Private Tales Never trust the shadows

[Fingal]

Fingal took the opportunity to roll away and push himself to his knees at the back of the wagon.

"Don't you move!" Fingal snapped at Anais. If she opened up those stitches her bleeding could be even worse than before.

He didn't want to kill Zachary, but he would tear out his throat before putting her life in any more danger.

The knife hissed through the air. Fingal was impressed that the boy had the fortitude to push himself back up to one knee after such a filthy move from the fae.

Even though Fingal had backed away from the swipe, he hissed in pain just for how close the iron had come to his skin. With a final glance towards Anais, he turned and jumped out of the wagon.

Zachary went stumbling after him. Fingal backed away, letting the wagon behind past him. He held his hands out to the side.

"Come on boy, don't do this, I don't want you to fight me," he said.

He could hear others coming now. Fingal didn't want Zachary to fight him, but he did want an excuse to teach the boy a lesson. After all the death and now her wounds, Fingal figured that killing one of her troupe would be the last straw that meant Anais would never let him do all manner of unspeakable to her. But mocking the whelp that challenged him was too much of a temptation.

 

[Anais]

She hoped Victor would get to Zachary before he did anything stupid. She tried to yell after him as he staggered out after Radagan, but her throat was dry and sore and there wasn't much sound at all let alone anything of conviction.

Outside, Zachary spit on the ground at Radagan's words, his blade still wavering at his side as he sized up his opponent. The wagons were stopping now, and Ana had managed to get to her feet and stagger into her doorway.

"What in hell is going on?" Polina asked as she stormed toward Zachary, but at the sight of Ana she pivoted and rushed up the steps to her instead. The woman tried to guide her back inside, but Ana's head shook and she grimaced at the sharp sting. Her head spun, and she realised then how much blood she had lost.

"I found him in there, his hands all over her." Zachary barked, his blade pointed toward the snowy-haired man.

"That's not true!" Ana called, weakly though loud enough that those now staring at either her or Radagan could hear.

"You were unconscious, Ana - I saw it. He was--"

"He was stitching my wound you brainless prick!"

Victor arrived looking suitably pissed off. "Zac - put the knife away and get back up front, right now.. Radagan, I think it's clear that your presence here is causing unrest amongst our people - we are less than a day's ride to the next town, we'll say our goodbyes there."

"No. He's done nothing wrong." she stepped forward but Polina's hand wrapped around her wrist before she could go stumbling off the top step. "Why should he leave - the only one responsible for Zac's dented pride is himself - He can fucking leave."

"Anais, that's enough." Victor warned, and Zachary let out a sound of pure venom as he rushed the man with a vicious slash of his blade.

 

[Fingal]

Fingal might have found the exchange amusing but for two things. Firstly, Anais was trying to get back to her feet. He hadn't finished the stitches yet and he had grown quite fond of the spirited mortal girl.

Secondly, someone was swinging a sharp piece of iron in his direction. That always put him in a foul mood.

"Anais damnit stay still!" he called out. "I'll go at the next town and..."

The idiot boy came at him, swinging the blade. He might have used magic, but being in edge, watched by so many and with iron being thrown around he didn't have the concentration.

Instead he turned away, but the lad had long arms and the blade cut through tunic and arm together.

The next sound was his elbow striking Zach's head. Then came the boy landing in a heap.

Finally, something Fingal was not proud of, kicking the lad when he was already down and out right in the gut.

 

[Anais]

"Zachary!" Victor bellowed. Ana's stomach lurched at the glint of the swinging blade, and she grimaced as the zealous idiot went once more to the ground. She didn't feel in the least bit sorry for him as Radagan kicked out at him, perhaps he just had to learn to stay down instead of making things worse for himself..

"Alright - that's enough." Victor thrust out a hand to signal Radagan to stop and he moved to drag the coughing and gagging boy to his feet. Whether it was rage, shame or more likely a bit of both, Victor shoved his son unceremoniously along the road toward his wagon and said nothing more.

