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avastrasposts · 2 days

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Memories made, memories lost

Plot: Before Pero Tovar and his friend William Garin set out in search of black powder, he found himself doing something he never thought he would - falling in love. But what waits for him as he returns from his adventure after all this time?

Mercenary!Pero x female reader

Warnings: Angst and grief, loss of virginity (it's all consensual and it's not the main trope of the fic), explicit smut. No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate.

Word count: 7.9k

This is written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Wiriting Challenge where I requested a trope for Pero Tovar and got Amnesia A big thank you to @i-own-loki for the lovely banner! What would I do without my Canva Pro friends!?

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for Pero Tovar.

He left his hometown while he was still a young boy, and after that he never stayed long enough in one place to put down roots. Let alone find a woman who would want to throw her lot in with a mostly penniless mercenary soldier who relied on powerful lords always finding a new enemy to fight. Who would want a scarred battle dog with a permanent scowl and dangerous look to his appearance? And even if someone did, how could he care for a wife? A family? He moved from town to town, from country to country, seldom returning to the same place twice unless the pay was very good.

But then, one autumn in southern England, when the fighting season was over and the mud was too thick for both men and horses to march in, something changed. He was no longer young but in his fighting prime, hardened, and hard, by years of fighting other men’s wars. He had no other plans than to spend the winter in this small English town with his friend William Garin, wait for spring and the call to arms for another war or rebellion or crusade. He was going to fill his belly, hone his weapons, train the younger men and spend his evenings with a whore or two, and that was it.

Marriage was not on the cards.

But fate wanted a different path for him. And you quite literally fell into his arms as you tumbled from your horse on the outskirts of the small town.

“Curse that nag!” you yelled crossly, struggling to free yourself from his strong grip, “let go, I can stand on my own legs!” You pushed at his chest as the dark haired man let go of your waist, stepping back with a chuckle.

“And what fine legs they are,” he said, his grin wide.

You sneered at his comment, “Too fine for you either way.”

You glared at him as you brushed your dress, “I should thank you, I guess. You saved me from a much greater fall, that stupid mare is spooked by the smallest twig and throws me twice a week at least.”

With a sigh you looked at your horse who’d decided that the twig wasn’t an immediate threat and had begun to graze the last of the summer grass just a little while down the country lane.

“If that’s the case, you best go and claim your horse before she decides one of farmer Ned’s cows has fangs and means to eat her,” Pero chuckled. He liked your spirit, and the way your eyes blazed as you glanced at him.

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” you said with a shake of your head, “I best be off, thank you again, sir.”

Tovar gave a small nod and crooked smile at your retreating back.

Later that evening, as he’d eaten and gone back to the room he shared with William, he wondered why the chance meeting on the country lane wouldn’t leave his head. He felt as if he might’ve been bewitched, one moment walking down the country lane on his way out to the smithy for a repair of his armour, the next he had a woman in his arms as her bay horse bolted down the road. You’d smelled of apples, a rich, sweet scent clinging to your hair as it brushed over his face when you both landed in the dust. The soft yield of your flesh under the rough linen dress, it was as if he’d put his hands on the softest down pillow, he’d wanted to grab hold of it and not let go.

As you rushed away from him, scolding your skittish horse, he’d watched the way your hips swayed with each step, bright hair bouncing with frustration. You gripped the horse’s bridle and pulled it around, even at a distance he could see the way your nose crinkled in annoyance as you berated the poor animal. When your anger trickled out as quickly as it flared up, your face softened and you gently stroked the animal’s nose, giving its neck a pat before swinging yourself up into the saddle again. You caught him staring and gave him a quick smile, before turning again and nudging the horse into a slow trot.

He’d made his way to the smithy and then back to the rooms he and William had rented for the winter. And when he laid down on his bed, the vision of you filled his head, soft curves, sweet smile, quick temper and a sharp tongue. He would very much like to see you again, be that close to you again.

The next day was a Sunday and he joined William at the church for mass with the rest of the village. He let the familiar Latin incantations wash over him, the rituals the same here as in his hometown as it was in every other town he’d ever visited, irrespective of the country or the ruler. The power radiated from Rome and although the churches looked different, the rituals were the same and it brought a strange, albeit dull, comfort to him.

When mass was over the congregation filtered out of the church, slow in leaving, catching up with neighbours and sharing gossip. Pero tried to scan the crowd surreptitiously but William caught his wandering eye.

“Who are you looking for? The mysterious horse woman?” he asked, looking around at the villagers and the mercenaries who were wintering here just as they were. Pero had told him of the encounter, not being able to hide how you’d remained on his mind as he returned to the rooms.

“I don’t remember seeing her here before,” Pero replied, trying to appear unphased, uncaring, as he continued to scan the open space in front of the church, but without success. When he couldn’t see her, he followed William back to their lodgings. The Lord’s day should be spent in rest and was not wise to anger the local priest.

But Pero found himself too restless to sit still, fiddling with a troublesome chainmail. He left William to it and ventured outside instead, vying to find a secluded spot in the woods to get some practice in without being scolded by someone spotting him working on a Sunday.

The autumn forest was golden, the air crisp and clear as the sky stretched endlessly blue above the trees as Pero wandered further in than he meant to. It felt good to be away from people, from the crowded town and the small rooms he shares with William.

The clank of metal on wood reached his ears and he furrowed his brows, no one would be out here felling trees on a Sunday unless there was some strange business. He moved silently through the underbrush towards the sound, and came upon a clearing, drawing breath at the sight in front of him. You had stripped down to just your slip and a pair of men’s breeches, your arms bare and glistening with sweat as you raised the heavy sword and parried an imagined attack, and hit the thick beech trunk. The sword lodged in the wood and with a grunt you pulled it free, backing up a few steps and repeating the exercise.

Pero watched you for a few minutes, your technique was good, someone has clearly taught you the basics, but the sword was too heavy for you.

“You have some skills with that sword, señorita,” he called, just as you dropped your arm, letting the sword hang by your side as you took a deep breath.

His voice made you jump and swing around, the sword quickly raised.

“Do not worry, I mean you no harm,” he said, walking towards you with both his arms raised, “We’ve met before, with your troublesome mare.”

“I remember,” you answered, the tone of your voice betraying your wariness as his sudden appearance, “What are you doing here?”

“The same as you, señorita, I think,” he replied, “seeking a place away from unwelcome eyes to hone my skill on a Sunday.”

Unclipping his cloak and satchel and placing them on a log near the edge of the clearing, he then turned and nodded at the sword in your hand.

“You have some skill, but the sword is too heavy for you.”

“What do you care?” you snapped at him, the sword still lifted as he approached.

“I train the younger soldiers, when a sword is too heavy for the user, the technique suffers. And I hate to see a bad swordsman. Or woman.”

With a fluid movement he pulled both of his swords from his back, the left one spinning in his hand, the handle held out towards you.

“Let me show you, borrow my sword, it’s more lightweight.”

You regarded him with suspicion, not lowering your own sword.

“Why do you want to help me?”

“Why do I want to help a woman become a better fighter?” he countered, still holding out the sword to you, “Because those without swords can still die upon them. I learned that a long time ago. So better the women know how to fight too.”

