forthsofar | high on a hill there's a sweet bird calling

Entry tags:

darkness plot,
nick

high on a hill there's a sweet bird calling

When Rosie came to, her head still aching and the memory of Nick's lost and desperate shouts ringing in her ears, it had been within the hot, filthy confines of the kitchen dungeons, the other prisoners--including Charlie, frantic at his own capture and how Sabrina had suffered during it--caged around her. It had been terrifying; foul, small creatures traipsing in and out, tormenting them with blows and threats alike, the ceaseless heat of the oven. Some people had even been taken away and brought back again, shaken and shaking, while others never seemed to return at all.

That had been bad, but what followed was somehow worse.

Through magic or mischief or some dark and fell knowing, their captor had learned of her. Or perhaps just of her voice, pure and sweet and clean. Master wants you, pretty bird, the goblin had rasped, leering at her as it unlocked the door, as it and two others dragged her out with sharp-nailed hands tight on her wrists. Lucky little black-haired bird, freed from the pie. She'd fought and screamed and wound up beaten for her trouble, their swinging fists and heavy clubs landing everywhere but her face until they dragged her away sobbing to place her in the throne room in another cage, more opulent than the last. When she'd seen the figure sitting on the throne, she'd screamed again, loud and terrified. Then, after another blow and a booming command, begun to sing.

Rosie doesn't know how long it's been going on, how long she's been here, one performance bleeding into the next, small creatures passing by when her captor is gone to pinch and poke at her or tell her the vilest and most frightening things. Long enough that her voice is nearly broken. Long enough that she doesn't cry as much as she had before, when it was all new and frightening.

She's alone now, one of those rare moments, sitting slumped at the floor of the cage and just waiting. When she hears the sound of footsteps coming closer, she turns her head towards them, staring listlessly for a moment before she grips the bars of her cage and pulls herself up again, readying herself for another song or something worse.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nick Scratch has always been a wicked, sneaky creature at the best of times. A whispered charm makes him all but invisible unless someone looks straight at him; another makes it so that he can see in the dark. He sneaks. He slithers. He finds his way straight to her.

"Rosie," he breathes, sliding his hand through the bars so that he can brush his fingers against her arm. "It's me."

She flinches at the contact, and for a single, shameful, heartbreaking moment, Rosie assumes it's just another trick. Maybe they'd tired of simply beating her, or grown inspired by their drive to please their master and moved on to more exciting tortures. Something clever and sadistic, like sending in a goblin wearing the face of a friend, making her think she's saved just so they can watch what it does to her when she realizes the truth.

But he looks at her, and she at him, and if there's trickery there, she can't find it. "Nick?" she croaks, her voice rough and cracking even on the single syllable of his name. "It's really you?"

"It's me, Rosie," he says, his voice pitched low so that it doesn't carry, only for her. He keeps his hand on her arm, squeezing gently. "I promise." He doesn't know how much his promises are worth to a mortal girl, but they're all he's got.

It's so little, the touch of his hand and the whisper of his promise, but it's enough. "I'm so glad you're here," Rosie says, letting out a shaky breath.

Her vision swims, and she doesn't know whether it's from fatigue or from tears she didn't know she was still capable of crying.

In the dark, Nick watches a smile overspill and roll down her cheek. He reaches out and brushes it away with the tips of his fingers. "I can't get you out, Rosie. Not yet. But we're coming, okay? We're going to make it work."

"Why not? You're here, aren't you? You can..." She trails off, not even sure what to ask for, not even sure what he could do on his own that wouldn't end in both of them in a worse situation than they are now.

That brief, gentle brush of his fingers and the regret in his voice only makes her want to cry all the harder. To do so now in the way she needs, loud and miserable and pouring out all her pain and grief, would only attract the attention of whatever creatures might be passing by; she knows that. With effort, she swallows back a wail and her remaining protests, sniffing a little as she wipes her eyes and nods.

"Okay. I'll...I can hold on for a little longer."

"I'm right here," says Nick, keeping up the low, warm pitch of his voice, as close to her as he can get with the bars in the way. "And I'm going to stay for as long as I can. Sabrina's up there, making trouble and, when the time's right, we're going to fix this. I promise." He tries to study her face in the dark. "Did they...are you..." He clears his throat. "How bad is it?"

"She's good at that," Rosie says, and the thought of it is enough to make her smile, faint and brief though it is. "If--when--we get out of here, you should have her tell you about what happened with Mrs. Schlafly at school." It's ridiculous to be thinking of such things now, with far greater threats at hand than a teacher with odd and outdated ideas about clothing, but the memory of it is a distraction.

What she can't distract herself from, and shouldn't no matter how much she wants to, is the question he asks. "I'm...they're careful," she says, her voice hushed and reluctant. "Since I'm meant to be on display, I think. Nothing too unsightly, at least where you can see."

She aches, cramped from the cage and sore from the beatings; bruises fresh and fading blossoming along her back and legs and arms, all craftily hidden beneath her clothing. It's the most cunning, careful thing the creatures who'd taken her have done so far. Rosie despises them for it.

