#but gave me a very vague layout to work with that i mostly strayed from so i didnt include it this time

[field-guide-to-mud]

a thousand miles down to the seabed

found the place to rest my head 🐋

[roxannarambles]

Acquired Taste - Ch9

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Title: Acquired Taste

Author: Roxanna Rambles

Summary: When Heath defected from Bern’s wyvern knights and joined Eliwood’s group, he was very keen on keeping to himself, and for the most part, that was easy to do. However, a particular ex-assassin insisted on hounding him. It was extremely annoying. Heath hated it. And there was no way that was going to change. Nope.

Prev. Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8

Next Chapters: Chapter 10  Chapter11 Chapter 12  Epilogue

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The air was a fierce sea of sleet, beating down upon them with an almost malicious intent. Violent winds threatened to push Hyperion off-course, and between the dark skies and swirling storm clouds, Heath was almost completely disoriented. It was not unheard of for even the most seasoned of wyvern riders to perish at the peaks of the Ranshein mountains, if they were especially unlucky or especially cocky. Fortunately, Heath was a cautious and experienced flier, as was Hyperion. That meant all they needed was luck.

There was an unnerving period of time where Heath got turned around and needed to circle a few times and recount the peaks they had already passed. With each circle they increased their chances of being spotted, and by the third pass Heath had bit a hole in his lip, anxious and focused, struggling to squint through the sheets of snow-- but he felt confident now of his direction. Coaxing a reluctant Hyperion, they pitched down toward a dense grove of evergreen trees, doing battle with the updrafts and fighting to avoid dashing against the branches and rocks. It took some pretty last-second maneuvers, but they squeezed through the canopy of trees and glided into a deep snowbank.

On the ground, the woods helped buffer against the savage storm, but the winds still howled through the trees and snow still fell in steady waves. Heath took a moment to ensure he still had his bearings, then turned and looked over his shoulder. Legault had been glued to him the entirety of the trip, and it seemed clear he hadn't even realized they'd landed. Heath smiled faintly in sympathy; it had been a rough ride by anyone's standards. He gently touched the man's arm.

"We're here."

Slowly, he felt the thief's warm frame unwrap from his back, but he received no reply. Heath added,

"Are you all right?"

After a moment, the thief's voice came roughly from behind him.

"I am now that we're on the ground."

Heath dismounted, then turned to help Legault down, but the thief had already slid down into the snowbank as well. He was decidedly shaken, but seemed to be bearing it with good enough humor. With light sarcasm, he said,

"Say, you want to just try walking on the return trip?"

Heath smiled a little. He teased,

"If you don't care for my transport, I could always leave you behind."

"Well, now, I didn't say I wasn't appreciative."

After securing Hyperion under the cover of a large pine, the pair set out. They moved carefully, slowing their approach the deeper they passed through the woods. The fresh snow softened their footfalls and the trees were quite dense, so there was not too much reason for concern; however, Hector had impressed upon them the need to be particularly wary. There was very little they knew about the Black Fang headquarters beyond the limited reconnaissance from the lords, and they needed to be prepared for anything.

When they reached the treeline, they cautiously peeked out from between the trees and finally gazed upon the facility with their own eyes. Heath was surprised at how barren it looked. It seemed little more than a collection of incredibly plain, flat-roofed stone buildings scattered in the clearing at the very peak of the mountain. The buildings were all half-submerged in snow, slick with ice and very squat, making them almost seem like a natural part of the landscape, barely separable from the jagged rocks at times. It was actually difficult to tell how many buildings there were, but there were at least ten or so, some of them quite small while others were rather extended. All around them, the land was utterly and eerily silent.

Heath leaned toward his companion and whispered.

"No guards, no anything. I don't like it."

"Well," Legault murmured,

"This is as remote as you can get. Little need for guards up here."

Heath was about to reply but stopped as a door opened from one of the buildings. A few lance men exited and walked off through the snow, vanishing over the curve of the mountain to another part of the compound. When they'd left Heath continued,

"Still. It feels strange to me. Hector said their numbers rival ours ten to one. Where is everyone?"

"Probably just indoors, enjoying a cozy hot cocoa."

Heath frowned at him.

"Somehow I doubt that."

Legault gestured to one of the central buildings.

"That must be the one our lord friends were describing for us. I can get at it around the right-hand side, behind that embankment, no trouble."

"Should you not wait for cover of darkness?"

Legault shook his head.

"It's only going to get colder and riskier the longer we wait."

Heath glanced about the grove of trees.

"Very well. I can set up watch from the hill. I should see most of the area from there. Does that work as a rendezvous point for you?"

Legault nodded, readjusting and tightening his bandana.

"Sounds good. Expect me back in an hour. If I'm not back in two, assume the worst."

"Just be quick about things. I'll be waiting for you."

Legault gave him a half-smile.

"Believe me, I'm keen on being quick. Just be sure to get back to camp if things go belly-up, all right?"

Heath set his jaw but didn't reply. The thief eyed him.

"I notice you're not agreeing."

Heath repeated,

"Just be quick about things."

Legault leveled a serious gaze upon him.

"Look, I hate to be a badger, but you know what Hector said. If something happens to either one of us, the other needs to get back and report to camp immediately. No rescues, no insane heroics. The sun should set in about two hours. When that happens, don't wait up, Heath. I mean that."

The knight clutched the lance in his hand and answered stubbornly,

"Quit wasting time and get going already."

Legault chuckled.

"All right, have it your way. I'll dispense with the dramatic farewells. In that case, see you soon."

The thief turned without another word and stepped out into the open snow, already moving toward the Black Fang compound. Heath reacted on impulse, his voice coming in a panicked rush.

"Legault, wait."

The man paused, half-twisting his torso to look back at him.

"Mmm?"

Heath opened his mouth to speak, but he hadn't a clue what to say. Too many thoughts were twisted and tangled.  After a few moments, he finally spoke.