You regarded him with caution, the dark haired, dark eyed man with a strange accent and a menacing scar across his eye. But something in his face, the way he looked at you with a cocked eyebrow, encouraging you to take the sword he was still holding out to you, made your trepidation waver. Slowly you sheathed your own sword, and grabbed the handle of his. He gave you a crooked smile and a quick nod.

“Good. Now show me what you can do.”

With a quick movement he brought up his own sword and attacked, and you just about parried in time, the two swords ringing out through the empty forest as they met.

Marriage was not something that was ever on the cards for him. But sometimes fate wills it differently.

And before that Sunday afternoon in the forest, you’d never considered marrying someone either. At least not for any other reason than your father telling you that a man was needed to run the farm when he was gone. But the dark haired Spaniard with the scowling face, menacing and imposing, he was the one who made you see that marrying didn’t mean settling for one of the local boys.

His dark eyes glittered with mischief as he taunted your sword skills, easily smacking your arm with the flat side of his blade as you failed to anticipate his next move in the early days of your training. But it was the way he smiled with pride when you managed to disarm him and put your blade to his neck, that smile made your heart melt. He was proud of you for a skill any other man you knew would shame you for, even attempt to lock you up for. It was like taking a deep breath of air for the first time, the way he treated you like an equal in a way no ever had before.

It was mesmerising how a hardened soldier with such a menacing scowl could transform into the most handsome man you’d ever seen. It stunned you, and locked you in place, the first time you stood toe to toe with him, his back against a thick oak, your sword resting against his neck. Surprise flashed across his face first, then he smiled, his eyes shifting from the hard concentration of battle to soft warmth as his lips pulled up in a proud grin.

“I knew there was a warrior in you,” he said, holding his sword arm up in defeat as you pulled the blade away from his neck, “with my training, you’ll beat almost any man.”

“Almost any man?” you replied, your eyebrows lifting as you moved your hand and rested the blade against his neck again.

Pero chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked down on you, glancing down his sharp nose as you made him tilt his head back again.

“Any man, guerrera,” he smiled and again the pride in his voice made warmth and elation shoot through your body.

Sweat was dripping from his forehead, you could feel the heat of him against you, the rise and fall of his chest, your own short breaths against him as an errant drop slipped over his lips and his tongue came out to catch it. Your eyes drifted to the pink tip as he licked his bottom lip, watching it disappear into his mouth again. When you looked up, his smile was gone, replaced by something more hungry, his eyes darker as they seemed to study your face. There was no need for you to be so close to him still, the fight over. But as he brought his hand up and carefully pushed your sword away from his neck, you only let your hand drop, not stepping back. You felt rooted to the spot with his eyes on you, the warmth of his body like a magnet to your own.

“Señorita…” he almost growled, a half whisper from the back of his throat, as he slowly leaned closer, his eyes moving to your lips before his gaze fell on you again. Dark and warm, it was like being pulled in by the last of the dying embers of a fire. Pero glowed and burned hot under your palm as you put your hands on his neck and pulled him to you, your sword falling to the floor of the forest with a soft clatter.

He wouldn’t let you go, and you clung to him just as eagerly, the dry leaves rustling as you pulled him down, he rolled you over, caging you in under his strong arms.

“Señorita…” he growled again, it was all he could press out before your lips found his, soft, pliant and sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, addictive in the way they felt against his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks as you found new places to kiss him, your fingers winding through his hair, keeping him locked in place against your lips, taking as much as you wanted from him and he never once stopped you.

He was lost. So utterly lost. And he’d never felt more at home.

You plucked last year’s leaves from your hair and cloak all the way home that day. Pero followed you to the edge of the forest as always. But this time you pulled him behind a tree and made him press his hard body against you, pinning you against the trunk. The way he groaned into your kisses made your body heat up, your need for him growing with every slow roll of his hips, hands roaming to feel as much of him as you could, his hands kneading your hips and caressing your curves.

If your lips were swollen and your hair dishevelled, your father said nothing of it when you came home. When Pero came by one Sunday after church and asked permission to marry his daughter, he wasn’t surprised.

There had been no war or rebellion to pull Pero away from you that year. William left, serviced under a local lord, but Pero stayed and put what little money he had left into buying the small farm next to your father’s. When the time came, the two could be merged and provide a good life for the two of you and any children that followed. When the small cottage was his by law, only then did he go to your father, who said yes without hesitation to the large Spaniard.

“As if I could deny you the man you’ve clearly set your eyes on, even if he wasn’t a great, big hulking warrior,” your father had said later that same night after Pero had left, “With him in your house, I know you’ll be safer than with me. And if you truly love him too, well then I have no objections.”

“I really do love him, with all his scowls and menacing looks, he is a very good man underneath it all, father.”

There had been strange looks from the villagers, but that had hardly mattered. You’d always gone your own way, and marrying a dark haired outsider with a thick accent seemed to be something that the gossiping wives had expected of you. Either way, when you exchanged your vows outside the church on the intended day, you were surrounded by smiling faces, the old priest beaming down at you as you entered the church with Pero by your side to be blessed by by God.

The feast lasted most of the day but by the late afternoon, you both left your father’s farm and was escorted by the priest, William and a few other villagers, to your new home, the cottage that Pero had worked so hard to turn into a home for you both. His first home since he left the place he was born, and now the place where he intended to live out the rest of his life as a happy man. When the marital bed had been blessed too, Pero closed the door to the cottage and you were alone as husband and wife for the first time.

“Come here, husband,” you smiled at him as he turned back from the door. You didn’t need to beckon him, nothing would keep him away from you tonight, but you liked the sound of his new title - husband.

“Mi esposa,” he grinned as he crowded you against the sturdy oak bed he’d built with the aid of the local carpenter, “my wife, finally.”

His eyes went soft, his mischievous grin replaced by a tender look as he cupped your face with his warm palms, “Never in my life did I think I’d call someone ‘my wife’, I never thought this was the way my life would be, and then I found you,” he ran his thumbs over your cheeks, leaning his forehead against yours as your breaths mingled, ”Te amo, mi amor,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Pero,” you whispered back, your fingers finding his soft curls as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Gently he pushed you backwards, making you lay down on the bed, your bed, as he moved to cage you in under his arms and wide shoulders. Many training sessions in the forest had ended this way, time slipping away as you kissed each other breathless, but it had never gone further. You’d feel the thick weight of him pressed against your thighs, felt how he sometimes rolled his hips to seek a brief relief, but he'd always pull back.

“Amor, I won’t take you on the forest floor,” he’d muttered when you asked him to stop caring so much about your virtue, “I want you in a bed, our bed, when I’m your husband and you’re my wife.”

Now here you were, in your bed, and you called him husband as he slowly removed all your layers, caressing every sliver of skin that was revealed to him. He pressed kisses to your soft breasts, moaning as he felt them pebble under his touch, his strong nose trailed across the downy hairs of your belly, and when you giggled at the way his beard tickled, he nipped at the warm skin of your thighs. The thick slide of his tongue through your heated centre made you arch your back and gasp, your fingers scrambling for purchase in his hair. You could hear him chuckle against you, the tip of his nose circling the epicentre of your pleasure, he seemed to know this part of your body better than yourself and he soon had you moaning his name as you fought to catch your breath.

When he had you drenched and dripping, he rested his head on your soft thigh and tapped your leg.