"When," echoes Nick, stroking his thumb gently against her arm, keeping up that gentle, soothing pressure. "And, yeah, that does sound like the kind of story I'd like to hear. He tugs her gently. They don't know each other that well, not yet, but the people he loves love her, and that's...that's more than a little of something. "Come here. Lean this way for a moment." He frowns. "I can't...heal it. Not really. But I can probably make it feel a bit better if it hurts."

They've had only a handful of conversations, from Rosie's laughing half-interrogation of him as they sat in the park on a brilliant summer day to their quieter, colder outing to the cafe that had ended in such terror for them both. On its own, it's hardly enough to inspire the kind of certainty that seems necessary for something like this. But it's not just that; she knows the deep, bolstering love Sabrina has for him, knows Charlie's quiet and steady faith in the security of what the three of them have shifted towards.

They trust him, they love him, and Rosie can't help feeling the same.

Nick pulls at her, and she follows, moving as close to him as she can with the bars in the way. "Please try," she says. "If you can, if it won't..." She only lets herself think briefly about how his magic had seemed to fail him back in the snow, the creatures surrounding them. This was different. It had to be. "Whatever you can do, it'll help. I trust you."

His magic hasn't felt like a thing he can trust since he got here and, when he'd needed it most, when Rosie was taken, it had been barely a flicker. Now, though, he settles behind her on his knees on the dank stone floor, both of his hands curled around her upper arms, his head bent so that his forehead rests against bars and her dark hair. His lips move silently, shaping an incantation that he remembers Amalia using when he was a cub prone to slipping out of trees and falling off of ledges. He imagines light spreading from his palms across Rosie's bruised skin, through her aching muscles. He pictures everything as light.

She'd seen magic done since her arrival in Darrow, but it had all been directed outward: the angry flash of red in Wanda's eyes, the first time they'd met; Nova's daggers of light disintegrating the gingerbread figures in the aftermath of the New Year's party; everything about Magnus' mad, wonderful parties. What Nick does now is different, close and singular and intimate, the hush of words she only faintly registers and a slow suffusion of warmth spreading from where his hands are pressed against her.

For a fleeting moment, she's reminded of the way she'd felt stepping through the doorway in Lytten's cellar for the first time, that odd but pleasant tingling feeling as she'd passed through the light and into another world. It's not the same, but it's close.

As he'd warned her, what he's able to do doesn't heal her, just eases things a little. Enough to make things ache less, make her throat not quite so raw, make it easier to breathe. It's so little, but it's enough. "Oh, that's very strange," she murmurs, a bit woozy in the aftermath of everything, smiling faintly and not knowing why. "Nice, but...goodness."

"You might feel a bit drunk for a while," says Nick, and, quietly, he thinks that that might be a good thing, right now. He stays close to her, though, his hands still on her, his head still leaned against her. "But it'll be okay. And I'll stay as long as I can. I'm not going anywhere while the three of you are in here."

"I do," she says, not entirely minding it after everything she'd been put through. "Just a little."

She lapses into silence, just sitting with Nick and breathing, the weight and warmth of his hands on her arms giving her a security that she knows she'll want to store up now so she can draw upon it once he's forced to leave again.

"Did you...have you found Charlie?" she asks, hopeful and afraid of the answer all at once. "Before they brought me up here, he was--we were together down below, with everybody else. I haven't seen him since."

He nods in the dark, knowing that she'll feel it with how he's leaned against her. "He's downstairs. Beat up, but okay. Better once I told him that Sabrina's okay. They hurt her when they took him." He draws in a shivering breath. "Rosie...I'm sorry."

It's not good news by any stretch, but neither is it a confirmation of what she'd most feared after they'd been parted, after all she'd overheard about pies and feasts from the goblins and others as they passed by her cage or caroused in the throne room. Once again, such a small thing means so much, easing her frantic heart a little more. "He told me," she says, remembering how she'd held him as he cried in the pitch-black of their cell. "They stabbed her, and...and took him."

Hearing the shudder of his breath behind her and the whisper of his apology, Rosie pulls away just enough to turn around and face him, her hands reaching through the bars for his. "Don't," she whispers, fierce and sorrowful and firm. "You tried. If it had been just me out there..." She sniffles. "Things would've turned out much worse."

"We fixed it," he says, staying close to her, even as she's reaching for him. "I just...wish that I could have done more, Rosie. I wish...I wish I'd been able to fight more."

"You're fighting now, or helping to," she insists. Her thumb finds the pulse point on one of his wrists, starts circling slowly, soothingly. If it's odd that she's now the one comforting him, their roles at least shared if not reversed, she doesn't think about it. "Charlie and I...we wouldn't be able to get out of here on our own."

Saying that feels like a betrayal of sorts, some concession to an inherent weakness that she'd ordinarily fight against. But it's true, proven by their time in the dungeons and the bruises mottling her body, and she lets any thoughts of protest pass.

"We need you. And Sabrina. Both of you."

"We'll figure it out," he says, gently, leaning into the comforting touch on his skin, mirroring it with his hands on her. "It's not like we haven't taken on worse before. And Sabrina, she's..." One eyebrow twitches slightly. "You haven't ever seen...what she's like. When she's furious. When she's pushed too far. She's like...nothing I've ever seen."