Polina settled a hand on Ana's shoulder, but it slipped as the girl near tripped over her skirts as she stepped down onto the road to go to Radagan, her gaze sweeping over him. "Are you hurt?.." she asked, her brow furrowing as some still stood staring.

"You can all clear off now!" she barked, the attempt at raising her voice failing but it was clear it had been intended.

 

[Fingal]

There was a mix of emotions that rippled around the small crowd. There might have been more made of the situation, but everyone was keen to keep the train rolling onwards and away from the goblins hiding in the woods.

Fingal took a step forwards.

He was desperate to check on her wounds, but it was tempered by not wanting to become the subject of her ire. Her safety won out.

Anais still have the bone needle hanging down from her neck.

"Don't worry about me, we need to..."

He felt the cut of the blade now. The warmth of his own blood.

"Damnable iron," he hissed. He slapped his already bloody right hand over the wound on his left.

"Let's get you stitched up and them we'll look at my arm," he said firmly.

 

[Anais]

"I'm sorry. He's such a fucking idiot.." she rasped at him, feeling the uncomfortable tug of her stitches. Her gaze settled on his arm as his hand covered the wound he'd suffered, her jaw tightening. Zachary had planned on killing him, and had she not felt as much rage as she currently did, that might have frightened her. His temper had been an issue before but life was generally peaceful. She could understand why Victor had insisted that Radagan leave them at the next town, but Zachary was the problem and that wasn't the solution.

She nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, turning back to her wagon before it started to move. Polina sighed, looking over her half-stitched wound and offering an apologetic smile to Radagan as well.

"Get some rest my girl.." she said warmly, and turned to shuffle back to her own carriage.

Ana closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment before sitting on the edge of her bed. "You don't have to leave. Victor knows Zach caused that scene, Polina too, she'll tell Oliver as much. He won't get away with it.." she ensured hurriedly.

 

[Fingal]

Fingal liked to breeze through mortal problems, but this time he was a little visibly shaken. A sliver of iron had come far too close to cutting him deep.

He slid his hand from his arm and took a look. He was still bleeding, but it looked clean and shallow. Any time he was wounded with iron it took longer to heal.

"We can worry about that later," he said.

Fingal sat down beside her, on the side of her wound.

He took the needle, which had somehow remained on the end of the thread.

"I need to finish this and clean the wound. Do you have honey, or strong spirits?" he asked.

Fingal didn't waste any time in starting to tidy his work up. At this point he was trying to keep the wound from becoming an uneven scar.

"But thank you," he said, nodding slowly. "For coming to my help when no one else would."

 

[Anais]

"I may have burned whatever alcohol I had, there may be a little left in there." she pointed to a small crate in the corner of the small space. Her skin was still coated in her own dried blood, the majority of her golden braid now stained a dark pink. She was too tired to care much about washing right now..

She studied his face as he refocused himself on her wound, her brow furrowed with fatigue. "You're welcome.. Perhaps that makes us even.." she murmured, her lips twitching into a dry smirk. She knew they weren't even, though. He was far more capable of defending himself against Zach than she had been the night he'd come to her aid.

Her hand lifted and settled upon his bleeding wound with a sigh and her eyes closed as he worked. "I don't want you to leave."

 

[Fingal]

"We'll worry about that later," he said, offering a relaxed smile. The slight twinkle at the corner of his eyes was back.

He placed one hand over hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. For the amount of blood that had been spilled, it had spread far and now covered their hands.

"You need rest."

He went and checked the crate. Alcohol would have cleaned the wound and given them something to numb the pain. Being sober was better than being dead. There was enough honey to do the job.

"We'll get this on your cut to keep away infection. I'll wipe it down and we'll get you out of that dress. Get it covered and then I'll stitch this," he said, looking down at his cut.

He wouldn't normally bother. Under the light of the moon, such wounds would normally heal quickly. Not for iron.

Fingal went down on one knee before her, shifting her braid out of the way. Her cut was tied off, wiped down with a slightly damp cloth and then he used a clean knife to spread a small strip of honey over the cut.

 

[Anais]

She drew a deep breath and let her shoulders sag as she exhaled, returning a lazy smile of her own. He was right, though. Had Zachary not barged in as he did she'd likely have been dead to the world by now. Her eyes were growing heavier by the second, but she fought against the urge to close them just yet.

Her head tilted to give him a little more room as he knelt to clean the wound, her lips still curled in the same small, sleepy smile. She had no idea why he seemed to have taken to her, but she had taken to him too, perhaps a little too much, because she knew she'd miss him if he left.. When he left. The thought made her smile melt away and she squeezed gently at his hand once the wound had been covered in honey.

Leaning carefully, she snatched a clean shirt and leggings from a shelf, and started unbuttoning the bloody dress that she wore. "This is becoming a habit..." she laughed mirthlessly under her breath and glanced up at him. "Ruining clothes, I mean.. Not, me undressing.. Though I'm sure you saw enough at the lake." she half smirked.

 

[Fingal]

"I do have exceptional night vision," he admitted. Fingal turned to root around in her things for some spare fabric.

His smile was brief before he got on with the necessary task. The dress was soaked with blood. The scent of burnt iron was strong to him.

"You should drink water and sleep," he said firmly. The fabric he had found was torn and went once around her neck loosely and then once under her arm and pulled tight.

"That should keep it covered," he said kindly.

"Drink, sleep, I'll sort this," he said, looking down at the gash across his arm.

"How do you feel?"

 

[Anais]

She stripped to her undergarments, and when he was done wrapping her wound she gingerly pulled on the fresh clothes.. "I feel like my body weighs five times what it does.." she huffed under her breath, as lifting her limbs was an effort.

"I will drink and I will sleep, but let me help you first. You'll never get that wrapped properly on your own." she smiled weakly and took a gentle hold of his wrist to pull his arm toward her. "It might need a stitch or two.." she said quietly as she ran the cloth carefully over the wound.

"Gods he's such a prick. I'm sorry.." she frowned and shook her head.

 

[Fingal]

Fingal wondered if she was too tired to notice his wandering gaze. He collected works of art for his patron, usually nothing so bland as a recent painting. However, he knew well the different between getting to study such exquisite aesthetics up close and from a great distance.

"If your hand is steady enough," he said.

"I've met a great deal of stupid humans in my time," he said.

Fingal turned to the side, kneeling on the floor with his arm towards Anais.

"There was an old legend of a moon goddess who hid metal in rocks under the ground. I think my people who have preferred the dwarves not to have found it again. It is not a great secret that we do not get on well with iron."

 

[Anais]

She caught his gaze wandering one briefly, but could only think of how awful she must have looked and wish she'd looked better.

After steadying her hand enough, her brow furrowed with concentration as she pierced through his skin with a wince. "Sorry.." she murmured, hoping she hadn't hurt him. "This feels very different from sewing clothes.."

Ana's frown deepened at the legend he spoke of, at the mention of iron, but she didn't look up from her work as she carefully threaded his sliced skin back together with expert precision.

"I have heard stories of people with an affliction to iron.." she said finally, her tone calm despite the sudden flurry of anxiety, or possibly excitement, in her chest. "And in the stories they are beautiful, but they are monsters of sorts. Dangerous." she glanced up at him, and continued on with her last stitch.

She already knew he was dangerous, but he hadn't been to her, and she hoped it wasn't her own naivety and his charming ways that barred her from being afraid of him. "Are you one of the Fae?" she whispered.

 

[Fingal]

"Dangerous monsters? So we have old stories of the dangers of iron and you have old stories of the dangers of...me," he said with a grin full of teeth.

The skin around the wound felt like fire. It wasn't because of her steady hand, but his body's reaction to being cut by iron.

"My name is Fingal," he whispered. "Names have power, so I do not give mine away lightly. Do not speak it around the others. I give this just to you."

He glanced down at the wound, knowing that he would be looking at it for weeks and weeks. A wound like that would normally heal in days.

"Do I frighten you?" he asked softly.

 

[Anais]

Every story she had ever been told about Fae folk skipped through her mind, focusing on everything terrible. Her pulse quickened as she stared at him, everything clicking into place. She hadn’t ever met a fae, not that she’d known of, and they had been exactly that. Old stories. At least until now.

That he’d lied about his name only stung for a brief moment, the wound quickly soothed by his explanation that he found her somewhat special enough to be granted his real name.

“Fingal..” she repeated quietly, studying his face as though trying to decide whether that name suited him better. She decided it did.

His question caused her gaze to fall, and her hands to start working once more. “I think I should be frightened..” she answered as she carefully tied off the stitch and cut it away before reaching for the honey. Were fae even prone to infection?

“But, no. You don’t frighten me..” she answered quietly as she spread the nectar over the wound and reached for the cloth to bind it with.

”Would you rather I was afraid?”

 

[Fingal]

"Whilst you're in charge of stitching my arm neatly I would most definitely prefer for you to have a steady hand," Fingal mused.

"I am Cŵn Annwn," he explained. "Amongst the order of fae we are quite low down. Most of us join the hunt alongside greater Lords of our kind.

"I am...somewhat unique in being separate from the pack."

Fingal paused for a moment, glancing up at Anais. She had put herself in danger for him, standing up to her own community. If he had been interested in common things, he would have warmed Barbara's bed for a night and moved on from the caravan. He could trust her with a little more knowledge.

"I find rare things for my patron in the mortal world," he explained. "A lost story, an old poem, songs thought lost to time. Exquisite treasures in a world of plain and boring things."

 

[Anais]

She watched him with no small amount of wonder as she gently bound his arm and listened to the smooth timbre of his voice as he told her more. She had so many questions, each fighting to be asked first. What did Cŵn Annwn mean? What other kinds of fae were there if he were of the lowly sort? Were there really other worlds that mortals could not see?... Did they really steal children?.. She decided not to ask that one.

"Your.. Patron?" she asked instead.. Did that mean he belonged to someone? Of course, that was the most important question to ask. “So, you will need to leave?..”

 

[Fingal]

"One day," he said, "but they only expect me to come back every few decades or so."

He smiled, tilting his head to one side as he looked up at her. There was a little of his canine nature in the look.

She was a distinctly rare beauty among her kind. It was her inquisitive nature that had drawn his attention at first.

"I think the speed your people cross the land suits me quite well. Assuming..."

Fingal reached for her. Slowly, carefully, until he cupped her cheek. Her neck, her face, and his hand were all bloodied.

"...someone would like me to stay."

 

[Anais]

Every few decades….

It was a difficult thought to wrap her mind around. A few decades were all humans had, and he spoke of them like she might speak of days or weeks.. It was also difficult not to feel insignificant. By any right he should have disregarded humans the way a human might swat a mayfly from their shoulder. And yet he paid her attention. Not only attention, but he said he enjoyed her company, he’d protected her insignificant little life more than once already, and he absolutely fascinated her.

Her chest squeezed to near breathlessness as he cupped her cheek, at the way he smiled up at her, and at the words he spoke. She let the last little breath she’d held onto out in a quick huff and smiled back.

“Someone would very much like you to stay..” she answered quietly as she settled her hand over his and held it to her face.

 

[Fingal]

"I'm glad someone does," he said.

"But most of all, I'm glad that you want me to stay."

Fingal let his thumb trace over her cheekbone. If he hadn't been spending so much of his time with his thoughts wrapped around Anais, he certainly would have left by now.

The roads could be dangerous, but it took a particular brand of stupid human catching him off guard to do him harm. The natural order of the mortal world barely noticed his passing.

It was often the case that no one thought of him at all. He caught the eye, passed on through, but few stopped to really think about the white-haired traveller who swapped a few stories on his way past.

With Anais sat on the edge of her small bed and Fingal kneeling on the floor, he could draw himself up to eye level. Golden eyes studied her closely. Those eyes held more age and wisdom that the white of his hair. Someone could believe those eyes had been watching the world for hundreds of years.

"Then I think..." he leaned closer, feeling the warmth of her breath, drawing in the scent of her. Meadows and hay mixed with iron and rust from the dried blood. "...I will."

Hundreds of years compressed into an intensity of mere moments as he lingered inches from her lips.

 

[Anais]

She had heard plenty of those old stories he'd guessed at, about how Fae kind were tricksters that possessed unfathomable magic who were not to be trusted. His entire interest in her may have been some ploy, and her attraction to him some illusion that she was incapable of seeing through. All of those thoughts crossed through her mind as his thumb brushed over her cheek, but no thoughts cried louder than how beautiful his gaze was, and how she felt under it. It was heaven-spun, autumnal sunlight that warmed her through, and she loved to bathe in it.

A wave of inevitability swept over her as he leaned closer. It would mean trouble in some description and she absolutely did not care. She was already past resisting, and her mind had put their lips together several times already. His desire to seduce her was the most seductive thing about him, and there was little denying the flattery and excitement that fluttered around in her chest that she had garnered such attentions from a creature who belonged amongst the most beautiful.

"Good.." she whispered as she flashed a smile and slowly closed the gap of static air that lingered between them. Her lips parted and closed in gentle capture of his.

 

[Fingal]

There was a clear line of demarcation between what came before this moment and after it. He was still a hound, even without his pack. He enjoyed the chase just as much as catching his quarry. Many things had conspired to come between him and the chase, but here they were, at the end of exchanging knowing glances, defending one another and revealing truths.

They were both exhausted and in pain, but it was the sudden build and break of tension that put a slight tremble to the hand at her neck. He kissed her back without reservation, her lips drowning out a throaty, content murmur.

His whole body relaxed as Fingal turned his head to the side to deepen the kiss. Hesitance slowly changed into a driving rhythm as he kissed her deeply. His people lived long lives, but they were always ready to burn themselves out for their passions. His tongue began a gentle onslaught against the line of her lips, she opened them. Tongue delving into her mouth, his hands traveled along her upper back, a light press drawing her close.

Right now, she was his.

He broke the kiss, breathing hard and fast already. Forehead pressed to forehead, Fingal looked deep into her eyes. The slightest nod seemed to acknowledge the situation. Acknowledge his feelings and where they would take him.

 

[Anais]

She had lost too much blood for her heart to be racing like this. She was lightheaded in the most pleasant of ways as she melted into every touch and kiss, her fingers clutching at his clothes in the unbecoming desperation to have him near her that'd wrapped itself around her mind like fingers of ivy since the night she'd met him. Everything about him was enchanting and otherworldly, and she knew the ethereal sort of beauty he so charmingly wore hadn't been lost on the other women either. It was difficult not to feel a little smug.

Ana's eyes opened on his, her fingers combing into the back of his hair as she breathed as he did and her skin flushed. She swallowed as she too, acknowledged the situation with a nod, and that she was his willingly to take. That she wanted him, but..

"Not like this.." she frowned and let a shuddered breath tumble free. The weight of her exhaustion was bearing down on her, the throbbing pain in her neck reminding her that she'd been wounded, reminding her that she was a mess, the trundling of her carriage reminding her that she wasn't truly alone with him. She didn't want to be quiet and careful..

Her nose grazed at his and she breathed against his lips before pulling herself slowly back onto her bed, leaving what room she could for him. "Lay with me?"

 

[Fingal]

"Of course," he said quietly. As they parted the pain drew his attention back to his body. The few fleeting seconds had drawn him away for such tedious needs, the primal core of the cwn had woken up and pushed such things aside.

She would see it, just briefly, the predator behind his eyes that sometimes frightened those with an affinity to the natural order of the world.

The sight of her caught his breath to catch, but it also reminded him of the state she was in. The arrow had been an inch away from stealing her life.

Without a care for being caught, he would have shifted and torn those goblins apart in front of the caravan.

He crawled up into the space beside her. A piece of him thinking more of the sensation of approaching prey, rather than finding comfort.

Fingal had to lie on one side, keeping his wounded arm up. Blasted iron.

"You're going to need plenty of sleep," he said. "I can ease your pain, if you would like," he offered.

"With a spell," he clarified.