here and there.” he joked. To Nicks surprise it was Eric who huffed a laugh.

“I hope not. We need our Lieutenant in good condition,” the colonel shifted in his chair to look at Nick and nodded towards the cot, “you don't have to stand there all awkwardly. Sit down.”

Nicks eyebrows twitched upwards. It shouldn't feel so strange to him to be offered a seat on Rachel and Eric's bed, considering they spent a few days together stuck in a tiny room with Jason and Salim, sleeping on thin mattresses with barely any space between their bodies.

Still, having Eric of all people tell him to take a seat on their bed caused the spark inside Nicks chest to glimmer a little more. Nick glanced over at Rachel, who scooted over for him, and sat down. The blanket covering the cot was surprisingly comfortable considering the circumstances.

“It's gonna feel weird.”

Rachel and Eric both looked at Nick, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. The marine waved his hand towards the cot.

“Sleeping in a different tent, I mean. Guess the last few nights have left an impression on me. I'm already used to cuddling until I fall asleep.” he snickered and shrug his shoulders, a slight pain shooting through his upper body from where his wound on his shoulder was still in the process of healing. Neither of his superiors replied right away, instead Rachel tilted her head until it was leaning against Nicks arm. They spend a few heartbeats like this and Nick noticed Eric watching them with an unreadable, but not at all hostile, expression.

“I have to admit, it was nice sleeping between you two,” Rachel muttered, her lips a thin line, “it certainly helped keeping the nightmares at bay.”

Nick nodded in agreement with Rachel and breathed softly, grabbing Rachel's hand in a tight but loving grip and kissed the top of her head. Eric tilted his head like he always did when he was deep in thought about something, his gaze growing distant, and Nick found himself wondering what might possibly go through the colonels mind. A long moment of silence filled the tent, broken by the keys of the laptop ticking away again after Eric flinched slightly, something Nick would have easily overlooked had he not been staring at the man for a few heartbeats (something Nick tried not to think about too much). Although it wasn't just Nick who noticed.

“What's wrong?” Rachel asked Eric in a tone of voice Nick barely ever heard out of her mouth, a kind of concern that she always tries to control, but said control always broke when it came to Eric for reasons Nick could only imagine having to do with the bond of love they shared. Even though it was unlike Rachel to be so openly overprotective of someone. The colonel frowned in response.

“Don't worry. It's just,” he sighed, “the usual.”

“'The usual'?” Nick repeated, raising an eyebrow. Rachel closed her eyes as she exhaled loudly.

“Does it hurt?”

It felt like lightning struck Nick right then and there as realization hit him like a truck.

Eric's leg.

The colonel ran a hand through his blonde locks, a small sigh escaping his lips and he nodded slightly. Like she was waiting for this moment all this time, Rachel jumped up and approached Eric, reaching out with a hand to delicately caress his arm. Her brown eyes were filled with worry and a hint of guilt that left Eric clearly feeling uneasy.

“Maybe you need a break. Do you need to take it off?” she asked gently but Eric violently shook his head in response.

“I'm okay, really. I promise.” his voice was a lot harsher than he probably intended for it to sound. Rachel took a step back, her expression still full of worry and guilt and even Nick felt forced to sit up straight when he heard the colonel's tone of voice. Eric's pair of amber eyes wandered back and forth between Nick and Rachel and he blinked a few times, a hint of regret burrowed in them. He flinched again as he got up from his chair and took a few steps through the tent with no real destination.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.” Eric apologized and closed his eyes. He looked exhausted all of a sudden, tired of the pressure of the mission ahead and the posture he had to uphold in front of the higher ups. If Nick didn't know better, he'd say that Eric was tired of fighting. There was a painful tenseness in Eric's shoulders that filled Nick with the same, or at least similar concern as Rachel.

The marine chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second, unsure with himself about what he could do to lighten up the situation and make the colonel feel better. Then he got up and put a hand on Eric's shoulder, who immediately relaxed a little bit under the touch.

“Want me to take a look?” he asked quietly and tapped the shoulder straps of his backpack with a faint smile, remembering the role he had adopted despite his inexperience in the role of field medic. But if it meant helping out the people around him, then he would do his absolute best to make them feel better. Especially the ones he considered closest. “It's my duty as nurse Nick after all.”

Before Eric could react however they heard the engine of a truck getting closer. All three of them bolted towards the tent flap, looking out to see the dark campsite illuminated by the trucks headlights approaching quickly, zooming across the sand until it came to a screeching halt in the center of camp. Although it was quite dark, despite the few UV lamps they had set up as best as they could to keep potential stray vampires at bay, Nick could still make out Jason's face in the back of the truck, sitting next to a young man whose resemblance to Salim was undoubtedly. Zain looked terrified but also strangely curious. As soon as the truck came to a full halt, Mosson and Palmer jumped out and Nick fully expected them to guide Zain out of the truck or at least walk away for some rest after a successful mission. The fact that they immediately raised their guns and pointed them at the boy, causing Jason to react with his own gun pointed back at them, sent an ice cold shiver down Nicks spine.

“What the fuck-” Rachel exclaimed but Eric was quick to react. He went into a hasty jog, most likely held back from full-on sprinting by the phantom pain he tried (and mostly succeeded) to fight back, and shouted at the marines.

Luckily, his authority seemed to knock some sense into the newbies as they got a verbal beat down by both Jason and Eric before turning on their heels and retreating towards their tent. Nick and Rachel breathed a sigh of relief in unison and the marine thanked Eric in his mind for being so quick to react.

He watched Zain jump off the back of the truck and then he noticed the flap to one of the tents open. Salim stuck his head out and immediately froze in disbelief and amazement when his eyes fixated on his son. The heartfelt scene unfolding in front of everyone almost brought a tear to Nicks eye. The way Zain and Salim clung to each other. Now Nick definitely felt the connection between father and son and cursed under his breath when remembering what Salim had to go through to get to this point. It was unfair and cruel.

Rachel bumped her elbow against Nicks side, smiling up at him. Nick blinked the tear away and shrug his shoulders with a grin. Meanwhile, Salim pulled Zain into their tent, hopefully able to talk in private.

Then they noticed Jason and Eric talking while they unloaded the truck and as they both brought the bags towards the colonel's tent, Eric yelled an order through the dark of the campsite.

“Everyone off to your tents! Radios stay on in case of emergencies!”

The pair arrived at the tent and Jason dropped three heavy bags in one corner, nodding towards Rachel and Nick.

“Should've guessed.” he smirked as he locked eyes with Nick, who immediately noticed the new bruise blooming on Jason's face.

“Could say the same about you,” Nick joked, pointing at the damage, “too bad I didn't take a bet. I could've made bank.”

Jason play-kicked at Nick's foot but missed the other marine by an inch or so. Rachel and Eric looked at the bags, sharing a confused expression.

“Well, too bad we don't have any money, babe,” Rachel absentmindedly commentated on Nick's joke but then turned her attention towards Jason, face as serious as usual, “the contract said two bags total.”

“Don't worry about it. One's for Salim. But I got something else that the boy needs help with.” Jason approached Rachel, a tense expression adorning his facial features like something was truly at stake here. Rachel pulled her eyebrows together but showed willingness to listen. She nodded slightly and grabbed Jason's arm to lead him into a corner of the tent so they could talk quietly.

Nick and Eric watched them whisper for a few seconds until Eric shifted his weight and winced like he did before. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and leaned against the desk to get the pressure off of his leg. In a panic, Nick reached out to catch Eric, afraid he might fall over, but he held back from touching him once Eric was securely leaned against the desk. Nicks instantaneous willingness to support him clearly took Eric by surprise.

“You don't look good, colonel,” Nick whispered with a warm but worried voice, “please, let me check you out.”

Eric started to shake his head and opened his mouth but Nick wouldn't let him protest this time.

“Eric. You're in pain. Rachel can see it, I can see it. Let us help you, please!”

There was that spark again. It glimmered like a warm fireplace in Nicks chest, it felt comforting and familiar, and it only increased in it's intensity when the blonde man locked eyes with Nick. There was a hint of admiration in Eric's amber eyes.

Thankfulness.

Tenderness.

Eric was a few inches taller than Nick, Nick's eyes were almost at the same level as Eric's nose and the marine blinked hard when he realized that his gaze wandered down towards Eric's lips for a fraction of a second. Luckily, the colonel didn't seem to notice.

Nick didn't want Eric to think that his intentions were not about medical care, but more about coming on to him. Even if the hint of a desire to run his fingers through Eric's soft hair popped up in his head for a split second.

“... alright.”

Nick immediately pushed his backpack off his shoulders but Eric held up a hand.

“Later,” Eric whispered, glancing over at Jason and Rachel who were clearly about to end their quiet discussion, “and take a look at her too, please. She wouldn't dare show it, but her arm worries me just as much.”

“Mh, will do.” Nick agreed. Rachel truly never showed any pain. She was stoic, strong. But Nick always thought it was a mask she put on to protect herself from others, but perhaps mostly from herself. He wondered if she built that hard shell around herself because of her and Eric's accident. No matter how much she tried not to show it, she still felt guilty and hurt and was trying everything she could to stay in control over her emotions. She was running away from something just like Nick was.

Nick felt the urge to hold Rachel close and not let go.

To protect her from any kind of cruelty the world might try and fling at her.

Kiss her until her soul was healed.

Let the world know what he felt for her.

Hold their hands through hell and back.

'Their hands' Nick repeated in his head, freezing up inside like he was a kid getting caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Instead of an annoyed parent, though, he was the one who caught himself.

“Earth to Nick,” Jason snapped his fingers in front of Nick's face, pulling him out of his train of thought. Nick blinked so his eyes could focus on the Lieutenant in front of him.

“Yeah?”

“Salim and Zain might take a while to catch up,” Jason said, “with our Colonel's permission I will do one last patrol through camp. Give 'em time to talk. Wanna come with?”

“Go ahead,” Eric answered Jason's indirect question, but gave him an apologetic smile, “but I need Sargent Kay here a little longer. Think you can handle this patrol by yourself?”

Jason chuckled as he turned on his heel to walk out the tent.

“Yessir!”

None of them said a word until Jason's footsteps were certainly out of earshot. It was Rachel who broke the silence first.

“Well. That's something.” she mumbled, her expression still as stern as when she was still talking to Jason. Eric leaned forward as much as his body would let him.

“He sounded serious. What is this 'special request' all about?”

“He didn't give me the details. Emphasized I need to make sure Zain will actually get through to London and that Zain was carrying something important.” she muttered and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Nick made a confused sound.

“The hell does that mean? Did Zain kill somebody or some shit?”

Rachel shrug her shoulders and then turned to her husband, a different kind of sternness in her eyes.

“No idea. Whatever, you are more important right now.”

Eric swallowed and raised his hands defensively.

“I know, Rach, I know. I promised Nick that he can take a look at it already. You can calm down now.” he explained frantically, to which his wife stuck out her jaw.

“You better.” she replied, grabbed Eric by the hand and pushed him onto the cot. Like making sure he wouldn't change his mind midway through, she sat down half beside him, half behind him and put her hands on both of his shoulders, squeezing lightly.

Eric sighed.

“Okay, okay. I promise, I'll stay right here.”

Nick didn't bother hiding the chuckle that escaped his throat. His Colonel looked like a boy being put into his place at the doctors office by his mother. Still grinning he opened his backpack, making sure whatever tools and medication he might need was close enough to grab.

“Permission to run my hand up your leg, Sir?”

Eric made an unimpressed face and gently kicked Nick in the shin, making Rachel snort.

“Just making sure.” Nick grinned back and pulled up the leg of Eric's pants until it was shoved up above the knee. The prosthesis had a few scratches here and there and was a bit dirty from their previous adventure with the vampires, but otherwise looked perfectly intact. The skin of Eric's knee however was already starting to turn red with irritation. Nick frowned at the sight.

“Shit looks painful.” he thought out loud.

“Shit feels painful.” Eric retorted and leaned forward to unclip the fake leg. Nick helped him pull it and the bit of fabric protecting his skin off so he could take a better look. Eric's right leg was cut off a few inches below the knee and his skin was red with irritation. A sigh of relief escaped Eric's lips as the pressure was finally released.

Nick noticed Rachel wince in the corner of his eye.

“Fuck, Eric. You should've said something.”

Eric didn't respond as he looked down sheepishly.

Nick tried to be as gentle as possible as he checked Eric's leg for injuries or chafing that broke the skin. Luckily it seemed that it was just the pressure that hurt the most.

“Well, good thing is you're not bleeding. All that chafing merely irritated the skin,” he explained, hand still resting on Eric's knee, “do you want some ice? Or painkillers?”

The Colonel bit his lower lip in thought.

“You got any ointment? It's a tad itchy.” he ultimately requested. Nick burrowed his hand in his backpack, fumbling around until he found a bottle of ointment. Without thinking he opened it and was already holding his other hand under it to catch the liquid when he stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth went dry at the thought of rubbing the ointment over Eric's leg, massaging it into his naked skin.

Even worse, what if Eric insisted on taking off his pants so that they wouldn't get drenched in ointment?

Feeling his brain short-circuiting for a second he awkwardly held out the opened bottle for Eric to grab, praying that the heat in his cheeks wasn't visible in the dim light.

“... thanks.” Eric mumbled and took the bottle with a raised eyebrow. Rachel mirrored her husbands confusion but said nothing. Nick swallowed, trying to moisturize his throat and then turned to his lover.

“Your arm. How's it holding up?” he asked gently. Despite what Nick had expected, Rachel didn't wave him off, instead she pulled her shirt up and above her head, even though Nick merely needed her to pull up a sleeve, revealing her upper body wrapped in only a bra with one upper arm bandaged.

And if his throat wasn't dry before it now turned into sandpaper.

There was no way Rachel didn't know what her half-naked body would do to the two men in the tent with her. She must have done it on purpose, Nick thought, there was no other way to explain this.

Rachel rolled her injured arm a little, testing out how far she can push her pain limits and then smiled at Nick.

“I can work with it. Probably just needs some cleaning.”

Nick nodded, trying not to stare at Rachel's skin, just like Eric desperately attempted to put his entire focus on massaging the ointment into his irritated skin. They both had mediocre success, casting Rachel a few shy glances here and there. The woman let Nick unwrap her upper arm, noticing (or anticipating) his shaking fingers. Nick cursed at himself in his mind. He must really be down bad if Rachel's not even naked upper body and Eric's exposed leg of all things made his skin tingle like he was a horny teenager.

The marine cleared his throat as he cleaned the wound, checking for any signs that it wasn't healing correctly. He was pleasantly surprised to see that it was doing well.

“Looks good,” he croaked, “should be gone in a few days.”

Rachel giggled at Nicks reaction, grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled him closer until their lips touched. Nicks heart did a flip in his chest and he leaned in to deepen the kiss as much as he could, careful not to touch Rachel's still exposed wound.

Rachel gently pushed him away again after a few heartbeats, breaking the kiss, making Nick's heart yearn for more. For a second Rachel stared at him, counting the freckles on Nick's cheeks.

Their eye contact broke when Eric leaned in from the side, one hand slowly brushing through Rachel's hair until he held the back of her head in his hand. Nick leaned back to give the married couple some space and something started to build up in his guts as he watched their eyes connect. Nick already had this feeling when they were down in the temple, a heat that made his skin prickle. Down there he called it jealousy. He called it frustration and anger.

And maybe it was jealousy.

But not the kind he initially thought it was.

His eyes were glued to them, he couldn't dare look away, and as soon as Eric's lips brushed Rachel's Nick felt a breath stuck in his throat.

And then the buzzing sound of a radio made all three of them jump. Nick, who was closest to their equipment, leaned over, fumbling with his hands as he tried to grab the radio when Salim's voice came through, speaking Arabic. Nick tilted his head when he heard his last name in between the foreign words but Rachel crawled off the cot and snatched the radio from his hands.

“That's for me.” she explained but before she could push the button to reply a different voice cut through.

“Keep that shit off the radio. You know English, speak it. Made us think there was an enemy nearby.”

“Sounds like Jones,” Nick grumbled and scrunched up his nose in anger, “fucking asshole.”

Another voice joined the conversation, if you could call it that, a groggy sounding Jason telling Salim to disregard what Jones hat barked at him and giving said marine a verbal beat-down to shut him up.

Eric raised his eyebrows in respect for his Lieutenant.

“Heard my name, though, and sure didn’t understand the message, so say again, Othman?” Jason asked through the radio and now Rachel decided would be a good time to step in.

“It was for me, Kolchek.” she explained, not trying to hide the smirk that shone through her words. She talked in Arabic without waiting for a reply, dropped the radio in Nick's hands and grabbed her shirt.

“Salim wants to talk to me. It shouldn't take long.”

“I haven't finished wrapping up your wound, though.” Nick complained but Rachel held up a hand to make him stop.

“We can do that afterwards. Like you said, it's looking good already. It can manage a few minutes of air.”

Flashing the two men a soft smile she disappeared into the dark of the night, leaving Eric and Nick alone in the tent. There was a hint of awkwardness in the air and neither of them spoke a word for what felt like ages. Nick's mind was starting to come up with all sorts of fantasies about what Eric could be thinking right now. Was he upset, sad, frustrated, jealous?

Nick didn't dare look at the Colonel, instead sucking on his teeth as nervousness filled his body. This was the first time Rachel had kissed both of them back to back while the other man watched. And without the threat of death looming over them.

“I, uh,” Eric finally spoke, clearing his throat, “... we good?”

Nick couldn't help but notice the irony in those words. He turned to Eric, who had a slight rosy tint in his cheeks, and allowed for his lips to curl upwards.

“Yeah, we good.”

Eric smiled back, seemingly relieved.

“Thank you, by the way. For your help.”

Nick accepted the bottle of ointment offered back to him and put it in his backpack.

“'s what I'm here for, Sir,” Nick saluted, but in a less formal way. Eric shook his head.

“Maybe, but still. Considering our backstory, I guess it would be understandable if you didn't feel like helping me out. Even though you are certainly a very loyal and dedicated soldier.”

Nick decided to take the compliment with grace. He walked over and dared to sit next to Eric on the cot, still ready to get up as soon as he notices any uncomfortableness in Eric's aura. Which he didn't.

“I suppose getting my ass saved more than once by you helped change my opinion,” he admitted shyly, “you're not as stuck-up as I thought you were.”

The corners of Eric's lips curled up, enjoying their conversation.

“You're welcome. I'm also very grateful that you didn't let me fall into those ditches. I definitely owe you, Nick.”

Once again, the spark in Nick's chest glimmered like embers. His fists tensed up on his lap, trying desperately to suppress this feeling. It's just gratefulness, he reminded himself, Nick was grateful and nothing else.

“You made up for it the moment you gave me your UV lamp when I went into the nest. Took me by surprise, though, but I'm thankful.”

“Speaking of which, I don't know if it was bravely stupid or stupidly brave of you to do that. I mean, it did an impressive amount of damage and you made it out fine, so I guess it was a success. But I wonder what went through your mind.”

Eric leaned slightly forward, trying to catch Nicks eyes. Nick knew the ball was in his court now and he had the choice to either play it cool or open up to Eric of all people and show his true colors.

The latter was probably the healthier option, he decided.

“I guess I wanted to protect. I was terrified the entire way down there, good thing you guys couldn't see the face I made when one of those things was looking for me. Thought I was having a heart attack,” he joked but Eric didn't laugh so Nick continued. “As soon as I placed the last round of explosives though, and saw those things around me, the fear was gone in an instant. Instead I was thinking of the people I hold dear. My family, my fellow marines, Jason, Rachel...”

Nick huffed a tiny laugh.

“Even Salim and you were on my mind. Dunno if it was some sort of twisted heroism complex, but as soon as I popped the flare I prayed that you guys would make it out alive.”

Nick paused and finally dared to properly look at Eric. The Colonel was sitting straight, taking in Nick's face like he desperately wanted to hear more. The spark turned into embers once again and Nick drowned in Eric's amber eyes for a second before continuing.

“I thought I was about to die for real. But you heard me. You guys came back for me.”

A sympathetic expression adorned Eric's face and he nodded ever so slightly.

“... I couldn't leave one of my best men behind.”

Nick heard what Eric said and it resulted in a war of conflicting emotions. On one hand he was happy to get yet another compliment, to proudly wear this verbal medal that Eric just awarded him with.

On the other hand he felt incredibly humbled. Was he truly just another soldier in Eric's eyes?

Both sides tucked at him, swaying him back and forth between pride and disappointment. He tried his hardest not to show his insecurity on the outside.

“Thank you,” he said instead, his voice a little sharper than before, “I appreciate that, Colonel.”

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Nick could have sworn he saw a hint of regret in Eric's gaze, like he wanted to take back what he said or reword it so his feelings came across better. Nick ultimately wrote it off as nothing, so he dropped it, even if part of him wanted Eric to explain further.

“Ow, what the fuck Rach?!”

Jason's offended sounding voice echoed through to their tent and Nick and Eric immediately burst out laughing.

“Sounds like she's done talking.” Eric commented through his laugh. Nick nodded.

“No idea what he did, but Jason probably deserved it.”

The entrance of the tent was pushed open and Rachel stepped through, a hint of relief and pride on her face. She flopped down between Nick and Eric, grinning to herself.

“He's such an idiot.” she exclaimed, obviously talking about Jason and Nick couldn't agree more.

“Do we even dare to ask?” Eric smirked in Rachel's direction but his wife waved him off.

“He was just worried about nothing. Felt the urge to kick him in the shin for it, so I did.”

Nick expressed his admiration for his lover by whistling.

“Kicking a sleeping Kolchek, you're truly brave, Ma'am.”

“Speaking of sleeping,” Rachel turned her attention towards Nick, “where will you sleep? Zain will be with Salim until 0400 when I pick him up, so that's occupied until then.”

Nick pulled together his eyebrows as he thought through all the options he had. Maybe he could find a spare cot in the equipment tent, or curl up in the back of the truck. None of those options sounded appealing, though.

“Do you have a pillow?” he asked, ultimately settling on the back of the truck.

Eric nodded and turned towards a bag hidden under the cot, opening it and pulling out a pillow like the two already on the bed. Nick raised is arm to grab it but Eric threw it onto the cot instead like it was the most obvious thing in the world to do. He showed genuine confusion when Nick widened his eyes.

“Oh. I thought you-” Eric stuttered, “... I thought you meant that you want to sleep here with us. Was I wrong?”

His heart skipped a beat as Nick glanced back and forth between the pillow and Eric. Although this wasn't what he intended, he felt a kind of happiness rise up in his stomach.

“Uhm, I mean, I'd rather do that than what I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind?” Rachel chimed in, squinting at her lover in suspicion. Nick raised his hands.

“I mean, the truck's pretty safe? I could've made that work.” he explained himself, faltering more and more with each word he spoke under Rachel's gaze. The woman shook her head.

“Nonsense. You're sleeping here with us. Colonel's orders.”

Eric looked shyly between the two people in front of him.

“I thought that was obvious.”

Nick couldn't help but smile softly. The fact that Rachel and Eric thought letting Nick sleep with them was self-evident made his appreciation for them increase tenfold. Well, he might have expected something like that from Rachel, but Eric?

All it did was set the spark in his chest aflame once more.

Rachel kicked off her boots and took a quick look at her watch.

“Still got a few hours until I have to pick up Zain. Enough time for a power nap.” she decided and turned to Nick. “Can you wrap me up so I can sleep a bit?”

Nick gratefully returned to his nurse duties, finished cleaning up Rachel's wound and put a fresh bandage around it. He then followed suit and unlaced his boots, put them neatly under the cot and crawled across the blanket until he was at the far side of the cot, next to the tent wall. It felt good, really good, to lay down next to Rachel again, like they did back at the base but this time without the constant gas masks watching their every move. On the other end of the cot Eric ran a hand through his hair, rubbed over his sore leg once or twice and then stretched out next to Rachel on the cot. They had to snuggle up a little, the cot was bigger than the standard sizes but still only supposed to support two people maximum. Nick didn't care. He enjoyed being able to wrap his arms around Rachel and pull her closer. Rachel cuddled up to both men, her forehead resting against Nicks chest and the back of her legs pressed against Eric's.

“I'll try not to wake you up.” she mumbled.

“The way you're clinging onto us might make that pretty hard.” Nick giggled, already feeling his limbs getting heavier. Eric chuckled behind Rachel.

“You can wake me up. For my goodbye kiss.”

“Stop acting like I won't return. You're so needy.” Rachel retorted harshly but the smile in her voice was too obvious not to notice.

“I want my goodbye kiss too.” Nick added, voice getting groggy.

“So needy.” Rachel repeated.

Nick managed to exhale a barely audible giggle.

And the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep were the rustling sound of fabric and the fingertips of a third hand resting on his waist.

#house of ashes #the dark pictures anthology #eric king #salim othman #jason kolchek #nick kay #rachel king #royalkay #my stuff #long post #i tried my best #please show some love for the original authors #can't stress enough how awesome their fanfiction is!!!

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dougdimmadodo · 9 months

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COOL ZOOLOGY STORIES OF 2023

Happy New Year! At the start of 2022 I put together a list of some cool zoology-related news stories from 2021, and after... kind of forgetting to put a list together for 2022, I wanted to do the same for 2023. Here are some of my favourite animal-related news stories from the past year (plus one plant-related story, as a treat.)

An elusive little mammal was spotted for the first time in nearly a century

Species Concerned: De Winton's Golden Mole (Cryptochloris wintoni)

Family: Golden Mole Family (Chrysochloridae)

Source(s): here and here

A small, superficially mole-like animal seemingly found only in the area around Port Nolloth, South Africa, De Winton’s Golden Mole has long been feared to be extinct due to a total lack of confirmed sightings since 1937. This changed in November of 2023, when (after years of extensive searching) a De Winton’s Golden Mole was found alive for the first time in 87 years, and was photographed for the first time ever.

Though similar to moles in both appearance and behaviour, golden moles are actually part of a separate and only distantly related group of mammals known as Afrosoricidans (alongside tenrecs and otter shrews) that have independently developed mole-like bodies to exploit a similar ecological niche – with massive, shovel-like front paws, short limbs, protective “shields” of toughened skin on their heads and non-functional eyes covered by skin to protect them from irritation, members of this family are adapted to burrowing, and in most cases will spend their entire lives underground unless disturbed. Due to the scarcity of sightings very little is known about the biology of De Winton’s Golden Mole, but based on its sandy coastal habitat and the behaviours of its closest relative, the Van Zyl’s Golden Mole (Cryptochloris zyli) it is likely that members of this species live solitary lives and use their digging abilities to “swim” through sand, preying on insects and small vertebrates which they detect using unique structures in their inner ears that are highly sensitive to vibration.

In addition to conventional habitat surveys within De Winton’s Golden Mole’s presumed range, the team responsible for this species’ rediscovery also utilized several newer or more unusual strategies to search for their focal missing mammal, including thermal imaging to detect underground body heat and the testing of soil and sand in the area for eDNA (tiny amounts of genetic material that organisms leave in water, soil and on other surfaces, giving insight into which species are found in an area without having to actually spot them.)

An "ancient plant" turned out to be a baby turtle

Species Concerned: "Turtwig" Cretaceous Turtle

Family: Unknown

Source(s): Here and Here

In 2003, a priest and fossil collector named Gustavo Huertas identified what he believed to be the fossilised remains of a tiny plant of the extinct genus Sphenophyllum in cretaceous-era rocks near Villa de Leyva, Columbia, and named the new species Sphenophyllum colombianum. Huertas' find was unusual in that it dated to the early Cretaceous period (making it over 100 million years younger than other Sphenophyllum species, the last of which are believed to have gone extinct in the late Triassic period,) and it was the fossil's unusual age that drew the attention of Fabiany Herrera, a curator of plant fossils at the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, USA and Héctor Palma-Castro, his student. After taking an interest in the fossil the two travelled to the Universidad Nacional de Colombia in Bogotá, Columbia where the fossil was held in order to inspect it, and after realising that its features were unlike other Sphenophyllum species and consulting a vertebrate palaeontologist, Edwin-Alberto Cadena, they eventually came to realise that what Huertas had found was not a Sphenophyllum species, or event a plant - what had originally been interpreted as the stems and leaves of a plant were actually the ribs of a very small, and likely very young, prehistoric turtle.

The ribs of turtles are located on the upper surface of their shells, where they form a sort of "roof" that strengthens the shell's outer carapace. Newly hatched turtles have fragile bones and shells that are easily broken beyond recognition during fossilization, so finding the well-preserved remains of a young turtle (estimated to be less than 1 year old when its bones were buried) is very rare. The discovery of the true identity of "Sphenophyllum colombianum" was published (here) in early December 2023, and as such the newly discovered turtle fossil has yet to be given a new name. Instead, it has been affectionately dubbed "Turtwig", after the half-plant-half-turtle gen 4 starter Pokemon, until it can be formally reclassified.

The Indochinese Green Magpie became the Photo Ark's 14,000th species

Species Concerned: Indochinese Green Magpie (Cissa hypoleuca)

Family: Crow Family (Corvidae)

Source: Here

The National Geographic Photo Ark is an ambitious project led by Canadian photographer Joel Sartore which aims to photograph every species held in captivity worldwide, providing high-quality images of often relatively obscure species and raising awareness of each species involved. In 2021 the Arabian Cobra became the 12,000th species added to the ark, in 2022 the Spoon-Billed Sandpiper became the 13,000th, and as of May 2023 the Indochinese Green Magpie has become the 14,000th species Sartore and his team have photographed.

Unlike the vast majority of crow species, the 4 species in the genus Cissa, known collectively as green magpies, are brightly coloured, largely carnivorous birds with vivid green feathers and bright red beaks and feet which are thought to aid them in camouflaging against the leaves and bark of the dense, humid forests they typically inhabit. The Indochinese Green Magpie, which is found in densely forested areas from central China to southern Cambodia, is one of the most common green magpie species, but is still believed to be experiencing a decline in population size due to the intense demand for members of this species in the illegal wildlife trade, both for their feathers and to be kept as illegal pets. The model for Sartore's photo, a female named Jolie, was herself found in a suitcase that was intercepted while being smuggled through the Los Angeles International Airport, and is now kept Los Angeles Zoo and Botanical Gardens. The team behind the Photo Ark have expressed hopes that Jolie's picture and story will help to raise awareness of the harmful effects of the illegal exotic pet trade and its prominence within the USA. On a happier note, the photo also seems to show that Jolie is now doing well - green magpies kept in captivity have been known to sometimes take on a duller colouration due to a lack of carotenoids in their diet, so her natural green feathers are an indicator of good health.

A very rare, very weird plant was rediscovered after 30 years

Species Concerned: Thismia kobensis

Family: Burmannia Family (Burmanniaceae)

Source(s): Here, here and here

In 1992, a bizarre-looking plant was found growing near the city of Kobe in Japan; pale and partially transparent without any leaves or chlorophyll, it was a member of the genus Thismia and was notable for being found further north than any other Asian species in the genus to date. A single plant was collected and taken to the Museum of Nature and Human Activities in the nearby city of Sanda, and in 2018 extensive examination of this single preserved plant led to it being determined to be a previously undocumented species, Thismia kobensis. This discovery led to surveys being dispatched to the area where the species was originally discovered in hopes of gathering additional samples and learning more about T. kobensis in the wild, but after surveys of the area were unable to find any remaining individuals, and following the discovery that the site from which the original sample had been collected had been converted into an industrial complex since the 1990s, the species was feared to have gone extinct. In February of 2023, a team of researchers led by Kobe University's Professor Kenji Suetsugu announced the first documented sighting of Thismia kobensis in 31 years, having found a small population growing in Sanda, not far from the museum that holds what had long been the only known specimen of the species and roughly 30km (18.6 miles) from the site at which the species was originally discovered. Their publication can be read here.

Thismia species, also known as fairy lanterns, are almost alien-looking plants that, as mentioned previously, lack chlorophyll and do not carry out photosynthesis, instead gaining nutrients parasitically by connecting their roots to the hyphae of typically mutualistic fungi and extracting nutrients from both the fungus itself and from any other plants that it has connected to (making it a mycoheteroph, much like the slightly better-known ghost plant/ghost pipes.) This unusual lifestyle likely developed as an adaptation to allow members of this genus to survive in forests with dense canopies that block out sunlight, but also makes them highly sensitive to environmental change - in order for an area to support a healthy population of Thismia kobensis, it must also support healthy trees and healthy soil fungi. As the original preserved 1992 specimen of T. kobensis was long dead and slightly damaged, its rediscovery also allowed Suetsugu's team to further study the species, leading to a surprising conclusion - genetically and anatomically, Thismia kobensis seems to have more in common with Thismia americana (the only known North American species of Thismia, which was last sighted in 1916 and is similarly feared extinct) than to any other Asian Thismia, possibly suggesting that T. kobensis and T. americana are descended from common ancestors that spread either from Asia to the Americas or vice versa during a time when their ranges were connected by a land bridge.

Important progress was made in saving the Sumatran Rhinoceros

Species Concerned: Sumatran Rhinoceros (Dicerorhinus sumatrensis)

Family: Rhinoceros Family (Rhinocerotidae)

Sources: Here and here

Distinguished from the other 4 rhinoceros species by its relatively small size, 2 horns and short black fur (which is barely present in adults, but very prominent in calves) the Sumatran Rhinoceros is one of the rarest mammals on earth, with an estimated population size of roughly 30-80 individuals. Having had its numbers drastically reduced by poaching, habitat loss and extreme weather events, the species is now threatened by its own small population size - found only in tiny scattered populations across Sumatra and Borneo, it is now extremely difficult for wild members of this species to find mates, and where mating does occur such a small population size considerably limits genetic diversity, increasing the risk of calves being born with health complications. To combat this numerous efforts to breed Sumatran Rhinoceroses in captivity have been developed, and as of November of 2023 the results have been promising; last year saw the birth of 2 Sumatran Rhinoceros calves at the Way Kambas National Park in Lampung, Sumatra.

The youngest of 2023's calves, a male, is the son of a female named Delilah who was herself the second calf to have ever been born at the park's Sumatran Rhinoceros Sanctuary (a site where members of this species are cared for and protected from illegal poaching while breeding.) This marks the first-ever instance of a captive-born Sumatran Rhinoceros giving birth, and therefore represents a key step in establishing a healthy captive breeding population of Sumatran Rhinoceroses to help preserve and increase the genetic diversity of wild populations. The calf's father, named Harapan, was born in Cincinnati Zoo in the USA, and it is hoped that the careful incorporation of the handful of Sumatran Rhinoceroses held in zoos into wild breeding programs can further help to increase the species' genetic diversity in the future. While extensive action is still needed for the Sumatran Rhinoceros to be saved, the park's work this year represents a significant step towards the species' conservation.

--------------------------------------------

Have a great new year!

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uncharismatic-fauna · 2 years

Photo

A Big Round of Applause for the Chinese Giant Salamander

The Chinese giant salamander (Andrias davidianus) is one of the largest amphibians in the world, second only to the South China giant salamander (Andrias sligoi) which was only recently distinguished as a separate species. This species typically weights 25–30 kg (55–66 lb) and is 1.15 m (3.8 ft) in length, although It can reach up to 50 kg (110 lb) and 1.8 m (5.9 ft). Its anatomy is well-suited to its aquatic lifestyle; the broad, flat body allows it to creep along riverbeds, and its wide mouth allows it to gulp down any prey it might come accross. Their eyesight is very poor and as a result the eyes themselves are small. A. davidianus‘s skin is typically dark to blend in with its surrounding, and the excess wrinkles provide more surface area through which it can absorb oxygen from the water.

As their name suggests, the Chinese giant salamander is found only in China; specifically fragmented areas from Qinghai to Jiangsu and south to Sichuan, Guangxi and Guangdong. This species is entirely aquatic, and thus is most often found in the basins of the Yangtze, Yellow and Pearl Rivers. A. davidianus lives in caves or freshwater crevices, although they are also seen along lakes or open rocky riverbeds.

Part of the reason this species is so large is because they grow throughout their entire lives. Chinese giant salamanders start out as eggs, which are hatched in groups of 400-500 laid in slow-moving underwater cavities. The eggs are quite large, at a maximum size of 14–16 mm (0.55–0.62 in) after they’re laid and habe absorbed water. They take 50-60 days to hatch, and larvae emerge already resembling their parents, albeit with external gills, and are already 3 cm (1.2 in) long. The young are independent, although they typically stay in the stream they were hatched in until they’re fully grown. The gills are lost at 3 years old, although sexual maturity isn’t reached until 5 to 6 years and a length of 40–50 cm (16–20 in).

Mating occurs between mating occurs between July and September, when the water temperature reaches 20 °C (68 °F). During this time, males push sand and gravel out of their dens to clean them-- a process that can take up to a week-- and ‘shower’ regularly by moving under fast-moving currents. Females are attracted to clean dens, and once she chooses a mate the pair engage in a number of courtship behaviors including knocking bellies, leaning side-to-side, and cohabitating. After the female lays her eggs, she leaves and the male guards the eggs until they hatch. Individuals as old as 60 have been recorded in the wild, although few individuals survive past the larval stage.

Chinese giant salamanders have few predators as adults. The most common are otters, red foxes, weasels and hog badgers, although juveniles can also fall prey to large fish or even adult salamanders. To deter predators, A. davidianus secretes a white acidic, sticky substance from its skin. For the most part this species is the apex predator of its ecosystem, and feeds on insects, smaller amphibians, crustaceans, fish, and the Chinese water shrew (Chimarrogale styani). Individuals detect their prey by a combination of detecting chemicals in the water and a series of nodes along the sides of their bodies that sense vibration. When prey is located, the salamander creates a vaccum with their mouths, sucking in water and their meal.

Conservation status: The Chinese giant salamander is considered Critically Endangered by the IUCN. Primary threats include habitat loss, disease, and over-harvesting for meat. National and international conservation programs and zoos are working to raise awareness, conserve habitat, and raise captive-bred salamanders for re-release in the wild.

Extra fun picture for Chinese New Year:

This picture is from a series of paintings by artist Frankie Huang, who depicts a number of Chinese words literally. In this piece, the Chinese giant salamander is shown as the literal translation of its name in China: Wawayu, or ‘Baby fish’. This name comes from the salamanders’ distinct vocalizations, which can often sound like crying babies.

Photos

Theodore Papenfuss

Egon Heiss

Ben Tapley

Frankie Huang (Instagram)

#chinese giant salamander #Urodela #Cryptobranchidae #giant salamanders #salamanders #amphibians #mountains #caves #rivers #freshwater fauna #subterranean fauna #asia #east asia #animal facts #biology #zoology #happy Chinese New Year!#(ik im two days late but i was moving out of my apartment)#(again)

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pikaclan · 5 months

Text

Moon 360

Season: Newleaf

Overarching Events

PikaClan doesn't have enough medicine cats Mass extinction is toggled on

Major Events

One day, Loudstar is found dead in the leader's den, never to rise again. Seems they lost the rest of their lives to old age and travelled to StarClan

Tumblekick looks at the cats sitting vigil for Loudstar and wonders how they will cope without him, and is grief stricken Shrewdusk wails when they see the body of their parent, Loudstar, lying still and cold, and is grief stricken It's like losing a tail, or a limb, or their shadow, and Treewatcher is grief stricken Shalenibble grieves but is not stricken

Treestar has received their nine lives and became the new leader of the Clan. They feel like they are not ready for this new responsibility, but will try their best to do what is right for the Clan.

Treestar chooses Thrushwhistle to take over as deputy

Ceremonies

Peonyear gives Oakpaw a friendly nudge when the leader calls the young cat's name. They watch with pride as Oakpaw receives the new name, Oakstreak, and are honored for their skill

Deaths

Macavity died of yellowcough

Health

FlightClan asks us for herbs but we refuse Wingtimber was attacked by a group of rats! they managed to fight them off, but not unscathed Riverfish has collected quite a lot of ticks in their pelt, and grumbles about the itchy bites dotted through their pelt Sandpaw got very lucky and recovered from poison Zahra has a running nose

#moon 360 #loud #tree #thrush #tumble #shrew #shale #peony #oak #macavity #flightclan #wing #river #sand #zahra #pikaclan

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pitviperofdoom · 1 year

Text

So uh. About 12 years ago I thought it'd be fun to do Sherlock Holmes set in the Redwall universe. I wrote a bit for it, then lost interest and moved on to other things.

Well, between my Redwall reread and the Letters from Watson substack, I've recently found myself with renewed interest in both Redwall and Holmes stories, so I decided to dust off the ol' Redwall AU. I reread what I had, found it almost entirely unusable, and completely reworked it. And now I have a humble little introduction here!

Don't know if I'll continue this, but I've had a LOT of fun ideas over the last week, so we'll see!

*****

Extract from the personal journal of Lancejack Johnswort Swifteye, formerly of the Fur and Foot Fighters Border Patrol—

The first day of spring has come and gone. The days grow warmer and longer as we leave winter further behind—the Winter of the Sweeping Mists, by Abbey reckoning. By my own reckoning it was the Winter of Abject Misery.

For six seasons I have marched with the Fur and Foot Fighters Border Patrol, that intrepid unit that keeps watch on the region where Mossflower meets the sand dunes by the Western Sea. Most of my comrades were Salamandastron hares, but with the border patrol’s proximity to the forest, they had plenty of use for squirrels like myself. Like many of my kind I am sharp of eye and handy with a bow, and between my childhood of helping in the Abbey Infirmary and my later training under Lieutenant Lagsworth, I had the skills to make myself useful as a healer as well.

It all came to an abrupt and inglorious end last winter, when a Galloper from the Long Patrol came to us warning of a corsair ship that had made landfall not far from our position. Word reached us too late that the ship was in fact a full fleet, and in the resulting battle I found myself cut off from the rest of the patrol during our retreat. I went down with several wounds, not the least of which was a bolt from a searat’s crossbow in my leg, and I would have been killed if Corporal Pennyroyal hadn’t dragged me to safety.

The patrol suffered heavier losses than it should have, with its principal healer gravely wounded. Penny tells me it was touch and go for a while, before reinforcements from Salamandastron arrived, led by Colonel Kordyne himself. In the end I survived, albeit severely weakened and with a newly-acquired limp, my military career indefinitely on hold if not outright over.

Once I was well enough to travel, I was swiftly sent on my way to Redwall by shrew logboat, and had scarcely passed a week in the willing paws of the abbeydwellers when I was struck down with a ferocious fever. The days and weeks that followed were miserable, full of aches and chills and horrendous dreams—and precious little company, as I was kept away from other creatures so as not to spread my illness to the rest of the abbey.

To add insult to injury, I missed the Nameday celebrations entirely, and by the time I had regained enough of an appetite to enjoy the taste of food, every crumb of that glorious feast had been eaten or sent out to the denizens of the surrounding woodlands in need of extra food after the winter.

It is strange to find myself walking Redwall’s venerable halls once more. I was quite young when I left, creeping out in the cover of night so as not to alert the elders to my departure. Back then I dreamed of returning in glorious triumph, and here I am now, scrawny and scarred and hobbling about with a cane on days when my leg gives me trouble. I keep busy how I can, usually helping Brother Stonecrop in the Infirmary, but more often than not I find myself passing days in a fog. I miss my comrades, the smell of the wind off the distant sea, the feeling of good bark beneath my claws. Embarrassment about my situation has made me a recluse. Stonecrop and I were friends as Dibbuns, and he is still good company, but in spite of his best efforts, in spite of the many good creatures who make their home in Redwall, I cannot recall ever feeling so terribly lonely.

****

The sound of pawsteps on the stone floor reached John’s ears. Briefly he considered snuffing out the candle and waiting silently for whoever it was to leave, but the thought felt unbearably childish. With a sigh, he set down his quill and blew gently on the still-wet ink.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding.” Brother Stonecrop poked his head around the cask. “By the fur, how can you stand being down here so long on the cold stone?”

“It’s quiet,” John replied. “And before you ask, my leg feels fine. How’d you find me?”

“You certainly didn’t make it easy.” The stout mouse eased between the barrels and sat down with him, fidgeting until he’d smoothed out his habit. “I checked the infirmary and the top of the belltower first, and then I remembered Pinn saying she’d seen you creeping down here the other day.”

“I really thought I’d given her the slip,” John muttered, before a cloth-wrapped bundle was thrust into his inkstained paws. “Stonecrop, what—”

“You missed lunch again,” Stonecrop informed him. “I managed to rescue some cheese and nutbread and a scone before the young ones scoffed the lot. There’s a beaker of dandelion cordial as well. Get your jaws around that, see if it puts you in a better mood.”

“My mood is perfectly fine,” John protested. As if on cue, his traitorous stomach growled.

“Says the daft beast as he broods in the dark, scribbling out his thoughts by candlelight.”

“Alright, alright.” John bit into the scone and almost groaned. “Hell’s teeth, that’s good. How is it still warm?”

“Alright, so I didn’t actually snatch it from the jaws of a ravenous mousebabe,” Stonecrop admitted. “I stopped by the kitchens for a fresh one. I thought if you were making yourself this hard to find, it was a scone-straight-from-the-ovens sort of day.”

In spite of himself, John couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Stonecrop.”

Stonecrop clapped him on the back. “Think nothing of it, old Swifteye. Somebeast has to make sure you don’t waste away to nothing.”

“I’m nowhere near old.”

“Is that a fact? I could hardly tell, when you’ve got a face on you like a decrepit frog more often than not.” Stonecrop’s tone, light as it was, betrayed his worry. “You know it wouldn’t hurt to attend a meal every now and then. It’d be good for you to have some company once in a while.”

“I know, I know, it just…” John sipped from the beaker to buy himself time to think. “It gets a bit loud, especially with how voices echo in this place. And the last time I was somewhere loud, it wasn’t one of my good days.”

Stonecrop frowned. “I would think Dibbuns shrieking at dinnertime was a far cry from a battlefield.”

“You would think.”

“Well…” John could almost hear Stonecrop’s thoughts whirring as he hunted for a solution. “Would it help to get out of the abbey for a bit? You’ve hardly left since you got here—obviously you couldn’t with the fever, but you’re hale and healthy now, besides the leg. A bit of fresh air never harmed anybeast. Matter of fact, I’ve been doing some spring cleaning in the infirmary, and some of my herb stores need to be restocked.”

“It… would be nice to walk among proper trees again,” John admitted. “Though with my luck, I’d go out for a leisurely stroll and run straight into a robber gang.”

“Good thing you’re in an abbey full to the brim with willing, helpful beasts,” Stonecrop pointed out. “Why don’t I send you and somebeast else out on a little herb-gathering mission for me?”

“I’m not some restless young one you need to keep busy,” John told him, finishing up the last of the cheese.

“No, you’re a restless fully grown squirrel who needs to keep busy before he crawls out of his own fur,” Stonecrop said dryly.

“Yes, yes, you’re right.” John sighed. “You’re right. I’ve just been… I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Lonely?”

“I don’t know if it’s that,” John flicked away the last few crumbs of nutbread. “But it feels the same whether I’m hiding down here or standing in the middle of a crowded Cavern Hole, so I may as well feel it without forcing my awful moods on somebeast else.”

Stonecrop placed a paw on his shoulder. “That’s no good and you know it, John. Starving the body won’t cure it of sickness, and starving the spirit won’t cure it of sadness, either.”

“I’m not sad, I’m just… I’m not exactly what anybeast would consider good company.”

Stonecrop took long enough to reply for John to finish the rest of his meal. When he glanced over again, he found the mouse looking at him thoughtfully.

“What?”

“It’s funny, I was just thinking… you’re not the first creature to say that to me in the last few days,” Stonecrop said, stroking his whiskers.

“So there’s another unsociable hermit in the abbey? I’m shocked we haven’t run into each other in the same hidden-away nook.”

“You’d be surprised,” Stonecrop chuckled. “But no, he’s been away from the abbey for most of the winter and just returned this past week. Bit of an odd one, but clever as anything. Knows the woods like the back of his paw, too. It was actually him I asked first about herbs, and he was all for helping until somebeast else came along with a more interesting problem for him to solve.”

“Not very courteous of him.”

“Oh, that’s just how he is,” Stonecrop said with a shrug. “But either way my stores need replenishing, and I’ve been busy with cleaning and early springtime sniffles. Would you be willing to lend me a paw?”

John sighed, trying not to smile and failing. “Well, when you put it like that, I’d be a real puddenhead to say no, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s the spirit!” Stonecrop heaved himself to his footpaws before reaching down to pull John up alongside him. “Come along then, let’s get you back out into the sunlight. Meet me in the infirmary and we can go over the list—I’ll go let Hemlock know I won’t be needing him after all.”

“Actually…” For a moment, John teetered on the edge of indecision, before he steeled himself and swallowed his ever-present doubts. “I think I’ll come along with you. You’ve got me curious about this Hemlock fellow.”

Stonecrop’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Well this is a pleasant surprise.”

“I rarely hear a cross word from you about anybeast,” John pointed out. “So if he’s odd enough for even you to remark upon it…”

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Stonecrop chuckled, a bit nervously. “Just try to keep an open mind.”

Curiosity piqued, John followed him out of the cellar, through the Great Hall and out onto the abbey lawns. From the looks of it, most creatures had taken advantage of the warming weather to have lunch outside. The food was cleared away, but rumpled blankets still lay strewn across the grass, and sticky-pawed Dibbuns dashed about playing while their elders cleared away dishes and napkins.

The gatehouse door stood ajar when they reached it, and Stonecrop knocked twice before pushing it fully open and stepping inside. “Are you in there, Hemlock?”

There was no reply, but the sound of pages turning told them that somebeast was inside, at least. The gatehouse was a cluttered mess, and the sounds of life came from somewhere behind the stacks of old tomes and loose parchment that covered the desk.

Before Stonecrop could call out again, the unseen creature gave a great “Ha!” before slamming a book shut and nearly knocking the chair over in a mad scurry for the door.

Behind Stonecrop, John froze, and his mouth dropped open.

There was a ferret in the gatehouse—better fed and groomed than others of his kind that John had encountered, but a ferret nonetheless. From head to toe his brown fur was so dark it was nearly black, with flashes of white over his muzzle and ears, and a thin layer of dust over all.

“Solved it!” he crowed triumphantly, waving a slip of parchment. “Terribly sorry for the wait, Stonecrop, Myrtus presented me with a puzzle the other day and it couldn’t wait.”

“Sounds like it was a real poser,” Stonecrop said.

“A decent diversion. How close is it to noon?”

“About two hours past,” Stonecrop replied.

The ferret beamed. “Excellent timing! This is the best part—come, this way, you’ll both enjoy this.”

Without waiting for a reply, the ferret seized them both by their sleeves and pulled them out of the gatehouse, then released them and took off for the orchards at a quick lope.

John was left staring after him, mouth still hanging open. Wordlessly he turned to Stonecrop.

“I did say he was odd and to keep an open mind,” Stonecrop sighed. “We’d better see what he’s found.”

They caught up to the ferret at the wall nearest the orchard, walking quickly along its length and tapping each sandstone block as he went. “Well, what is it, Hemlock?” Stonecrop asked.

“Twelve, thirteen—hush, I’m counting—fourteen, fifteen…” The ferret carried on until he reached the middle of the wall, then turned his back was to it and began counting his steps. Before long they were within the shade of the orchard, and the ferret had halted at a damson tree and was squinting at something on the ground. With a noise of sudden understanding he darted along its shadow until he reached its end, counted several more steps, and stopped at an apple tree.

“Here it is!” The ferret inspected the tree trunk, then stared up into its branches, before turning and locking eyes with John. “The smallest favor, if you don’t mind—could you climb up there and see if you can find this?” He passed the slip of parchment to John. Scribbled on it was the symbol of a flower with star-shaped leaves.

Luckily today was a good day, and his leg didn’t pain him beyond a bit of stiffness. With one last baffled look at Stonecrop, John scaled the tree with ease. This early in spring, the boughs were mostly bare of leaves, and it took him several minutes to find the symbol. It wasn’t carved into the tree itself, but engraved on a small bronze disk embedded in one of the branches.

“Found it!” he called down.

“Which side of the tree?” the ferret asked.

“South!”

“Thank you!”

John climbed down to find the ferret down on all fours at the roots on the south side, digging furiously into the soil with both paws.

“Would you like me to find Foremole?” Stonecrop asked.

“No, I’ve got it!”

Soil flew into a growing pile behind him; the ferret dug with single-minded determination until his head was fully out of sight. Minutes passed before John heard a thud and curse, and the ferret’s dirt-covered face poked back into view.

“It’ll just be a moment more, I’ve just hit it,” he said, before diving back down with renewed energy.

“Just hit what?” John mouthed to Stonecrop, who shrugged helplessly at him and crouched down for a better look.

Eventually the ferret rose again with a grunt of effort, and lifted out an old, dirt-caked chest secured with a rusted lock. The ferret dove down again, produced a sizable rock from the hole he’d just dug, and smashed it off. Then he lifted the lid, peered inside, and gave a bark of triumphant laughter.

“Well?” Stonecrop spoke up. “Don’t keep us in suspense, what have you found?”

“No gold or jewels, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the ferret replied. “These are the journals of Brother Mallowgreen, during the reign of Abbot Kastel. There’s a bit of a gap in the abbey’s history during that time, thanks to the abbot’s rather unfortunate penchant for destroying records he didn’t like. Luckily, the Infirmary keeper at the time had the presence of mind to hide his own scribblings, and was kind enough to leave behind a few riddles leading to their location.” He lifted himself out of the hole and dusted off his paws, gray eyes alight with satisfaction. “And I do love a good riddle.”

“And you took all of two and a half days to solve it,” Stonecrop remarked.

“As I said, a decent diversion.” The ferret’s eyes settled on John again. “Hello.”

“Ah, right—Hemlock, this is John Swifteye, an old friend of mine. John, this is Hemlock, who I told you about.”