The first time they met, Rosie played her almost-obligatory role as one of Sabrina's closest friends, testing and questioning Nick, maintaining a slight facade of judgement as though she'd yet to make up her mind about him. In truth, it had barely taken five minutes. Love--and respect, and trust, all the things Rosie had hoped for so long someone might feel for her one day--had poured out of him then, the same way it does now.

All over again, she's so glad Sabrina's regained the boy she'd so feared was lost to her forever.

"I'll see it soon, I'm sure," she says, the corner of her mouth lifting in a faint half-smile. "All these...creatures, goblins, I don't even know what to call them, they won't know what to do when Sabrina comes for them."

"I wasn't there when she did it," he says, quietly, happy to spend these few minutes distracting her any way that he can. "But she killed two angels who were trying to wipe out the Church of Night. I have no idea how much power that takes..."

"She killed two angels?" Rosie repeats, looking wide-eyed at him as yet another part of her preconceptions about the world--and her friend--shifts to something far more incredible than she'd ever thought possible back home. "Goodness."

There's a noise then, the sound of a door shutting and the tread of feet along the corridor, moving closer. Rosie looks up, tense and watchful, waiting to see if they'll simply pass by.

"They were witch-hunters," says Nick. "And they'd killed some of our people. They would have killed all of us, if they had the chance. Sabrina stopped that from happening, but...it wasn't easy. She was hurt doing it." He still, sometimes, has dreams about the way she'd looked, crowned in thorns, pierced with arrows. Nick goes quiet at the noise, settling back into the shadows. The incantations he's managed to weave are simple, weak things, but they make him all but invisible if he doesn't want to be seen, as long as nobody's looking straight at him. He keeps his hand in Rosie's.

"I'm glad they didn't kill you," she says, and if it feels like a sacrilege, to cheer the death of angels, Rosie only spares it a passing thought. "I'm sorry they killed anyone, but I'm glad she stopped them."

There's a slowly brightening glow in the corridor as the footsteps get closer. One of the goblins passes into the throne room carrying a torch, and Rosie's hand tightens on Nick's. "His Lordship's coming back soon, birdie," it rasps, looking over at the cage, its vision sliding without pause over where Nick's crouching beside her. "You know what that means."

Rosie swallows hard and nods. "He'll want a song. I'll sing for him, I promise."

"Else what, pretty bird?"

She dares only the briefest glance down at Nick, drawing strength from the weight of his hand in hers. "Or I'll pay for it."

Nick's jaw tightens at the way the Goblin speaks to her, at the implied threat. He squeezes her hand back and stays as still as he can, barely breathing.

The goblin lets out a pleased, gravelly laugh at her answer. "Knew we'd tame you, birdie," it says, continuing to make its way around the room, setting out platters and goblets and re-lighting some of the wall sconces with the torch in its hand. "Took no time at all, did it? Sad little songbird, knows who her master is."

Rosie lets out the quietest of whimpers, then nods, tears pooling in her eyes but not spilling over yet. She can almost sense Nick's tension, the way it shifts the way his hand grips hers; she prays they'll be left alone before it snaps, or the goblin notices he's there.

It takes a blessedly short time after that for the goblin to finish its work, and with another grinning leer, it leaves the two of them alone once more. Rosie waits for a minute, trembling, making sure the creature's truly gone before she lets out a gasping sob. "They're so horrible, Nick," she says, the words coming out choked and stuttering as she cries. "The things they say...it's almost worse than when they'd just hit me."

Rosie all but collapses and Nick presses himself as close as he can, both arms wrapped around her, up against the bars to get closer to her. He presses a kiss into her dark curls.

"It's okay, Rosie," he says, softly. "You just have to be brave a little while longer." He remembers something that Sabrina said to him, when things were getting really bad. "Braver than you've ever been. Can you do that for me?"

His hand lets go of hers and the loss is so sudden and sharp, Rosie might have wept all the harder if she'd been capable of it, if there'd even been time before his arms are around her, solid and strong despite the bars between them. There's no magic in it this time, no murmured incantation in the accidental brush of his lips against her hair, but it eases something in her all the same.

"I will, Nick," she promises, her face almost pressed against the side of the cage as she moves as close as she can to him, letting herself just be held. "For you. And Sabrina, and Charlie, until we can all escape, whenever that is."

They get as close as they can. He cradles her close to him, ignoring the press of the bars between them, keeping her close to him, keeping her warm and close and safe.

"We'll get you out," he promises, meaning it with every fibre of himself. "We're not leaving you here."

Rosie doesn't say anything, just nods, relaxing as much as she dares into the circle of his arms, letting the slow, regular rise and fall of his breathing calm her own. If the goblin had been telling the truth, this moment will end soon enough; the throne room filling again with the terrible, horned lord of the castle and his fawning minions, increasing the danger that someone might detect Nick's presence and spoil the plans he and Sabrina have begun to lay out.

She won't let that happen, no matter how much--how desperately, even after knowing him only a short time--she wants to keep drawing comfort and strength from simply having him here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

high on a hill there's a sweet bird calling

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject