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Chapter Text

She was told before setting out that she should not, in fact, be setting out; though her bones had been technically healed all the muscles and skin attached to it were still heavily bruised and sore. But the vast forest beyond the village borders called to her; the arc of light of the rift shot into the sky beyond the trees, the castle’s silhouette loomed next to it, and the scent of the wild drove her crazy. She’d been on this farm too long, resting, healing and working to cover the expense of the food and place to lay her head.

The owner of the farm, a large boisterous cheerful man with a heavy accent and his giant herd of reindeer–among other animals–had thrown open his door the moment she limped up and asked for help. He and his smaller counterpart, a thin whipcrack of a woman with the stern look of a former soldier, had taken her in without a single fuss. They were the main source of food, fur and other resources for the village just down the road and as such were well-off enough to feed another, but she’d worked for them as soon as she could anyway in thanks for their help.

They’d cautioned her to continue to rest even after the village doctor had proclaimed her bones well and truly healed. In a fashion true to herself, she’d nodded sagely even as she planned her next-day escape.

The following morning she got up before dawn, finished the chores she normally did plus some, waved goodbye to the head stag Apollo, and slipped away before the owners had even gotten dressed. It was okay, she rationalized; she’d left a nice note and some of their money back to cover her expenses. Not all of it, of course. She had to buy enough food to make it to the next town.

And so she secured a few days’ worth of rations and silently walked into the forest, slipping away before anyone could wonder what the heck she was doing. The village was small enough that everyone would know in the span of ten minutes if she said anything. This way was easier, quicker. As a matter of fact, no one there even knew her real name.

Ignoring the twinge of guilt and the tightness of swollen muscle aching all up and down her shoulder and upper back, she swung her pack across the opposite side. Movement was good for a sore body and troubled mind, right? Right.

It was a cool, bright, sunny day, the light only broken by the swaying canopy of yellowing leaves above. The perfect kind of day to travel. Autumn had fully set in—it wasn’t so insufferably hot that she’d have to break in an hour’s time. With any luck she’d be able to both make it to the main city, find work and a place to stay for the winter. And then she’d figure out her next step…

She felt good enough to hum as she walked, punctuated every so often by a sharp intake of breath when she jostled her painful shoulder. There was no path or road that went in a straight line towards that distant castle, so she would make one—by cutting right through the dense wilds. That was okay though. She had an excellent sense of direction and enjoyed the challenge.

Even when it hurt. “Ow.” That little drop off a log was further than it seemed.

The scruffy woman maintained a steady pace throughout the day, eating sparingly along the way and pausing only when she needed to find a place to urinate. But night came swiftly in a forest, and soon she was slowly and painfully climbing a tree to nestle her tired body in a fork to sleep. The discomfort made it hard to properly rest. She made do.

Confusion woke her. There was no bed under her; no off-key singing outside to mark the farmer’s early rise to tend to his beloved herd. No scent of simmering honey and fruit for breakfast.

Stop that. It had been far too fast that she’d gotten used to the comforts of a home. Not allowed.

She heaved a sigh, her breath fogging the early morning air. “I am the biggest sap,” she informed the universe, the sound of her voice breaking the peaceful stillness and startling a bird into flight. Silence answered her. She expected nothing else.

Getting down was harder than climbing up. Her shoulder had stiffened overnight from disuse and creaked painfully as she dropped to the forest floor. She rubbed feeling back into her arm, which had gone cold and prickled with pins and needles, grimacing.

Fate had decided to intervene months ago when she’d stumbled upon the farm, injured and dehydrated. It had smiled upon her when it turned out the owners of said farm were good people who opened their arms to her plight. And, for both good and evil, on that quiet crisp morning, as the traveler started her day with some slow stretches, it decided to intervene again.

An ear-splitting scream sent the woman right back up the tree. The abrupt movement sent white-hot knives of pain all the way from her ribcage to her neck and down to her fingers, and they refused to close on the branch she was reaching for. With a yelp high-pitched enough to match the howl echoing through the trees she fell half a meter, only for the breath to be knocked out of her lungs as she hit the limb beneath her.

And then she lay there for a minute, gasping for air, spots exploding in front of her eyes.

Only after she had regained breath and the pain subsided did she wheeze, “Holy shit.”

Carefully, she lifted her head and shifted. The cries continued somewhere in the forest, the eerie, piercing wail punctuated only by a split second here and there as if the voice’s owner was taking a breath. The traveler listened for a moment, then carefully let herself down from the tree again. She rubbed feeling into her muscles once again and shook her arm out, frozen in indecision.

The wails died down. And then a minute later started again. It was a cry of agony, of soul-wrenching distress. The woman bent her head and grit her teeth against it, trying to convince herself it was just an animal’s howl–she’d heard mountain lions in heat before and knew that to follow strange sounds in the forest usually meant a messy death.

She took a deep breath. “And this,” she told the tree, “is how I get hurt all the time. Did you know that?” And then she hiked up her pack and set off towards the source of the noise. The change of course of one human would, unbeknownst to her, echo through time and also change the course of the ending of a story once set in stone.

But she couldn’t help it. She was curious.

The hair-raising sound stopped and started twice more as she swiftly moved over the uneven turf with the ease of long practice, pausing only to listen and better triangulate where the sound was coming from. And then the forest ended, the rush of flowing water met her ears, and she stepped into a clearing where a small river carved its way into rock and sand.

She’d seen enough reindeer to last her a lifetime, and for a moment thought that was what it was. Perhaps an escapee of her new friend back at the farm. They’d never made such high-pitched sounds though, not even when fighting over does. Maybe its throat was damaged? It was the basic size and shape of a reindeer, but the antlers were all wrong. Definitely bigger than a deer.

Maybe it was a wild caribou. They’d explained the difference to her a few months back. It stood on the opposite bank, staring wide-eyed into the water. Even from here she could see it trembling.

It took a few more steps into the water and turned its head to look upstream, and its silent observer took in a sharp breath. The thick band of hairlessness around its neck betrayed its origins. Someone had taken horrible care of this animal. Scratch that. Someone had abused it.

As she stood there, chest knotted in a cross of anger and compassion, the animal trudged further across the small river diagonally from her. It stared down into the water for a long moment, then shuddered, pulled its lips back and threw its head back to scream. This time she clapped her hands over her ears as the undulating wail pierced the air. This close, she could see the filthiness matting its fur, the patches of bare skin, the delicate boniness of its legs and the protruding ribs.

Very quietly and carefully she bent down and placed her backpack on the forest floor. The rushing water masked the sound of her rummaging through. Keeping an eye on the beast—it was now staring vacantly in middle space, sides heaving—she removed a small green apple, a chunk of cheese, some bread and a few other bits and pieces of food. All of these she placed quietly on the nearest rock. She dared not call attention to herself. If humans had tormented it like it seemed, it probably wouldn’t be too happy to see her.

That hypothesis was immediately proven when it decided to abruptly turn downstream, saw her, and froze.

“Oops,” she muttered. This was exactly how she always got hurt. “Uh,” she raised her voice a little to be heard over the water, striving to also keep it gentle, “hey there—”

It flattened its ears to its skull, lowered its head, and charged.

Out of everything the woman prided herself for, her reflexes for danger were at the top. The second its body language shifted she’d snatched her pack and was bolting for the safety of the trees, eyes darting to find one with low branches she could swing up into. It took her a second to realize the thundering sound of the four hundred-kilogram animal had vanished. She found a nice thick trunk to hide behind, swung around it and peeked out the other side.

The animal had stopped at the rock she’d placed the food on and was staring comically wide-eyed at it. And then it looked at her.

“That’s for you,” she called.

Its ears flicked. It lowered its head and sniffed the apple.

“Someone hurt you pretty bad, huh. I don’t blame you for hating me.”

The apple took two bites to vanish, and it moved on to the bread.