"Just . . . be careful."

Legault flashed him a grin, looking genuinely pleased.

"Love you too."

At that, he turned and slipped out from between the trees. Heath watched as he darted across the snow, keeping low and moving remarkably fast. He reached the building with impressive efficiency and paused in front of the heavy iron doors to pick the lock before vanishing like a shadow inside. Heath stared for a while at the spot he'd vanished from, waiting to see if anything seemed amiss. The area remained silent and still, though; it seemed he'd made a clean entry.

Heath situated himself upon the small hill nearby in the trees. He settled in and prepared himself for the wait.

The stark, lonely mountain peak did not make for engaging viewing. Black Fang members moved to and fro from buildings on occasion, mostly what looked to be low-ranking soldiers. However, activity remained fairly subdued. The knight spent some time carefully studying the buildings, learning the layout and trying to speculate on their purposes, but there was not much to be gleaned from the vague shapes half-buried in the snow. He supposed some of the smaller buildings were for storage purposes, and some rows in the back that he thought might be barracks, but there really was no telling for sure. He eventually abandoned his speculation and concentrated on keeping a watchful eye for any changes.

The snow continued to fall, piling upon the ground. What little sunlight had been filtering through the thick clouds was slowly bleeding away into blackness. Heath felt the tug of temptation to start down a dangerous train of thought. It would start with wondering what kind of progress Legault was making, then speculating on the sorts of things that might impede his progress. The kinds of things that could go awry. From there it was easy to start imagining scenarios, and scenarios could be cruelly specific. A snapped neck, an eviscerated gut, a battered body left out in the snow . . .

Heath felt his grip involuntarily tighten about his lance. He pushed away his thoughts. He was to focus on monitoring the area. Nothing more. His duty was simple and clear, and it would have his full attention. Nothing would sway him.

The knight remained at his sentry and watched.

The cold was starting to seep through Heath's layers of clothing, and he brushed the light dusting of ice from his hair. Activity around the compound gradually increased. Some cavaliers passed by and dispersed. A gaggle of shamans gathered around one of the back buildings. A number of fighters came over the curve of the mountain, and seemed to start running some drills. Heath carefully monitored each and every detail. Eventually, the compound was bustling with Black Fang members. And yet there still was no sign of the elusive thief.

Time was an easy thing for the mind to distort. Heath sincerely could not tell how long it had been, as he knew minutes could seem to stretch into eons. Certainly the sky was growing ever-darker, but it was easy to tell himself that a few stray rays remained buried somewhere behind the clouds. Who was to say, really? He could still see his own hands in front of his eyes; clearly some sort of light remained. Certainly it had felt like ages, but how could he really trust his own judgment?

It was only when Heath saw a member of the Black Fang begin to light the torches on the side of the buildings that it truly hit him. The last of the day's light had long ago died behind the clouds, and the added chill of nightfall was clinging to his skin. He was out of time.

Heath stared at the Black Fang compound.

There was little he could do. He would be one man against an army. He knew that.

Heath's feet were already carrying him off the hill he'd been perched upon. It wasn't even a question in his mind, not really-- there was only one course. He started out on the path Legault had taken across the snow.

In his eagerness to finally act, Heath found it extremely difficult to move slowly and cautiously, but he forced himself to keep low and approach with care. He tried to retrace the exact same route Legault had taken, ducking behind the snow embankment and creeping along toward the central building. There was utterly no plan in his mind, only a sheer drive to act. It was painstaking crawling along the iced ground, but Heath managed to reach the building undetected. Giving the iron handles a gentle testing tug, he found they were locked, as expected. No doubt the Black Fang members that had exited the building after Legault had locked it behind them. Heath flicked his eyes around the dark compound, then sized up the doors a moment, pondering. They looked incredibly sturdy. He probably couldn't just . . .

Heath dove down behind a rock as he heard the crunch of approaching footsteps. He waited tensely, the footfalls drawing nearer, but then they began to depart. Very cautiously, he peeked over the rock, spying a lone archer crossing the compound. The man held his bow in a relaxed grip, his head ducked down against the cold breeze as he pushed through the thick snow. As Heath watched him, an idea slowly formed in his mind.

Following the archer was decidedly awkward. Heath struggled to keep his distance and scramble from one source of cover to the next, but it felt almost comical how graceless the task was. Still, the archer continued to walk along the outer edge of the compound, dragging his bow along lazily. It seemed Heath was blessed with a particularly unwary target. It helped that the dim flicker of light from torches was only reaching them distantly out here, and the gentle snowfall continued to muffle the landscape. Heath drew ever closer as he followed the archer, closing the space between them.

It was when the solitary archer began to step through some of the pine trees that were encroaching on the compound's clearing that the time seemed especially golden. Heath rushed ahead keenly, halting just before a large boulder, and peeked out. Yes! It was perfect. The archer was picking his way through the young pines, still blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Heath leaned against the boulder, tracing the route he was about to take with his eye-- hop over that fallen log and clear the embankment, then across those trees. He'll--

Heath scraped at the boulder with his fingers as he felt the world shifting under his feet, but the pile of snow gave away far, far too quickly for him to react in time. His legs swung out and an entire sheet of fresh snow slid downward, crashing into the trees below and taking Heath along with it. The lone archer spun about in surprise, then yelped, snow piling upon him in a miniature avalanche.

After several moments, the rocks and bits of snow finished tumbling down. Heath sat upon the ground, still clinging to his lance, blinking. A few feet away, the archer was half-submerged in snow, about waist-deep, staring at him with a pair of wide eyes. Heath cleared his throat.

"Uh. Member of the Black Fang. Cooperate and you will be spared."

"HELP!"

"That-- damn it. That isn't cooperating."

"Cedric, Seamus-- anybody! Intruder! There's an intruder! HEL--arghhgf!"

Heath sprang up and grabbed the archer to silence him, cutting his cries short. The archer writhed about and squealed but Heath chokeheld him and the small man quickly passed out. Humanely setting him down, he hastily started to pat down his pockets. Unfortunately there was not enough of a chance to search him, as shouts and the sounds of scuffling drew rapidly near. Appearing at the treeline above him was the gaggle of the fighters that had been running drills. They glared down with craggy, ugly faces, and Heath counted about six or so. One of them waved his weapon and cried:

"GET 'IM!"

Heath swung his lance about and charged as the axe-wielders poured down upon him. He was outnumbered, but the fighters were clumsy and inexperienced. Heath plowed into several with his lance, kicking another in the jaw and then swinging the lance in a broad arc to slice into a fifth. The fighters screamed bloody murder, spraying snow as they flung their axes about, but Heath's lance found its mark true and sure. Several times, the axe-wielders attempted to pile upon him all at once, hoping to overwhelm him, but Heath rebuffed their blows and cut them down. It was a quick and brutal few minutes but the knight immerged victorious; scraped, scuffed, panting, but otherwise fine.

When the last of the fighters fell, Heath didn't waste time dropping down and searching each of them. The fighters had little in the way of pockets, and only had a few pouches and things hanging from their belts. All of the pouches contained sparing and useless things-- vulneries, silver pieces, half a bit of dried jerky in one pouch. Heath tossed it all aside in disgust and glanced around in desperation. That was it? Surely one of these people had to have one. His eye fell upon the archer, still passed out on the snow. Heath sprang up and quickly resumed his search of the fallen man. His pouches too had vials of vulneries and a little money, but nothing else of note. Heath clawed at the man's vest, disbelieving that he'd wasted all this time for naught, when his hand met with an inner-pocket. There was a small bit of metal tucked inside. Heath retrieved it.

He beamed triumphantly. It was a key. He'd found one.

Pausing no further, Heath climbed back up the hilly piles of snow to the treeline and gazed out across the darkened clearing. The clouds were starting to break in places, and a gibbous moon peeked out and spilled pale shafts of light onto the snow. Heath stared hard. Black Fang members went about their duties, but no others looked to be drawn to his location. Despite all the scrambling and the shouting, they must have been too distant to be noticed by anyone else. Cautiously, Heath crept forth, making his way to some cover situated several yards out. He stopped here again to survey the compound, making absolute certain he hadn't drawn attention to himself. But the grounds remained calm.

Heath smiled softly, hope flitting through him. He murmured quietly,

"Hold on, Legault. On my way."

Heath crouched, about to creep back out, but something made him stop. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

It was a very high-pitched sound, and he wasn't sure at first if he was even hearing it. He held his breath and stood still. Over the wind, he could hear it-- thin, so high-pitched it barely registered at first, but growing stronger. Louder. It was a whistle.

He knew that sound. It was something he often heard when he was in battle atop Hyperion. It was the whistle of wind through wings. In particular, when taking a wyvern into a dive.

Heath turned to gaze skyward, praying it was only the storm and the snow, but what he saw made his heart sink. Black creatures against the black night, their shadowy frames swung a broad arc across the path of the moon, gathering speed, then pointed like obsidian arrows in his direction. They dove in unison; three creatures on wings of death, rushing to meet him like reapers. They came from the direction of the trees, so Heath had absolutely nowhere to go but across the compound. He knew how hopeless the situation was, and what would happen if they caught him.

He broke into an open run.

Things became a surreal blur for a while. He knew that he didn't get far before the sound of wings was screaming in his ears and he felt hot breath at his back. Javelins rained from the sky, piercing deep into the earth around him, and his eyes stung from the snow sprayed into his face. He felt like he was trying to dodge lightning, bounding about wildly, unable to predict where the strikes would fall next. He was running blindly, without any clue as to where to even go. The flat stone buildings were all around, but where--

Heath tripped hard over an outcropping of rocks and went painfully crashing down, sliding for some distance. To his horror, his lance was lost in the fall, and he turned, briefly considering trying to retrieve it, but it was far too late for that.  A pair of clawed wings blotted out the sky and jaws snapped at him. Heath painfully clamored on hands and knees, keeping just out of reach, then slid down along a small hill. The wyvern lord yanked upon his reins and the wyvern screamed, whipping its head around and charging forward. Heath somehow made it back to his feet and was running again, but all three wyverns were literally at his heels. A fighter standing in the compound moved to intercept him, and he could hear shouting all around him of Black Fang. He skidded and took off to the right away from the fighter, rushing right into a group of mages.

Utterly bewildered by his sudden charge, the group of robed mages didn't get a chance to prepare any sort of magic spell. Heath savagely shoved through them, the resulting chaos as the wyvern lords crashed into the crowd acting as a temporary shield. It was just enough to buy Heath a couple extra moments. He used the time to duck between a couple of the larger buildings, jogging along their exterior and hoping to find a door. He passed by a series of tightly-boarded windows but it appeared the door would be on the far side of the building. He realized he probably needed to circle around once he reached the end, and he pushed his exhausted limbs as hard as he could to reach it.

However, as he came upon the end, he found that the two buildings simply joined together. Heath slowed his breakneck speed and skidded to a halt. He stared in disbelief, touching the wall before him.

He'd gone down a dead end.

He turned and looked down the corridor, unsurprised to find the wyvern riders had caught up by now and were on the other end. He briefly sized up the stone wall, but it was far too high for him to climb up, and the icy, smooth masonry didn't offer any handholds. He cursed.

The trio of wyverns were walking down the corridor, ambling almost casually, knowing he was perfectly trapped.

Accepting the reality of the situation, Heath turned to face his pursuers.