“Amor, look at me,” he invited. Through half closed lids, clouded with pleasure, you watched him slide a finger through your liquid, coating it before he slowly pushed in. It slipped in easily, and when he curled it, caressing your insides, your eyes fell closed of their own volition. Suddenly you wanted more, more of his fingers, more of him and you whined, your hips rolling over his finger.

“Please, Pero…” you whimpered, your voice hoarse and pleading.

“What do you want, esposa,” he asked as he moved his finger gently back and forth, making you gasp again.

“More…I think…more…” you mumbled and Pero smiled. Seeing you fall apart for him, slowly showing you how good he could make you feel, how he intended to spend every long winter evening, it filled him with a happiness he’d never felt before. It was like a hot burning fire inside his chest and it would keep him warm when he had to leave, he knew these memories would be the ones he returned to on long cold nights alone.

“More?” he asked, “I can give you more, amor.”

The smile in his voice made you look up at him as he moved to lie at your side, putting his arm under your shoulders and finding your lips with his own. As his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he gently pushed a second finger into your heat. He felt you arch up against him, whimpering into his mouth, your fingers digging into his arms as he slid his own in and out, setting your body on fire with every slow drag.

He moved so slowly, it was like your body was turning into molten metal, heat flowed through you, all coming from where Pero’s fingers sunk into you. Your hips rolled of their own accord, your core clenching hard around him and a tension was building up inside you. But just as you felt as if you were about to snap, like a thread pulled too tight, Pero slipped his fingers from you and caressed your side, his hand leaving a sticky trail on your skin.

“Amor,” he mumbled, moving over your body so that he once again was caging you in, his warm, dark eyes glowing as he looked down at you, “Amor, I’m going to enter you now, tell me to stop if it hurts, you are so tight.”

You nodded and made room for him between your legs, you knew this might hurt, you’d heard the wives talk and the gossip. But no one had ever mentioned it feeling this good to be with a man, this aching need to be filled up by him. It had you panting with impatience, your core clenching around the emptiness left behind by his fingers.

Pero kept his eyes locked on you as he coated himself with your silky liquid and lined himself up. Your brows furrowed as he pushed the thick head inside, and he dropped his forehead to yours, taking a deep breath.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, slowly rocking himself back and forth, just the tip moving inside you, and you shook your head.

“No, it was just a little tight, I want more,” you replied, spreading your legs wider for him. He reached down and hooked your leg over his hip.

“Squeeze me, pull me in if you want more,” he said, gritting his teeth as he felt your contract around him, fighting the urge to push in harder, “you feel so good, amor, so good to me.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist and Pero rocked slowly, pushing in deeper with each short thrust. His face was pinched with concentration, his mouth half open as he licked his lips. With your arms wrapped around his neck, his forehead against yours, each breath you took was his and your world shrunk down to only Pero. Only his warm body above yours, his hips heavy between your legs, driving himself into you and creating ripples of pleasure through every fibre of your being with each thrust deep inside. Your eyes wanted to close but you forced them to stay open, to see your husband as he looked at you, his eyes hazy with lust, dark and burning, every movement making him groan as your body pulled him in. The tight string started to pull taught inside you again, your body moving against Pero’s, making him pick up his pace.

“Amor, can you feel that?” he mumbled, his forehead still resting against yours, “can you feel your body getting ready to fall?”

You nodded, it felt like a lightning storm ready to break, just over the horizon. Tightening your grip around his waist, you pulled him in and he understood, driving himself deeper, a little bit harder into your tight core.

“Pero…” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunted in response, his hand grabbing your leg and finding a new angle.

“Amor, let me feel you come around me, give me this…” he panted, “the first time…I want it-”

Before he’d even finished you cried out under him, gripping him tight, your body trembling as the string snapped and lighting coursed through you, Pero’s thick cock driving hard into you, pushing your pleasure higher as he gasped and grunted. With a cry he broke, a loud groan, and he spilled himself inside, your legs like a vice around his waist as he rocked himself deeper.

He was heavy on top of you, the warm sweat of his torso gliding against your own chest as you buried your face against his neck and took long, deep breaths.

“Pero…my love…” you whispered softly into his ear, his wet kiss against your own neck was his exhausted response as he slowly came down from his high. Your arms were still wrapped tight around him, as were your legs, locking him in place. Not that he wanted to leave, he would stay here, in this bed, between your legs, until moss grew on him like an old boulder that no farmer could move.

He was home.

Endless miles stretched out behind them, thousands if they cared to count them. Pero did not. All he could see was the white cliffs in front of the ship, like a beacon, a sign that their long journey was finally coming to an end.

They returned, not as poor as they’d set out, but not as rich as they thought they’d be, but the only thing that mattered to Pero was that he was returning. He’d fought with his friend, felt betrayed by him, even abandoned him in the end, so strong was his need to return home. It had almost cost him his life, caught by the very army he was trying to escape as he left William behind, brought back and then thrown in chains. He thought he’d die there, locked up in a dungeon, never seeing you again.

It burned in his chest as the chains gnawed at his wrists, to never see you again, to leave you behind in this world without a word. He could see your face as he closed his eyes, conjured it up in his mind and remembered the tears clinging to your lashes as he pulled back one final time and turned for his horse. Riches or not, he was a damn fool for leaving you, he should’ve been content with what he had.

In the end it was only by the grace of God, or maybe by William’s good heart, that he’d been freed by the very friend he’d betrayed and allowed to leave and make the long journey home.

Now he stood on solid ground again, readying his horse for the final stretch home.

Home.

A word he’d never thought he’d be able to say and for it to mean something worth fighting for. A woman he loved. A house where he could keep her warm and protected. A place to raise a family.

Home. He was going home. He knew he never should’ve left.

The last ride was easy and he drove his horse fast, the afternoon barely past its prime as he saw the cottage at the end of the path, tucked in among the heavy oak trees. It looked well kept, but the door was shut tight and no animals roamed around the yard.

“Mi amor!” he called, spurring his horse on for the last few yards, “Mi amor!” he called again as he swung himself from the saddle.

But the door was shut tight and wouldn’t budge and a lap around the small house showed him that it was indeed as empty as it looked. He mounted his horse again, not yet uneasy, and set a fast pace down the lane, towards your father’s farm a mile through the forest.

Here there was life at least, chickens in the yard, a dog pulling on its leash and the door open. Again he swung himself from the saddle, throwing the reins around the gate post and striding forward.

“Stay back!”

Your sword was raised. Your sword? No, his sword, the one he’d left with you. Held up by you now, threatening him to not take another step forward.

“Mi amor, it’s me, Pero,” he smiled, spreading his arms wide and taking long strides to you, wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and feel your soft body melt against his after so many months.

“Stay back!” you snarled, taking a step back and settling into the fighting stance he’d taught you and Pero floundered, stopping in his tracks.

“Amor…Have I changed that much? Don’t you know your husband?”

“I don’t have a husband,” you replied, your sword still raised, “Now, leave before I set the dogs on you!”

Pero felt a cold dread rise in his chest, confusion clouding his mind, he didn’t understand why you didn’t know him and he dropped his arms, his face a pained mask.

“Mi amor, it’s me, I left a year ago on a foolish mission, you were my wife when I left and I have fought so hard all this time to get back to you and…” he trailed off as your eyes showed no recognition, no flash of relief. Just a hard stare at him.