“Pleasure.” Hemlock’s pawshake was firm but not so tight as to be painful. “I didn’t know Stonecrop’s friendships extended as far as the Fur and Foot Fighters of the western dunes.”

“I, er, haven’t been back here in some time,” John stammered out, caught off guard.

“Do your herbs still need restocking, by the way?” Hemlock asked Stonecrop. “I know it’s been a few days.”

“You know, I was just coming to let you know that I’d found somebeast else for the task,” Stonecrop replied. “But it looks like you’re free again.”

“It might be a two-beast job, given the state of your stores when I last saw them,” Hemlock pointed out, with a glance at John. “I wouldn’t mind the extra paws, especially if it means having an archer along. Never mind being out of practice—any ne’er do wells we find in the woods today will most likely flee at a warning shot.”

“Um,” said John.

“If you’re not averse to my company, of course,” Hemlock added with a smile.

“I—not at all,” John answered without thinking. “If you don’t mind slowing up for a squirrel with a limp.”

“Well then.” Hemlock scooped up the chest and tucked it under one arm. “I’ll go run this little find up to the attic, and then I’ve got to nip down to the kitchens for something. See you at the east wallgate, Swifteye.” With that, he was gone.

John waited until Hemlock was well out of earshot before jabbing his paw into Stonecrop’s ribs. “Out with it, Stonecrop, how many others have you gossiped to about me?”

“I didn’t!” Stonecrop was grinning. “On my honor, I never breathed a word about you, to him or anybeast else. I told you he’s clever.”

“What have I gotten myself into?” John asked.

Stonecrop slung a friendly paw around his shoulders and began leading him back to the abbey building. “Only one way to find out.”

They had only just reached the lawn when, behind them, the deep voice of Brother Bramlen the gardener rang out from beneath the trees.

“WHO IN THE NAME O’ SPIKES HAS BEEN DIGGIN’ UP ME TREES?” the hedgehog bellowed. “HEMLOCK!”

Squirrel and mouse beat a hasty retreat, laughing like misbehaving young ones.

****

True to his word, Hemlock was waiting by the east wallgate when John made his way down. The ferret was cloaked warmly for the lingering winter’s chill, and carried an empty basket with one paw and, oddly enough, what seemed to be a fully-packed haversack on his shoulders. John had a basket of his own, and had armed himself with bow, quiver, and a stout walking stick.

“Planning on spending the night, are you?” John asked, glancing at the pack.

“No,” Hemlock replied, and unbolted the gate. “After you.”

The sun was out, with more blue in the sky than gray. In spite of the warmth of sunlight, the air was still cold, even more so without the high abbey walls to block the wind. John’s injured leg gave a twinge, forcing him to lean on the stick a little more heavily than he would have liked.

Hemlock had taken the lead without a word, which was fair enough. Before he’d come limping to the abbey under the guidance of the Guosim, John hadn’t been this deep into Mossflower Wood since his nighttime escape as a wayward young one. Besides, if he wasn’t focused on pathfinding, it gave him a chance to size up his strange companion.

It wasn’t unheard of for vermin to live their lives in peace and quiet contentment. John had known of a few to the west—a weasel couple that farmed and fished in the woods, a solitary old rat that lived out in the dunes—and the patrol kept an eye out but otherwise left them alone. But that didn’t change the fact that, by and large, the vast majority that John had encountered had been… well. Roving bandits, robber gangs. Corsair fleets.

John glanced back at the sandstone wall looming over the tree tops, then again at Hemlock. Redwall’s charter had something or other about extending paws in peace and friendship, but that didn’t change the long history of vermin hordes showing up to try and conquer the place.

“Rest assured, that is not my intention,” Hemlock said dryly.

Startled, John nearly tripped. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was only a little older than a kit when I first came to Redwall,” Hemlock went on, picking his way carefully through a tangle of roots. “Rather a long time for a plot to simmer, wouldn’t you agree?”

John slowed, leaning heavily on his stick as he followed. “I didn’t—how did you—?”

“Your stare has been burning holes in the back of my head since we left,” Hemlock replied. At least he didn’t sound particularly offended. “And just now you looked back at the abbey as if to make sure it was still there, then very pointedly looked at all the spots on my person that might conceal weapons. It wasn’t difficult to follow your train of thought.”

“...Oh.” Sheepishly, John lapsed into silence.

Eventually Hemlock led the way to a patch of vervain, and John descended upon it. The plants were strong and healthy in spite of the recent winter, and before long the bottom of his basket was lined with it.

“I found feverfew not far from here, last time I passed through,” Hemlock spoke up suddenly. “Hopefully it’ll still be there—not much snow, this past winter, so it won’t have frozen.”

John pulled himself back up on his stick. His leg was beginning to ache, just slightly, but he could still walk a bit more. “Lead on.”

They found it near a massive fallen beech log, growing green and full out of the loam, though it was still too early in the season for flowers. Still, Stonecrop could do a lot with stems and leaves alone. When John was finished harvesting them, he found Hemlock sitting on the log waiting for him.

“Might as well sit for a bit,” the ferret said. “Rest that leg.”

“Oh. Er, thank you.” John leaned his stick against the log and climbed up to sit—not beside him, but near enough.

Truthfully, he was grateful. He hadn’t had much in the way of exercise recently, between injuries, fever, and moping. He could feel himself getting winded and tired more quickly than he ever had before. A long walk through the woods without rest was likely to make his leg worse.

Hemlock must have known. He certainly wasn’t resting for his own benefit.

“Can I ask you something?” John asked eventually.

“You may.”

“Stonecrop said he didn’t tell you about me,” said John. “Did somebeast else tell you who I was, or…?”

Hemlock’s gray eyes flitted up and down, taking in the whole of him again. “I hadn’t heard of you before Stonecrop introduced us.”

“Then how did you know I’m—I was one of the Fur and Foot Fighters?”

“Oh, a number of things,” Hemlock replied. “I looked at you and thought, here is a creature who carries himself like a trained soldier, with his best seasons before him but covered in scars old and new, with a freshly maimed leg and a recent bout of illness, in the middle of a vast forest that hasn’t seen much trouble from hordes and bandits in quite some time. The military bearing suggests the Long Patrol, but it’s extremely rare to see anybeast but a hare among them. And if you were in the Long Patrol, you would’ve rested from your hardships in Salamandastron. Then I remembered hearing of the recent visit from the Guosim, and that answered that. You came from the border between forest and sand, and your comrades saw fit to put you on a boat for home rather than send you on a long march over the dunes.” He paused. “The archery was easy enough—calluses on your paws and a thin patch on your inner arm where the bowstring wears at your fur when you fire.”

John gaped at him.

“It sounds complicated when I lay it all out, but it’s really not,” Hemlock finished. “Two and two make four.”

“And you know Redwall is ‘home’ for me because…?”

“The accent, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He hadn’t even known he had an accent.

“How’s the leg?” Hemlock asked.

John tested it, then carefully slid down to the ground. The ache was nearly gone. “Better, thank you.”

“Let’s be off, then. The infirmary’s stores don’t have a single stem of marigold left.”

Before they left, Hemlock shrugged the haversack from his shoulders and set it on the log. John watched him curiously as he wedged it in the fork of the roots so that it wouldn’t slide off.

“What are you doing?”

“Paying for services rendered,” Hemlock replied, leaving the pack where it sat. “Let’s be off.”

The ferret offered no further explanation. Something told John it would be useless to press.

****

“So what do you think of him?” Stonecrop asked later that evening, as they reorganized the herb stores.

“You were right,” John replied. “He’s an odd one and no mistake. Monstrously clever, though.”

“Oh, that he is.”

“He left a full haversack out in the woods,” John added, glancing at his friend. “Any idea what that’s about?”

“Ah, that.” Stonecrop grinned. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll find out soon enough.”

#redwall #sherlock holmes #fanfiction #tales from the pit

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