The wyvern riders sat astride the massive, vicious breed of wyverns reserved for the higher-ranking officers. They had jet-black scales and beady little eyes that burned like cinders, with canines that passed their jaws even when their mouths were closed. The wyvern lords were dressed in glinting armor and each carried ornate silver lances, although the leader of the trio looked the most ornate and impressive. He rode ahead with a self-satisfied smile and gazed down upon Heath with an air of superiority.

"Well, well," the man spoke, as his two colleagues arrived at either side of him.

"The infamous turncoat Heath of Bern. There's quite a bounty on your head, you know."

Heath crossed his arms and stared silently at them. The man continued.

"500 thousand gold, in fact. Seems a bit excessive, considering how simple a task it was. You just sort of . . . walked right to us, didn't you?"

Heath kept silent. The leader chuckled.

"Not that I'm complaining. You were even kind enough to deliver yourself alive and well. I should get something extra for that. They're hoping for a public execution, you see. The public does dearly love to see traitors burn."

Heath answered calmly.

"You'll have to kill me if you want me."

The man smiled.

"That's all right. I think I'd prefer that to a reward. Everyone wins that way: I get to have some fun, and the public still gets their final little scapegoat."

Heath's blank mask of an expression faltered.

"You . . . know the charges were falsified?"

The man grinned even wider.

"Of course. Courtesy of your Commander Vaida. She was quite informative about all of you when she joined the Fang."

Heath balled his fists, aching for the lance that had been lost in the snow.

"I'm sorry, does that trouble you? Are you not on good terms with your Commander anymore? Or, mmm-- your late Commander, from what I hear now."

Heath replied in a low, quiet voice.

"Hold your tongue or I shall tear it from your mouth, dog."

The man laughed.

"You're a hotheaded one. I can appreciate that. Not at all like your friends. They were a bit pitiful, to be honest. You should be more fun to kill."

Heath stared and hissed,

"You--"

The wyvern lord waited a moment.

"Yes? Nothing more to say?"

Heath stood shaking but remained silent. The leader shook his head.

"I don't blame you. They were quite pathetic, crawling to the Black Fang to beg for their positions back. Just like their intrepid commander, eh? So sentimental over saving a few villagers one moment but the next all too happy to do anything to save their own skins. Funny how that works."

The man laughed.

"Then the fools refused to tie up their loose ends for us. They would have been spared otherwise. Lucky for you, though, I suppose. Not that it matters now."

Heath spat,

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Just that your dear friends were as useless at serving the Fang as they were at serving their own countrymen."

The lone wyvern knight set his jaw.

"If you're going to kill me, just be done with it."

The leader barked a laugh.

"What, and cut short the joy of tormenting you? Don't you wish to hear about the last moments of your wingmates? Are you not curious if they begged for their lives?"

"Nothing you say has any meaning to me."

"They did. And what's more, your commander even begged for their pitiful lives. She should have died along with them then and there, to be honest. Such a weakling-- always failing and defying our dark lord's commands. But it all worked out in the end, didn't it? Say, here's an idea."

The wyvern lord gave his reins a little flick, his wyvern stepped forward. He peered down at Heath.

"How'd you like to join the Black Fang?"

Heath spluttered at him,

"What?!"

The leader grinned.

"I was hoping that would bring that flash of hope to your eyes. You're just like your cowardly friends. Beg for your life, Heath. Beg, and I might be moved to offer the Fang's protection to you."

Heath's vision hazed over in a rage and he screamed, charging blindly at the wyvern lord. The man swung his lance around and struck Heath with the handle across the skull, tumbling him backwards into the ground. The lord cackled gleefully.

"I knew you'd be fun. I'll be sure to gut you slowly."

Heath watched as the lance lifted into the air above him, glinting in the moonlight; but the silvery light bouncing off it shifted and grew warmer, brighter. Like a flickering flame. Heath blinked, realizing it wasn't an illusion, the dim corridor spilling over in new light. He saw the eyes of the wyvern lords lift up, above him-- and things seemed to slip into slow motion. A ball of light went spinning into the alleyway, rushing directly into the wyverns, and a cry filled the air. Heath tilted his head back at the noise: a figure was leaping from the top of the wall. His cape fluttered in the breeze, and he held a torch aloft, diving with a primal scream, lavender hair flying.

The scene became twisted chaos. Legault charged headlong into the trio of wyverns, brandishing the torch furiously, spinning and whipping the flames about. The great leathery beasts screamed, rearing up and beating their massive wings, crashing into the walls and bucking their riders about. Heath was dumbfounded, but mercifully, some sort of primal instinct took control, and he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to avoid getting trampled. A voice rose out of the din:

"I'VE GOT THIS! RUN!"

Heath blinked his dazzled vision as his companion drove the flames at the wyvern's maws, frenzying them into a panic. Then the knight lurched forward, snatching a lance off the ground one of the riders had dropped. He shouted back,

"LIKE HELL!"

Heath drove into the wyvern lord nearest to him, who was being tossed around by his angry mount. The force of the leaping dragon yanked Heath along by the lance and sent him hard into the wall, but he pulled the lance out and struck again. He locked lances with the lord, the prongs interlacing, and they wrestled a moment before Heath was shoved back. The knight leapt to dodge a flailing wyvern tail and looked for another window to attack, but it was difficult to find one among all the furious scales and blades. A javelin went sailing past his head but was fairly far off its mark, and Heath leapt forward to assail its owner. The wyvern lord unexpectedly had another javelin at the ready, digging it into Heath's arm and yanking back quick to stab at him again; but before he got the chance, his wyvern roared and reared, being driven back by Legault's torch. Heath was ready for him when the wyvern landed back on all fours, and he sent his lance deep into the rider's chest. He wrenched the weapon out he shouted for Legault to keep at it, as the furious wyvern was snapping at him again, but instead of a reply he heard a cry of pain.

Battering the snout of the beast away and tripping backwards, Heath found that the leader had buried his lance into Legault's shoulder and was yanking him along like a ragdoll. The knight shouted furiously and leapt at the leader, but before his steel could meet with the man, he was knocked back forcefully by reptilian claws. Colliding with the back wall, Heath saw white lights dance in his vision a moment as his head struck the masonry. When his vision returned, it brought him the sight of the leader twisting and driving the lance deeper into Legault's shoulder, pinning him helplessly. Heath was desperate to intervene, but the wyvern dogging him was mindlessly persistent. The knight battled to swipe away the jaws snapping at him but couldn't get around, and was forced to watch as the wyvern leader yanked his lance out from Legault, then whipped it sideways, cracking violently against Legault and sending him sliding across the ground, discarding him like rubble. Heath felt his blood boil over. With an enormous lash of strength, he sent the lance deep into the dragon's throat, the creature giving demonic screams as he did so. The creature spasmed awfully and then, after several moments, fell still. Without hesitation, Heath pulled himself up upon the wyvern's head and clawed up it as if scaling some mountain, all one smooth, rapid, fevered motion.

When he reached the wyvern's rider, the leader almost looked terrified by his fury. Heath reached out and grabbed at the leader's lance, and they wrestled wildly for control of the weapon. The leader's grip began to slip and Heath could see the panic in his eye. Just as he was about to yank the weapon free, an intense pain shot into his side. He cried out and twisted his head around-- the other wyvern rider had his lance wedged into him, beneath his chest plates. He still had both hands gripping the leader's lance tightly, but sandwiched between the two foes, there was not much he could do. The leader shouted to his comrade;

"Kill him!"

The rider yanked the lance out of Heath and prepared to strike again, aiming for Heath's throat. Still with his death grip on the leader's lance, Heath dropped down, dragging the man with him. With a painful sideways lurch, he finally ripped the lance free, and with a second motion, struck the leader and sent him crashing down off the wyvern. Struggling to recover his footing, Heath saw the final wyvern rider's lance bearing down on him. He tried to get out of the way, but there wasn't quite enough time. The lance glanced off his armor's neck guard, then yanked back, piercing again at him-- but the aim suddenly bounced away crazily, and a wyvern roar shook and rattled his skull. Enormous wings filled Heath's vision, and he rolled out of the way, sliding down off his perch as the beasts crashed together with horrific force. The world was a winding confusion of lances, claws, fire and wrath, but Heath managed to tumble down without too much injury and make contact with the ground. Dazed, the knight tried to disentangle himself from the mess, sliding along cold iced ground. He rushed to recapture some semblance of understanding of what had just happened. Before he was able to climb to his feet, a gloved hand appeared before him. Heath stared a moment, and then took it.

Legault hauled him back to his feet, although he immediately wobbled and hissed in pain as soon as he'd brought Heath up. The knight automatically moved to stop him from toppling over, careful not to grab at the enormous hole gouged into his shoulder.

"--Legault--"

"I'm all right, it's all right. Aah, that's smarts, though."

Heath turned quickly to survey the scene behind them. The frenzied wyvern had apparently struck into its dead brother-- and the wall-- forcefully enough to have knocked it out, and crushed the final wyvern rider along with it. A torch burned in the center of the fallen beasts. Obviously it had been what Legault had flung to prevent Heath's untimely demise. Further down the corridor, the third wyvern still lived, but with his mount and his brothers dead, the panicked creature was retreating.

Heath turned back to Legault.

"Are you sure you're--"

"--yeah, I'm fine."

A sound caught Heath's attention, and he shot Legault a look. He commanded,

"Wait."

Then he bounded forward, silver lance in tow. Climbing over the bodies of the wyverns, he found the leader upon the ground, stirring. Heath immediately raised his lance, alarmed, but it quickly became clear the man didn't have much fight in him at the moment. He was crumpled in an unnatural position, a gash on his head, and it took him a moment to lift his head up and notice the knight standing over him. When he did, a gross smile cracked across his bloodied face. He spoke in a weak, dry voice.

"Here for your revenge?"

Heath narrowed his eyes and stared down at the man. The leader tried to laugh, although it sounded more like a wheeze.

"Go ahead," he invited.

"I'm sure it will bring you great joy to snuff me out. Now's your chance."

The knight hesitated, lance still held at the ready, tip poised.

He stared coldly at the helpless man.

He moved, a sudden jerk of the lance, swinging.

The handle struck the man's head and knocked him unconscious. Heath scowled down at him.

"Some of us still have our morals."

When Heath turned, he saw the thief had climbed over and stood nearby.

"We'd better get moving. They're going to eventually figure out these wyvern lords aren't still just playing with us."

Heath nodded, and the two hastily started to make their way out of the corridor. They hadn't gone more than a few steps when Legault stumbled. Heath immediately reacted, grabbing him before he could crumple into the ground.

"Legault--"

"Damnit. Sorry."

"I knew you weren't all right."

"I'm just a little dizzy. It'll be fine. Keep going."

Without another word, Heath slung an arm about Legault and helped to haul him along, and the two snuck back down the corridor. Gazing out at the base from the mouth of the alley, the compound seemed in quite an agitated state, men rushing about, people barking orders. Heath was about to launch into a run, but Legault's voice came at his ear urgently:

"Wait, go left."

"What? There are about twenty men that direction."

"Just go along the outer edge of that building. Trust me, it'll get us somewhere safer than out in the open."

Heath regarded the group warily a moment, but he was more than happy to follow advice, considering he had no clue where to go. Once it seemed like a good time, he went into a sprint, and the pair scrambled awkwardly across the compound, trying to stick to the darkest points that fell out of the torchlights. They made some decent progress before finally being spotted. A cascade of shouting and footsteps announced they were being pursued, but Legault directed them around several smaller buildings toward the back of the compound. When they passed a particular one, he told Heath to stop and head to it.

Heath guided them to the front of the little building, and helped Legault crouch down before the door. The thief grabbed at his ring of lockpicks and started poking at the lock, wincing as he tried to use both hands. Heath shot urgent looks behind them as the shouting and the noises drew nearer.