“Tovar!”

A voice called out, an elderly man coming around the corner of the cottage, his white hair in tufts around his ears and neck and his face concerned.

“Tovar, it’s good to see you safe after all this time, my boy!”

The man forced a pained smile at Pero before he reached you.

“Daughter, lower your sword, he is a friend, he just hadn’t been past here in some time,” the old man put his hand on your arm and gently made you lower the sword, “Go inside and make sure the stew is not burning, I will speak with Tovar and join you shortly.”

Pero looked on in confusion as you sheathed the sword, smiled at your father and turned back into the cottage.

“John, tell me what’s going on, why does my wife not know me?”

“Come with me,” he replied and gestured towards the edge of the farm yard, the low stone wall serving as a seat as he sank down. Pero remained standing, glancing back at the cottage. Part of him wanted to storm into the cottage and grab you, shake you and make you see him, see him, your husband. But John’s hand landed on his arm and pulled his attention back to the old man.

“It began not long after you and William left, her memories have been slowly going and neither the priest nor the physician know why or what caused it.”

“What do you mean, her memories are going? She doesn’t know me?” Pero gripped the handle of his sword, not a threat, just a comfort, to hold on to something familiar as he rubbed his thumb over the pommel, “I am her husband, she loves me, how can she forget me?”

“I don’t know, Pero,” John sighed, rubbing his weathered hand over his face as he shook his head, “she just doesn’t. And it’s not just you, she seems to forget most new things from one day to the next, a new neighbour, the cow giving birth to a new calf, selling a few of the chickens, she just forgets,” he looked over at the cottage where a thin tendril of smoke rose slowly from the short chimney, “She remembers her childhood, her brother and mother dying, after that it all becomes hazy.”

John looked up at Pero again and Pero could see the toll the past year had taken on his father-in-law as pain flashed across his face, his usually bright eyes sunken and dark.

“I’m sorry, son, she doesn’t even remember meeting you, nothing of your life together, and not you leaving.”

It hits him like a dagger to the chest, piercing in its pain and wrenching his chest open; he left, she begged him not to, but he left and this is his punishment. Her mind is protecting her from the pain he caused. With a groan he turns around, sinking down on the wall, his head buried in his hands, it feels as if his throat is closing up, a sob tearing its way up, like broken glass cutting him open.

“I left her,” he groaned, choking around his words, “She begged me not to go, that last night before I left, and I thought I had to and left her anyway. I broke her heart and this is my punishment, her mind has removed me from her so she doesn’t have to live with my betrayal.”

“Son…” John said, his voice choking too, but he put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, “We do not know the will of the Lord, you did what you thought was best.”

The hand on Pero’s shoulder burned like fire, guilt over taking him and he stumbled to his feet, shaking off the other man’s grip with a shrug.

“I’ll leave, it’s for the best,” he replied, striding towards his horse without looking back, his jaw tight around his words, “Take care of her for me.”

“Tovar, wait,” John called after him and hurried to his feet. He grabbed the reins of the horse just as Pero swung himself into the saddle, “She loves you, still. I know she does, she just needs to remember you.”

“Remember how I broke her heart and left her? What kind of a husband was I? No,” Pero shook his head and gathered the reins, making John let go of them, “Let her have a good life without me.”

The door of the cottage creaked as he spoke the last words, making him look up towards it. You were standing in the opening, an empty water bucket in your hand, your eyes on him.

“Are you really my husband?” you asked, glancing over at your father, but finding Pero’s eyes again. Pero felt his throat close up again as he saw the way you looked at him, a complete stranger, not a trace of recognition.

He just nodded in response, not trusting his voice.

“He is, my dear,” John replied in his stead, “Do you remember me telling you about him when your mind first started to go?”

You shook your head at that, your eyes still on Pero.

“I’m leaving,” he said, a deep furrow in his brow as he ruefully shook his head, “I caused you both enough hurt.” He nudged his horse to turn around, walking it through the gate and out onto the road, avoiding John’s look of pity.

“Wait!”

The call came just as he was about to spur his horse on, away from your empty stare.

“Wait,” you called, hurrying after him, stopping as he halted his horse and turned in the saddle. You came up to stand by its neck, looking up at him, “Stay at least the night, I…I know I lost so many memories, but...if you’re my husband then you should stay, maybe something will come back.”

“No,” he shook his head, looking away from you and down the road, “I caused too much harm, I don’t want you to have to relive the pain I caused you.”

“Please, my life has been cut in half, I can’t remember it, but I know something big is missing. I will gladly take the pain again if I can have the rest of my life back,” you put your hand on his horse’s neck, tilting your face up to him as you waited for his reply, “Please.”

He couldn’t resist looking down at you and he felt his resolve weaken as your eyes met his. Such a familiar face, the one he loved so deeply. The colour of your eyes was seared into his mind, the small imperfections on your cheeks that he’d mapped with his lips so many nights, the shape of your perfect nose that he’d traced with his calloused fingers when you complained that it was all wrong. So many long, cold nights, picturing this face in his mind’s eye as he tried to do what he thought was right, the desperate moments when he thought he wasn’t coming back to you at all. Facing monsters from nightmares in overwhelming numbers, even as he fought for his life, this face was floating before him. You were the one he was fighting so hard to get home to.

Now you were looking back at him, pleading with him, and he knew he had no choice. The last time he denied your request, he’d almost lost his life and you’d lost your memories of him. He would stay. The pain he would feel at seeing you look at him like a stranger would be a small price to pay compared to the pain he’d put you through with his greed and stubbornness.

He gave you a nod, a short movement of his head as you held his gaze. He searched in vain for a glimmer of recognition, a flash of the woman you were before he left, but there was nothing. Just a small, uncertain smile as you dropped your hand from his horse’s neck and took a few steps back.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, glancing back at your father, “my father will be glad to have you with us too, he’s probably tried to make me remember you so many times.”

Pero slid off the back of his horse and took hold of the reins as he turned to you. His rough fingernails dug into the palm of his hand as he clenched his fist, the familiar scent of your skin washing over him as he got closer. He could feel every bone in his body aching to reach out and pull you into his arm, bury his nose in the soft skin of your neck and breathe you in, feel your hands on him again. He could feel himself torn in two; the urge to bolt when you took a step back from him, the need to stay near and never leave again.

“Amor…” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from you as you took another step back, the pain and emotion plain on his face.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you whispered, “I don’t know what that means…”

For a few moments you looked at him as he refused to meet your eyes again, his gaze wavering as his hand closed around the reins of his horse. His knuckles were pulled taught, the tension in his still form clear, and you took another step back.

“Please, put your horse away and I’ll heat up water for you to wash. Father said you’ve travelled far, you must be weary. There's good stew cooking too,” you raised your hand and gently put it on the neck of his horse, “Come, please.”

He followed you into the house once he’d put the horse away, your father leaving to bring the small herd of cows in for the evening. Water was heating over the fire and you mixed it with the cooler water from the barrel as Pero stepped over the threshold with his heavy saddle bags by his side.

“You live with your father now,” he said, a statement rather than a question, but you nodded, wiping your hands and turning to the stew pot.

“Yes, well, I don’t remember living anywhere else but he tells me the cottage down the road is where I lived before…” you trailed off, putting your hand to your temple as your brow furrowed, screwing up your eyes as if trying to search for a memory. Pero shifted by the door and you turned to him with a surprised look on your face.

“I-I guess…that’s where we lived?” you asked and a look of anguish flashed across his face.

“Yes….yes, we lived there,” he replied, still holding his heavy bags, looking like he was almost on the verge of leaving again. “We moved there on our wedding day and I… Do you ever visit it now?”

You shook your head but hesitated, “Never…but maybe I have been back, but I forget from one day to the next, I know it’s there but if I see it now, it’s like I see it for the first time.”

Pero dropped his bags on the floor and rubbed his hand over his face, his shoulders slumped as if under a tremendous weight.

“Amor…” he said to the floor before looking up at you again, “I don’t know if I can do this. We lived there, you and me, they were the happiest days of my wretched life, and now it’s all been taken from us. You look at me like a stranger and I can’t stand it.”

You didn’t know what to say, the man in front of you was a stranger, nothing in his voice or face was familiar. The only reason you asked him to stay was your father telling you he was your husband, and that feeling in your chest of something missing, that empty space in your mind, a big piece of your life’s memories missing.

“I’m sorry…” you said again, but he shook his head.

“Don’t. It’s my fault, I did this to you. And I’m staying until you tell me to leave.”

“I might not remember you in the morning,” you said, “I often forget meeting new people.”

New people

It cut through him like the sharpest blade. He’s ‘new people’ to you now, not your husband, or even a friend. Just a stranger in your house.

He nodded at the large bowl that you’d filled with water, “I’ll get cleaned up now, do you want me to go outside?”

The cottage was familiar, he’d spent much time here before the wedding, and not much had changed in the year he’d been gone. It had only two rooms, and he presumed you were sleeping in the bed nook against the back wall, your father in the other room. The small cottage didn’t hold much space for privacy.

You shook your head and turned back to the fire, “I’ll keep my back turned, I need to watch the stew.”

He stared at you for a beat, the achingly familiar shape of your shoulders, your hips and the way you cocked one out to the side as you leaned forward over the large pot. How many times hadn’t he come up behind you, run his hands over your soft shapes, pushed your hair to the side and pressed kisses to your neck as you giggled at the way his beard tickled your skin. Now you stood with your back to him to not see as he pulled off his clothes, something you’d done to him almost every night. Unlaced his shirt, pulled it from his breeches and caressed his skin with your soft hands.

The dirty shirt dropped to the floor with a soft sound and you heard him wring the washcloth as you added the last of the herbs to the stew. You couldn’t help yourself, you glanced over your shoulder and stole a look at him. He was a stranger, but supposedly your husband, and either way, he was handsome. Under that layer of grime and sweat, he was a striking man, unlike any you’d ever seen. Or, at least, unlike anyone your mind would let you remember. So you glanced back at him and was struck almost dumb by the sight. Broad shoulders, a muscular back tapering into narrow hips where his breeches hung low as he rubbed the washcloth over his abdomen.

The back of his neck was tanned golden, his back lighter and marred by a long scar that shone bright in the dim light. It looked like a painful injury, old and long since healed over, and you wondered if he’d ever told you what had happened to him. Had you run your fingers over as he told you the story? You realised you must’ve spent countless nights next to this man in your marital bed, his hands on you, your hands on him. This man, this stranger in your father’s house, would know you better than anyone else, every inch of your body and your most intimate secrets.

As if he could sense your eyes on him, he glanced back over his shoulder and met your eyes, and he seemed to hold his breath for a moment. Then he turned fully to face you, the washcloth forgotten in his hand.

“Amor…” he whispered and you bit back a sudden sob. His eyes were so hopeful, you wanted nothing more than to remember him, to have all the memories of him flood back into your mind as he dropped the washcloth and took two quick steps across the floor.

“I don’t remember,” you sobbed as his arms wrapped around you, “I don’t remember anything about you.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let you go. Instead he let you sob against his chest, holding you close as he rested his chin on your head. His heart was beating wildly, thrumming so hard you could hear it as you pressed your cheek against him, and even though he was a stranger, his arms felt safe around you, the scent of his skin comforting and soothing.

With a small movement he rubbed your back, slowly up and down, “It will come back, amor, it will. And if it doesn’t, I will make you fall in love with me again and tell you about all the memories we have.”

You nodded against his chest, your sobs subsiding, but you didn’t pull away from him, and he didn’t let his arms drop. He held you just as tight, reluctant to give up the feeling of having you in his arms again after all he endured to get back to you.

“Although…I’m still not sure how I made a woman like you fall in love with a reckless mercenary like me, how will I manage that again?” he said, a small smile to his voice and you looked up at him. He’d lifted his chin from your head and was looking at you with a sad smile, tears clinging to his dark lashes.

“Promise me you’ll try,” you said, your voice low and broken.

“Every day for the rest of my life, amor,” he whispered, “I will make you fall in love with me again and then we can make all those memories one more time.”

A/N - I hope you enjoyed this bitter sweet little story! Bonus points to anyone who caught the LotR reference :)

Tagging some of my fellow Pero lovers:

@nerdieforpedro @din-cognito @harriedandharassed @morallyinept @inept-the-magnificent

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @lady-bess @angiewatson @cozylittlepigeon @604to647

@survivingandenduring @for-a-longlongtime @gnpwdrnsnshine @wintersquirrel @grogusmum

#pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar x you #roll a trope challenge

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cheerycherrycandy-resurrected · 1 day

Text

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Epilogue

As summer fades, the ghouls settle in further. New friends and relationships blossom, and a new band performs their first ritual in the local village.

Rating: M Content: possessive behavior Words: 4812

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Not bad for a fic that was meant to be 5 chapters and about 15k words… this was supposed to be a quick little fic that I wrote before moving on to write the longer soulmates AU I’ve been planning since around March!

As I think I've mentioned, this isn't the end! This was always supposed to be a Raindrop fic, and so Swissalps's story will be continued in a sequel. I'll be dropping the first chapter shortly, and I have a special invitation for it if anyone wants that in their ask box! message me or reply if you'd be interested?

I can't let myself get too sappy here or it'll end up longer than the chapter itself. But thank you to everyone who's been so lovely about this fic in replies or reblogs (especially looking at @everybodyshusband @cosmicseafoam @jazz-bazz @0-miles-away @papaslittlesunshine @ligovskaya @midnight-moth @karmicbias @kentuckyfriedsatan and anyone who's AO3 username I haven't correlated to a tumblr blog yet!), I wouldn't have stuck with this so long without you guys 🖤🖤

Read below, or on AO3!

The weeks passed, the summer fading further every day. With the final harvests nearly all brought in and the trees painting themselves in a hundred shades of amber and gold, autumn was finally upon the Abbey. No amount of dulling of the colours of nature could dull the passion of Rain and Dew’s relationship however, even as they found themselves slipping into a routine. For the Abbey’s fire ghouls, it was all hands on deck to help keep the grain dry, yet amidst his busy schedule Dew still found ample time to luxuriate in him and his pack’s safe and comfortable new home. Most importantly though, he thought, he had time to spend with his m– Rain.

Dew had to stop himself for the thousandth time from thinking of Rain as his mate. To him, the rituals were practically complete. Having passed on his amulet, he had opened his heart and shared his soul. For Rain though, he knew they were only at the end of the first step of the many that comprised a water ghoul's courting ritual. They had many months left before Rain would have completed his side of the tradition; the next step being gifts that were less about being pretty, and more practical gifts for their future together. Dew had no way of knowing that Rain was already hard at work on that front; taking advice from his new pod of water ghouls on the best kinds of kelp to harvest from the lake here, and the weaving patterns that would create the softest possible blankets from it. Dew was happy to wait for Rain however; even if it took millennia, he would wait for him.

As the weeks passed for Dew and Rain and their relationship grew both deeper and stronger, Swiss and Mountain continued to dance around each other, both backing out of making the final move at the last second. Their friendship had never been stronger, and with that came the higher pressure of what was a stake if their feelings were not reciprocated.

Aether could see straight through their – at times – comedically oblivious behaviour. He had known Mountain for so many years now, and Swiss a great number too, that he could decipher the thoughts running through their heads just like reading a book. Seeing his pack couple off like they were doing could have made him feel lonely and jealous, he supposed. Considering his thoughts however, he couldn't find a scrap of negativity towards any of them. Really, he was just happy to see his pack happy.

He had a fulfilling life; a pack, new friends around the Abbey. Aether had always said that he was happy alone, with no desire to settle with a mate. Admittedly, Mountain had said something similar when they first met, but Swiss seemed to have been an exception there. Over the recent weeks since Cumulus had properly introduced them, Aether had especially been enjoying getting to know Cowbell. The quiet ghoul's steady, timeless attitude felt grounding amongst the recent chaos of his life, and Aether could tell they seemed as delighted to have made a new friend as he was.

Aether’s role in the infirmary was also going better than he could have expected. Astra had quickly seen how unnecessary any training she could offer him would be, and had set him up mentoring some of the younger quintessence ghouls. To his mild amusement, he had gained a small gaggle of quintessence ghouls who followed him around the infirmary like little ducklings, hanging on his every word and keen to lap up every scrap of knowledge he imparted. Aether found he enjoyed that side of his new role more than he had expected, and looked forward to teaching the younger ghouls each shift.

With the Harvest Festival quickly approaching, one of the main tasks of the infirmary ghouls had been to prepare a supply of tinctures and remedies for the ghouls and siblings alike who would inevitably indulge a little too heavily in the Abbey’s famous blackberry wine. Due to his extensive knowledge of medicinal plants and herbs, Astra had delegated the task of organising this to Aether, who had grasped the extra responsibilities firmly.

Before the festival however, came the one thing that was more exciting to the pack; Swiss, and Copia’s first musical engagement in the local tavern. Sunshine and Mountain were also heavily occupied now in rehearsals for it, the three ghouls – and one human – doing an excellent job of hiding their nerves from the rest of the pack.

The pack was something else that had grown stronger at the Abbey, thought Aether. It hadn’t taken long for the five ghouls to begin to see the ghoulettes they lived their lives in such proximity to as more than just casual friends. Dew had clearly seen them as family long before the others had, but within the span of time they had been here the other ghouls also came to see them as an interwoven part of their lives.

The ghoulettes, Cirrus and Cumulus in particular, had been referring to the new ghouls as pack, long before they were aware of it. The Den had become so much more crowded and noisier since they arrived, but none of the ghoulettes would change it for the world. The Abbey could feel large and lonely at times, and the constant presence of at least one member of the newly extended pack made everything feel cosier.

Indeed, the concert – Aether still found calling it a “Ritual” to be laughable, although he would be happy to be proved wrong – was to be their first true pack adventure. The nine ghouls, plus Cowbell, Copia and several Siblings of Sin, were all planning to make the journey down the hill to support their leader’s latest passion project. Cowbell had offered to drive them in the large horse and cart usually used for their monthly grocery runs to the village, and as such the event was developing quite a party-like atmosphere.

Even amongst the ghouls not attending, most either too busy or incapable of holding an adequate glamour, the day held excitement and novelty. There was a general buzz in the air throughout the Abbey, and it was riding this high that inspired most of the ghouls to finalise their remaining chores before the harvest festival the following day.

One ghoul in particular who seemed to be buoyed along by the jubilant environment was a young, dark-haired fire ghoul. He was comparatively new to the Abbey, arriving some years after Dew left. Swiss was hurrying back to the Den, bringing armfuls of freshly-washed clothes from the laundry when the fire ghoul strode up to him with a self-assured, almost cocky, grin.

“Good luck for tonight,” he purred in a low voice like treacle, reaching out a muscular arm to lay a hand on Swiss’ own bicep, “I’ll be at the festival tomorrow, if you want to get a celebratory drink together?”

Swiss stood confused: he couldn’t remember ever speaking to this ghoul before, and certainly not in a way that would cause him to be so familiar with him. He hoisted the pile of clothes further into his arms, trying to think of a polite was to ask who he was exactly.

“I, um…” Swiss trailed off, distracted by a low noise ringing in his ears. He shook his head slightly, trying to dislodge it but to no avail: if anything, it seemed to be getting louder. A dark and earthy scent suddenly assaulted his senses, and he wondered if he was falling ill, or if he had been cursed or something. It seemed the fire ghoul could feel it too though, as Swiss saw the colour drain from his face, rendering his tanned, olive skin an ashy grey. His terrified eyes were fixed on a point above and behind Swiss, and he stood frozen like a deer caught in a ranger's torchlight. Swiss cautiously turned around, half expecting to see some kind of nether-worldly monster oozing out of the wall.

All he saw was Mountain however, stood tall and stony-faced with a dark aura emanating from him. The added height of his antler-like horns meant he cut an imposing figure. His lip curled into a snarl as he growled again, and a new wave of that woodsy, almost possessive scent washed over Swiss. As much as it seemed to be scaring the fire ghoul, Swiss thought it smelled divine. He smiled at Mountain with a questioning head-tilt, wondering where this strange behaviour was coming from so suddenly. The Earth ghoul’s eyes were fixed on the fire ghoul however, who managed to unfreeze for long enough to stutter out a disjointed sentence.

“I’m sorry!” He looked like he was staring straight into the face of death himself. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry!”

With a jerk of his head, Mountain dismissed him, sending the terrified fire ghoul scuttling down the hallway as fast as he could run, his tail between his legs. Once he was out of sight, Mountain seemed to calm down. His expression softened, and the air around him seemed lighter again.

“What was all that about?” Swiss asked, confused by the earth ghoul’s sudden black mood, and the even more sudden departure of the unknown fire ghoul.

Mountain muttered something Swiss didn’t catch and started relieving him of the large bundle of black clothes in his arms. Swiss trailed back to the Den beside him, still utterly confused by the interaction that had just taken place.

“Was I meant to know who that was?” He mused aloud. “He acted so familiar, yet I can’t remember him from anywhere!”

Mountain almost dropped the clothes, as he doubled over and snorted with laughter, previous aggressive attitude long behind him now that he had the multi ghoul to himself again. Was Swiss seriously that clueless about the fire ghoul’s unsubtle actions? Ever since he’d known him, Swiss had been taking advantage of the humans’ proclivity for flirting with him, often reciprocating if he thought it would secure him more work, or tips and favours. He couldn’t think what would have changed now to make him so oblivious, unless it was simply that it was another ghoul, rather than a human?

“He was clearly flirting with you, Snapdragon!” Mountain guffawed in disbelief. “Could you really not tell?”

Swiss’s quizzical expression suggested that no, he had not been aware of that. Adding to his confusion was Mountain’s reaction: he seemed to be finding the fire ghoul’s actions funny now, but what had the growling and – he realised what it was now – scenting been about? The bounce in the taller ghoul’s gait could only be described as victorious, and he chose to file all the hope about why that could be away until after their performance tonight. That wasn’t a distraction he would allow himself today, not when Copia was relying on him.

Swiss had a suspicion however – one he kept to himself – about why he hadn’t grasped what the fire ghoul was really suggesting, and it had everything to do with the earth ghoul trotting slightly ahead of him. He was self-aware enough to know his feelings for Mountain bordered on infatuation, and he figured that now he had become used to the intensity of those feelings that he had forgotten what anything smaller felt like. The thrill of attraction, or of a newly developing crush felt so insignificant now that they were dwarfed by the magnitude of his feelings for the earth ghoul. He only had eyes for Mountain, and the thought of anyone else thinking they stood a chance in the battle for his heart was laughable to him. Hastening his steps to catch up with Mountain, Swiss fell into step with him to revel in being by his side once again.

Reaching the Den just before they did was an excitable Dewdrop. He burst through the main door, and then into the room he shared with Rain, brandishing a dull metal object.

“Look!” He exclaimed to a slightly startled Rain lounging in their nest. “A horseshoe!”

Rain could see that, although what he couldn’t see was why Dew was quite so excited about such a mundane object. He smiled at him with a questioning tilt of his head and waited for Dew to elaborate.

“The humans do something with them at weddings,” Dew explained as he joined Rain on the bed, still clutching the curved iron shape, “something about them catching luck? I thought we could hang it on our door!”

He held it out for Rain to examine, demonstrating how it could look like a vessel for capturing luck when held in a U-shape. Rain took it from him, and it really was just a regular horseshoe: slightly rusted and worn down from use. More interesting than the horseshoe though, Rain realised that this was the first time Dew had ever brought back something to keep for himself. He let Dew chatter on about needing to find a hammer and some nails, if they should think about painting their door before or after mounting the horseshoe, and what colour Rain would like if so, would he like teal? Rain nodded along, only half his mind on the conversation. The other half was preoccupied celebrating this relatively large step for Dewdrop; this was yet more proof that he was finally starting to settle properly and relax, putting down roots for himself and Rain, finally feeling a sense of permanence.

“I got it when I went to see Cowbell just now,” Dew elaborated, “to check if they’re all ready to drive the cart down to the village tonight. They were just reshoeing the mare we brought with us from the village, so that means this shoe played a part in getting us out of there! It really is lucky!”

Rain melted further. It was becoming increasingly apparent that deep down Dew had the potential to be an incredibly sentimental ghoul, and he couldn't wait to see how that continued.

“It seems to be working so far then,” Rain murmured, holding it up, “I've had nothing but luck since you came back for me.”

With that, he leaned in to steal a kiss; both the horseshoe and all talk of home décor soon being forgotten.

The day seemed both to drag and pass all too quickly at the same time. Before they knew it, Swiss, Mountain and Sunshine were all dressed, and carefully buffing the metal masks that were a part of their outfits one final time. Copia had decided they added a nice touch to their costumes; the shining horns hinting at their ghoulish nature without actually revealing it. The whole Den was alive with excitement and nerves, the fervour growing as the light outside began to fade.

Walking out to the front courtyard to meet Cowbell with the cart, Swiss proudly led the way with his guitar strapped to his back. This felt familiar, and more importantly it felt right; doubly so with Mountain by his side. Cowbell was leaned against the wooden trailer, as human-looking as anyone could remember ever seeing them before. They were smiling softly, although slightly apprehensively, as the pack approached. Behind the pack followed the Siblings of Sin, who had initially been keen for an evening out but now seemed to be regretting their decision. Swiss could smell the waves of alarm pouring off them as they got closer, none of them used to interacting with the ancient ghoul who lived in the stables.

“Good evening, dear ghoul!”

Copia greeted Cowbell as he bustled forward and hoisted himself up next to them at the front of the cart. The rest of them would be travelling in the back, even though none of them were particularly keen to be sharing the space. They had no choice however, and the Siblings dutifully lined up behind the crush of ghouls that were piling in and jostling for space on the narrow wooden benches. Rain and Dew happily squeezed themselves into a corner, and Swiss settled himself into another; Mountain willingly joining him and shuffling closer until their thighs were pressed tight against each other. There was eventually space made for everyone and with a jolt, the cart set off. The sudden motion and continued bumping along the cobbles of the courtyard threw Mountain even closer into Swiss. Even once they were onto the smoother path into the village, he remained plastered along Swiss’ side as the countryside flew by.

It really was a beautiful evening, Swiss though as he glanced out at the trees and fields around them. The orange sunset cast its glow over everything, making the whole world look like it was on fire. Most vibrant of all however was Mountain; his auburn hair glowing in the light like it was itself aflame. With his large horns glamoured away, the russet glow was all that served to make him appear as otherworldly as he did. Swiss thought that the whole world around them could truly be on fire, and he would be happy to sit and burn if only to stare at Mountain for a second longer.

They continued rattling down the hill towards the village, and Swiss felt a pang of longing when he spotted Dew with his head leaning on Rain’s chest; held against his front by the water ghoul's long arms. He wished he could be so casually affectionate with mountain, but he dared not. He wouldn’t allow himself to dream that until he had first concluded the hard part – making sure they really were both on the same page. He didn’t deserve such a reward without the prior work, he thought.

All too soon they were slowing to a stop outside a wide stone building that was emitting a narrow stream of smoke from its chimney: the village tavern. The Siblings practically fell out of the cart, their instincts screaming at them to put some distance between themselves and the ghouls.

“Go, my Children, enjoy yourselves!” Copia laughed as they threw themselves towards the tavern door.

The ghouls were only slightly more restrained as they clambered down and spilled into the building. Cowbell made no move to follow the others inside, instead staying next to the pair of horses, stroking one's nose. Aether paused, looking back at them.

“You aren't coming in?” he asked, worried that the ghoul didn’t realise that they were welcome in too. Cowbell shook their head. They didn’t like crowds, especially human ones, as the noise and bustle were too much for their deeply ancient mind to handle. Despite that, the biggest thing stopping them now however was their appearance: Cowbell gestured to their feet, where Aether saw that their hooves were very much still visible.

“My glamour’s incomplete,” they shrugged, “’m out of practice. It’s been centuries since I last used it.”

One day, Aether thought, he would ask Cowbell just how old they really were. He suspected it was millennia.

“Go inside with the others,” Cowbell smiled a wonky smile, “I’ll be happier listening out here anyway. Besides, I have company.” They stroked the second horse. Reluctantly, Aether followed after the rest of the rabble he called pack, throwing a final look back at Cowbell. They were muttering something in the horse’s ear while continuing to pet them. It sounded to Aether like they were speaking Infernal, a language only spoken in the pit, or so he thought. The horse didn’t seem perturbed though, and she whinnied happily at the attention.

Inside the tavern, the atmosphere was jovial already. The large room was dimly lit, wood-panelled walls and supporting columns all stained dark with years of fire and tobacco smoke. Scattered across the panelling were a patchwork of lighter sections from recent and less-recent repairs. The only lighting came from lanterns that lined the walls and hung directly from the vaulted ceiling, as well as a small number of candles dotted on tables that lent a cosy and friendly air to the place.

Better lit however, was the makeshift stage against the wall. It was slightly raised, simply built from a few wooden planks resting on crates, but it did the job. On the other side was the bar, its countertop polished as smooth as glass from generations of patrons leaning on it. Along its length were a line of stools with faded fabric covers, and the remaining floor space was filled with a hodgepodge of tables and chairs, scattering in increasingly private settings ranging from the centre of the room to corners almost entirely shrouded in darkness.

Leaping lightly onto the stage, Copia looked resplendent in his robes, with his face painted black and white in the mimicry of a skull. Swiss thought he cut an imposing figure, when he wasn’t turning around to look at his ghouls with nerve-tinged excitement at least. The man stretched his arms out wide, the candlelight flickering off his bedazzled chasuble and truly making him look like the head of the dark church.

Before long, the tables began to fill up with locals, intrigued by the talk of visiting musicians from the mysterious Abbey up at the top of the hill. Rain, Dew and the other ghouls not performing settled themselves at the table nearest the stage, Dew looking particularly excited and practically bouncing in his seat beside Rain. Swiss didn’t know what had overtaken him recently, but he seemed so much lighter and carefree now. He assumed it was Rain. The bustling crowd completely filled the tavern as the four musicians took their places on stage. Swiss caught Mountain’s eye once he was settled on the box he used as percussion. He saw the twin green flashes of his eyes behind his mask wink at him, silently wishing him luck. Swiss beamed back at him, his teeth glinting in the firelight through the bottom of his mask. With a final tune of his guitar, and another smile at Sunny, Swiss nodded to Copia and the man addressed the crowd.

The ritual passed in a blur, and before Swiss knew it, they were leaving the stage to rapturous applause and cheers. As he stepped down onto the solid floor, Swiss had a large beer thrust into his hands by a grinning stranger. The jubilant atmosphere continued as the night wore on, the ghouls and their Papa swept up with the crowd, never finding their tankards dry. Even the ghouls who had not been performing seemed to be having fun, spending the local money Copia had given them to allow them to fit in and enjoy the night. The man himself was circling through the crowd, inviting anyone and everyone to the Abbey’s harvest festival the following night. His plan to spread their message was going better than any one of them could have imagined, and he had gained the interest of several curious village members.

The noise and ruckus were proving too much for Aether however, and after a while of watching Dew and Swiss race each other to down their pints, he grabbed a pair of tankards and slipped out the door. Another musician had taken the stage, an accordion player, and Aether found Cowbell tapping along to the beat on the frame and iron wheels of the cart with two sticks like it was a drum kit. Aether chuckled as he approached.

“Copia ought to make the band all wear floor-length robes, then you could join them!”

Cowbell looked slightly sheepish at being caught, but their forked tongue slipped out as they smiled anyway. They joined Aether where he perched on some crates and accepted one of the beers gratefully. Apart from the rhythmic sound of one foot and one hoof tapping on the ground, they sat in a comfortable silence; two friends enjoying each other’s quiet, unhurried company.

Back inside, Swiss could feel every drop of alcohol going to his head, and he thought Mountain must be feeling it too. The night was blurring together into a busy cacophony of singing, cheering and laughing. The one thing he could feel coherently was the constant, grounding pressure of Mountain’s hands on him. The earth ghoul had slunk across the tavern to join him, then barely let him go all evening, always keeping a hold of his waist or hip, or letting their shoulders press against each other. If their tails weren’t safely hidden away, Swiss had the feeling that they too would be braided together.

In his fuzzy mental state, he wasn’t entirely sure what could have brought such behaviour on. The almost possessive twinge to it, like Mountain was trying to ward the humans off, was making his him feel even more floaty than the alcohol. Running on a high from the successful performance, Swiss couldn’t find the mental energy to really care about why Mountain was suddenly glued to him, he only cared that he was. He saw Rain and Dew similarly pressed together, and his inebriated mind let him convince himself that they could be the same, if just for tonight.

Whoever was on stage currently seemed to know the audience well and was gradually convincing more and more of the tavern’s patrons to dance to the jig he played. The humans pressing close, swirling and stamping to the beat, swept the ghouls up in their fervour. Swiss soon found himself pressed closer to Mountain, dancing partners even without indenting to be, the pair clutching each other's arms for balance as they ebbed and flowed with the tide of the crowd.

As the dance ended, Swiss fell against Mountain’s chest. The earth ghoul held him close while they both caught their breath and laughed at the exhilaration. For a while, they held each other and swayed to a slow dance only they could hear. Hearts beating in sync, Swiss looked up at Mountain to see him already staring down at him. His peridot eyes were at the centre of his vision, the only thing Swiss could focus on. They seemed to grow and expand to fill his field of view, and Swiss only realised that this was because they were getting closer together when the twin points of light blurred out of focus.

Swiss’s eyes fluttered shut, and with his vision gone all his other senses heightened in response. He could feel Mountain’s breath against his face and could smell the sour note of beer in it, although he didn’t find that as off-putting as he supposed he should as he stretched up on his tiptoes to bring them closer still. Swiss felt rather than heard Mountain’s final sigh against him, before the soft yet insistent press of Mountain’s lips to his shook him like an earthquake. With all their prior hesitancy washed away by the free-flowing liquor, Swiss pressed back instinctually, throwing his arms around Mountain’s shoulders and holding on like his life depended on it.

Time meant nothing to the pair as they ignored the general ruckus of the crowd around them, and the chorus of whoops and cheers that Dew was leading. It was like all the background noise had faded away leaving only them stood in a world of their own. Before long, although it was really several hours at this point, Copia was desperately trying to shepherd his sleepy, tipsy ghouls and the Siblings into the cart to head back to the Abbey. They had a busy day tomorrow, he reminded them, as he had promised all the villagers that their little band would be performing at the harvest festival too.

Slowly, they all stumbled out into the brisk night where Aether and Cowbell were waiting, three sheets to the wind themselves. Swiss and Mountain had managed to make it over the threshold of the tavern without separating, but getting into the cart proved more difficult. Breathing their own air for the first time in a while, they unsteadily clambered into the trailer, cramming themselves into a corner to continue where they left off, despite the jeers from the ghouls around them.

“Even we're not that bad!” Swiss thought he heard Dew crow from somewhere behind him.

Eventually, they had made the short trip back up the hill and were all bumbling back into the Abbey, still drunk off free beer and good energy. Kiss broken, Swiss continued to hold Mountain's hand as he pulled them into the Den and their room. He kicked his boots off, uncaring where they landed as they tumbled into bed, still giggly and touchy but both too tired to do any more than that.

“Today was fun.” Swiss purred sleepily, as he wriggled in Mountain's arms. The earth ghoul was almost asleep already as he hummed in affirmation. Quickly, they fell into a deep, contented sleep. They could think about what the events of tonight meant for them in the morning.

To be continued...

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