"Legault, we don't have a lot of time. . ."

Legault muttered a string of very unclean words under his breath as he tried to lockpick despite the pain. Heath suddenly remembered-- of course, how could he be so stupid?-- and patted at his own clothing, struggling a moment and then managing to produce the desired item, buried in his pouch.

"Here, try this."

He pushed the key into Legault's hand, and the thief gave him a puzzled look.

"Where did you . . ."

"Just go!"

The door opened and the two hurried inside a musty, dim space that looked as though it was mainly for storage. Heath rapidly guided Legault across the room and helped seat him upon a crate, then immediately set about pushing boxes and other objects to prop up against the door. He continued piling objects until they were stacked quite high and deep, and eventually stopped, satisfied with the arrangement.

They then waited and listened to the noises outside, but they didn't seem to draw any nearer. After a few minutes, Legault spoke in a quiet voice.

"I think we might be good for the moment. Not long, mind you, but for a few minutes anyway."

Heath turned away from the door and looked at Legault in the faint light. The thief was still slumped on a crate-- fairly alert, but very disheveled, with deep patches of red coating his ragged cape. Heath crossed his arms, studying him further, until Legault returned his gaze. Then he spoke to the thief:

"You incredible moron."

Legault smiled crookedly at him.

"Good to see you too."

Heath gestured incredulously.

"What happened to being stealthy? I can't believe you just charged in there like that."

The man chuckled a little, which looked like it was painful.

"Even I can't do much good sneaking up on three mounted wyvern lords. They would have swatted me like a fly ages before I'd get the chance to even tickle them with my dagger."

"So instead you rushed all three directly with just a torch?!"

Legault looked a little sheepish.

"Well, I remember you telling me wyverns feared fire."

Heath sputtered,

"But that doesn't-- that still--"

"Look, I didn't spend a lot of time mulling it over. I just knew I had to get you out of there. I don't know, maybe you're rubbing off on me."

Heath gave a short laugh.

"Even I'm not that brash."

"I didn't exactly have many options! And I-- ah--"

The thief stopped short as a gesture he'd been making sent a new spasm of pain through him. Heath strode forward quickly and reached out, gingerly taking the bundle of bloodied cape in his hands. He spoke a little more gently,

"Hold still. Let me see how bad it is."

As he unwrapped the bundle of fabric, he continued,

"You did have the option of skipping the idiotic heroics like Hector ordered."

"Oh, sure. And leave you to those bastards? Nng-- easy."

Heath had peeled away the cloth to see the extent of the wound, which was far worse than he had realized. He felt his throat tighten at the sight.

"Gods, Legault. This is pretty bad."

"I have a vulnerary with me. I'll just use that."

Not giving him the chance to try it himself, Heath dug into the satchel hanging off Legault's belt, fishing around until he found the vial. He shook the bottle and unscrewed the cap, then eyed the gouge again. He warned,

"This will probably hurt. Your wounds are very deep."

Legault nodded.

"Yeah, go ahead."

Heath tipped the vial and poured some of the pale liquid out into his palm, and then set the bottle down. Gently grasping Legault's shoulder in one hand, he used the other to carefully apply the medicine with his fingertips. Legault jerked the moment he began, but grit his teeth and valiantly fought to hold still. After a few moments, he spoke in a strained tone,

"Besides, what-- ah-- what were you doing out there anyway, being chased down by people like that?"

Heath kept his expression stubbornly neutral and his eyes fixed as he worked the medicine into his wound.

". . . I was careless."

"Careless doing what, though?"

Heath dabbed more medicine out of the vial and didn't reply. Legault continued,

"You were pretty secure in our rendezvous point."

He winced as Heath applied another layer, but carried on.

"And you did have that mysterious key with you. You weren't-- eurgh-- possibly planning some idiotic heroics of your own?"

Heath shifted his eyes to the thief's questioning gaze and answered bluntly.

"All right, fine. Yes. I was."

He dumped more vulnerary out and used it very liberally, while the words spilled from him.

"Of course I was, Legault. I wasn't going to leave you, for gods' sake. I didn't even want you going on this mission to begin with. I don't care that it was a stealth mission, sending you in there without any sort of backup was ridiculous."

"Hey, hey. Save some of that vulnerary for yourself."

Heath paused. It actually took him several moments to remember he'd been injured as well. He'd been too busy to even notice the dull pain stabbing in his side.

"It isn't that severe."

"Still, you've used plenty. I should be good."

Heath grumbled, but finished applying the last bit still on his hands, then screwed the cap back on the vulnerary and set the vial down. When he lifted his eyes back up he found the thief gazing steadily at him. Heath swallowed. The man could always pin him perfectly when he did that. Legault spoke quietly.

"Thank you. For coming after me."

Heath returned the gaze a moment. He lifted a hand and gently slipped the bandana from Legault's head, fingers briefly grazing just above his brow. He tugged the knot in the bandana free and unwound the fabric, then very carefully wrapped it around Legault's shoulder and tied it securely in place.

He drew his eyes back up to Legault's.

"Thank you as well."

The thief's mouth curved into a lovely little smile. He murmured,

"Just a little friendship between fugitives."

Heath finally lifted his hand from Legault's shoulder. He nodded a little.

"Feel any better?"

Legault gingerly hopped off the crate, gave a test wiggle and lifted his arm slowly.

"Mmm. Much better. I should be ready for round two."

Heath raised a brow as he opened the vulnerary bottle again.

"What do you mean?"

Legault took a few steps into the dark room, casually investigating the boxes and junk piled about as he spoke.

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed by now that I'm not lugging around any massive national treasures."

The knight began to tend to his own wounds.

"I assumed the mission was a failure when you didn't return."

Legault nodded.

"For the most part, yes. I combed the entire treasury and turned up empty. Then I moved on to the next most likely locations. None of those brought me any luck either, but then I came across one thing: I learned where the Emblem's actually hiding."

Heath looked at him curiously.

"Where?"

Legault fiddled with one of the chests sitting among the stacks.

"A man by the name of Jerme is keeping it on his person at all times. He's . . . not someone to be taken lightly."

He turned and looked to Heath.

"Jerme was one of the original Four Fangs. He's since been replaced by Nergal's men, but he used to be the most feared assassin in all the Black Fang. We never got along very nicely. He always had a horrible coldness to his eyes."

Legault shook his head, as if the thought still chilled him.

"Over the years, he got much, much worse. Crueler and more twisted. Eventually, downright psychotic. I think the only reason Brendan Reed didn't try exiling him was because he was afraid to. It's been a while now since I've seen Jerme, but I can't imagine his blackened heart has grown any lighter in the interim . . . or his twisted mind any more lucid."

Heath finished tending to his lance wound and moved on to minor scrapes and abrasions. He replied,

"At least we know what we're up against. Should be useful intel to take back to camp."

Legault glanced down at the lock on the chest he'd been fiddling with.

"We could do that."

He looked up brightly.

"Or, we could go after the Emblem right here and now while we still know exactly where it is."

Heath looked at him sternly.

"Legault, no."

"Why not?"

"I think you lost too much blood back there and mustn't be thinking. The entire base must be searching for us by now, Legault. We'd be lucky to get out of here with our lives, let alone the Emblem."

"True, but hear me out. I think the situation is still salvageable."

Heath crossed his arms.

"All right. I’m listening."

Legault sat upon the chest.

"I've gathered that Jerme resides in the northernmost building, in the center chambers. I was actually on my way back to telling you when I ran into some trouble and was delayed waiting for some slack-jawed swordsmen to get out of the way of my escape route. But while I waited I noticed the building is isolated from the rest of the compound. We'd be skirting the majority of the base, and they probably wouldn't expect us to head straight into the lion's den."

"With good reason."

"We have a pretty straight shot to it from where we are right now, actually. I could get in and out of there, then we could head further north and circle around for Hyperion--"

"Hold. You wish to face this Jerme on your own? You're not even recovered from your injuries."

"Oh, I'm not going to try to fight him. I want to pickpocket him."

Heath looked skeptical.

"Can you do that?"

Legault grinned.

"Absolutely. It's certainly smarter than trying to deal with his blade. All I need is to get close enough."

Heath frowned, seriously considering things. After some thought, he said,

"I have one condition."

"Name it."

Heath looked at him.

"You're not to do it alone this time. I'll be standing by if something goes wrong."

Legault nodded.

"I can live with that."

[themalicealyce]

Sarcasm and Puns: Chapter Two

You’re an introverted person, have been all of your life but it wasn’t as if you were shy, you were just content to have your only friends be your brother and your roommate. Though when your brother’s young daughter makes friends with the human ambassador of monsters you open up to the idea of having a larger group of friends.

Everything seems much slower in autumn, the chill in the air causes the world to screech to a crawl as the leaves change, even the city seemed less lively. You always thought this was true but over the course of the last couple of years you discovered there was an exception to the hushed state that this time of year brought. This break from the lull of dreary, sluggish afternoons came in the form of a hyper six year old, fresh out of school, tugging you towards the playground with the single minded determination of a freight train.

Slow burn, like really slow and lots of friendship with the whole group. Originally posted on AO3.

You basically had to drag Morrigan away from the park and by that time the sun had started to sink low in the sky. It wasn’t quite setting, but it was definitely getting late in the afternoon. The earlier azure expanse had been morphed into a gradient mixture of oranges that faded from red to pink to an inky indigo that was partially obscured by the looming grey clouds. These clouds seemed ever present during this time of year and they had only drawn closer together since this morning in a threat of rain, darkening further as you continued in your walk. Unaware or maybe just blissfully uncaring of the general lethargic look of the world around her your niece had held your hand and skipped the whole way back to your brother's place. She told you about her day at school, her hair and backpack bouncing along with her carefree rhythm. Morrigan finally seemed to be settling into the new city and that made you able to breathe a little easier about the decision to press your brother into moving closer to you. For the past few months she had pouted and protested about leaving all her first-grade friends behind and had seemed just as resistant to the unfamiliar school. Your brother seemed to immediately pick up on her sudden change in mood as well, happily taking Toriel’s phone number when you gave it to him in a whirlwind of relieved excitement.

Lost in a haze of your thoughts, you barely even noticed when you came face to face with your apartment door. You chuckled to yourself. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence to find yourself suddenly home after a long session of daydreaming. You pulled your keys out of your pocket with a small smile, you were prepared to sit back on the couch and spend the remainder of your day pleasantly zoned out. Life seemed against you though. You heard a clattering noise followed by a loud yelp coming from inside the small living space. You briefly let your forehead fall against the solid wood of the door with a dull thud accompanied by an annoyed sigh that passed through your lips in a manner that felt all too routine. Pushing yourself away from the door you steadied yourself before easily managing to get it unlocked, taking a moment to mentally prepare yourself for whatever could possibly be waiting for you inside. You flung the door open, perhaps a little more dramatically than strictly necessary, though you would make an adamant argument for your theatrics. You scanned the open layout of your apartment for the source of the disturbance.

Finding it quickly, you stood in the door frame frozen in your tracks, unable to do much more than stare, slightly bewildered, because this was certainly a new sight to come home to. The living room was much more of a mess than normal. All of it seemed to culminate in a cluttered disarray towards the center of the room. You felt yourself caught somewhere between a disappointed groan and unstoppable laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of what was happening.

Your roommate was sat with his back to you, pressed against the coffee table with his legs crossed. He had gotten out what appeared to be one of your old decks of playing cards and was surrounded by what had to be a new case of shiny store-bought plastic poker chips that were scattered haphazardly across the hardwood. He had ditched his usual jacket, it lay flung across the sofa and his hair that was cut short on the sides with the top was dyed a slightly metallic cyan color was messily sticking out in nearly every direction looking like a melted mohawk. He had grabbed onto a tiny black and white kitten that squirmed and let out annoyed little mewls in his hands. He had been trying to force it to play cards, of course he was. He whined distraught when the cat knocked over one of the few stacks of chips that was still standing, even though they were stacked far too high and were bound to fall over anyway. Your recently adopted kitty mewed indignantly and wriggled again, though still weakly, in his hands trying to wander off, unamused by his antics.

"Aw, come on! You’re not even trying!" he reprimanded the cat in a huff before snuggling the small, bored animal closer to him. "Vincent Evan Warren. Will you stop harassing my poor kitten every time I leave you unsupervised?" you asked using your best scolding mother voice as you finally shut the door behind you and tossed your keys onto the kitchen counter.

Vincent, to his credit, managed to look sheepish for a moment at the stern use of his full name, though that quickly dropped into a child-like frown. "I'm not harassing him! I'm teaching Sir Hemsworth how to play Texas hold 'em. He's not a very good at it though." You sighed, failing to repress the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose in a defeated gesture even as you felt a small, amused smile start to creep its way onto your face. "His name is Hemlock." you told him calmly for the umpteenth time since you brought the kitten home. Vincent looked at you as if he was considering the information then lifted the cat up to his ear like a small child might when speaking to a stuffed animal, his short stature and large, round eyes completing the innocent look.

"What's that? Yes?" Vincent thoughtfully nodded along, playfully over acting. "Okay, I'll tell her." he looked up at you pulling the cat away from his face and setting the ball of monochromatic fluff down on his lap. "Sir Hemsworth says Hemlock is a depressing name and prefers the title that the Queen of Kitties bestowed upon him after he was knighted for saving that bus full of baby red pandas." he commented in an off handed manner as if it was common knowledge, already dealing new hands for himself and the tiny cat. You couldn't stop yourself from giggling maniacally because your roommate was such a child sometimes and you knew it was one of the reasons he was your best friend.

“You are a complete and utter dork.” you smirked when you stifled your laughter and regained your breath. He broke into the first real smile since you came in. “Na.” he waved off the comment and made a vague attempt to gather up the poker chips near him into a sloppy pile.

"You don’t get to just say ‘na’ dork.” you shook your head as you walked over to the couch. "Yeah, whatever. Even if I was a dork, not that I will ever admit to that, you would love me anyway." Vincent smirked pushing the cards away, abandoning the endeavor entirely, instead standing to join you.

"I'm not calling him that by the way, no matter how many dumb heroic stories you make up." you added as you slumped ungracefully down on the couch and grabbed the remote that was half buried underneath the mess he made from the table in front of you. "Well I'm not calling him Hemlock." he quipped back, stealing the remote out of your hand as he sat down next to you and turned on the tv. Immediately upon lighting up, the screen displayed a rather flamboyant looking, pink and black, humanoid robot in the middle of whatever campy straight to tv movie that was currently playing. You recognized the robotic monster immediately, flashy costume doing nothing to hide his unique appearance.

You groaned dramatically, looking from the scene to Vincent. “Really?” Vincent had overrun your TV’s DVR with Mettaton, which you couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than his previous anime obsession that ruined your Netflix queue. He innocently turned to give you an oblivious smile "What?" he asked. "He's pretty freaking awesome," he shrugged at your continued deadpan look of judgement. "Don't even act like you don’t binge watch his cooking show in secret like a really lame guilty pleasure." he added, ignoring your distaste to focus back on the screen.

"Well I can't watch it with you anymore.” You answered the accusation snidely. “What! Why?!” He gasped in indignation.

“The last time we did together, I came home the next day and it looked like a fucking glitter bomb detonated in our kitchen." you pointed out rolling your eyes thinking about how you still found stray sparkles in there sometimes. "THAT WAS LIKE ONE TIME!" he protested loudly, startling Hemlock who had nearly fallen asleep in front of the tv. You chuckled quietly to yourself at his sudden defensive tone and hummed noncommittally.

“Well now you get no coffee.” He huffed, getting off the couch wandering off to the kitchen. You could still see him because of the open layout of your shared apartment.

“Nooooo, you monster!” You called sarcastically after him flinging yourself dramatically across the couch with a hand across your forehead in a mock Victorian fainting spell.

Vincent couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Do you want some coffee?” He asked standing at the machine. “Na, I really don’t need to be up too late I got work in the morning.” You answered getting back up into a sitting position. “Well, that’s exactly why I need it.” He answered, easily working the machine. Vincent worked mostly online, but also took frequent trips out of town. He tried to explain it to you, but whenever somebody asked you what he did you gave the vague answer of ‘He works with computers or code or something.’ Soon enough, he was in his work position, laptop on his lap and coffee nearby, face buried in the screen while still listening to the tv. You and Vincent stayed up for a while after that, flipping through tv channels and talking about random things that crossed your minds. This went on until it was past the point that you should have gone to bed especially since you had work so early in the morning. You grunted a good night to your friend who by now was bleary eyed and surrounded by a couple of mugs that had held an unhealthy amount of coffee. He didn't even look up from his laptop as he gave you a weak wave that ended up looking more like he was shooing you from the room. You turned the tv volume down to a whisper and lazily rolled off the sofa shuffling off to your room with Hemlock yawning and following at your heels.

As soon as you crossed the threshold you shed your jacket off and switched out your jeans for a pair of soft pajama bottoms. You collapsed on your bed before leaning over the edge to lift Hemlock up as well since he was still too small to make the jump by himself. You rolled over and found yourself falling effortlessly into a dreamless sleep for the first time in days.