“Hopefully that helps you a little. I bet you’re not used to surviving on your own, are you?” She eyed the munching deer and smiled a little at the delicate bite it took out of the cheese. “I wish I could give you more. I gotta make it to the next town, y’know. But if you head straight north you’ll meet a village.”

It lifted its head and stared hard at her.

“What? There’s a dude there who has a herd of reindeer. He loves them. You’d fit right in.” Anyone else would probably doubt their sanity, talking to a deer out in the middle of the woods. But if it was one thing she’d learned at the farm, it was that a low calm voice helped new arrivals know you weren’t a threat.

She backed away, keeping an eye out for another change in body posture. “I’m really sorry someone hurt you, sweetheart. Us humans aren’t all bad, you know, I promise.” She waved, and when she’d made it far enough away turned and headed off, sealing her pack once more as she walked and reorienting her direction.

It hurt, leaving the poor animal like that. But what could she do? They were too far from any civilization—at least, far enough that there was no way she’d be able to lead it there. And it wasn’t as if she’d brought a halter with her. If only it knew what she was saying…

She took a deep breath and pushed it out of her mind. Giant sap.

The crunch of twigs far behind her didn’t trigger a flight response, but she definitely tuned in to be sure.

The crunching continued. And got louder.

She turned, tensing. The reindeer was following her.

It stopped when she stopped. It was far enough away still that she could escape up a tree if it charged, but still, it made her nervous.

“You’re not gonna gore me, are you?”

It didn’t answer. Typical.

“Okay, well, I’ll enjoy your company if you wanna follow. Just be nice, okay?” She turned her back nervously and continued her trek.

And it continued to follow.

It only took her a minute to realize why. Of course it was following. Humans were all it knew, and she’d fed it. Well… maybe, just maybe, if it kept it up all the way to the next town, she could find a stable and they’d let her rent a stall. It would be a lot of money, but she could probably nurse it back to health. After that… well, she’d get there if she got there.

They continued in silence. The reindeer trailed after her, keeping pace perhaps four or five meters behind. She chatted with him on and off. “You look terrible, you know that? Some dipshit hurt you real bad. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

To her surprise, it was still around come midday. She shared her lunch with it—that is to say, she ate a few bites of sausage with cheese and gave it a larger meal. It followed a little closer after that. Even only a few steps nearer she could see the sunken cheekbones, the odd look in its eyes. They locked with hers in an oddly forward stare for a prey animal. It sent a shiver down her spine.

When it became too dark to safely keep walking she turned once again to address it. “Well, I’m gonna stop here for the night. You’re welcome to stay.”

It was even closer now, and there was an intelligence behind those eyes she hadn’t seen before. She tried to push away the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. Its behavior was all wrong. It hadn’t done anything particularly perverse, but for some reason it reminded her more of a predator. Or… or of a person. There was a burning in those haunted eyes; an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Even so, it didn’t seem like said emotion was directed towards her in particular. It was a deeply confusing and unsettling predicament.

Well, it wasn’t as if she weren’t used to the feeling.

She put some food out for it again, then swung up into a tree to eat another couple bites of sausage and cheese, this time with bread, and thought while she chewed. She’d told the beast she couldn’t feed it again, but here she was, feeding it. At this rate she’d run out of food long before she got to the next town. They could find the road again and maybe hitch a ride; maybe the creature let her tie it to a cart so she could be sure it would stay.

…Nah. The poor thing was due some kindness extended to it, and would likely need the time to relax around her. Tying it up might remind it of the abuse it suffered and she wouldn’t be able to stop it if it ran from her. She’d just have to start foraging on the way. There were still plenty of things to eat growing in autumn. If the deer was still there when she woke up, she’d also start keeping an eye out for the road. It would be easier to get food off fellow travelers while they walked that way.

She capped off the day by pulling out her journal and using the light of a travel candle to meticulously chronicle what had happened that day. By the time she was finished night had truly fallen and the air was full of the sounds of nocturnal life. The woman got comfortable and settled back, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. The shifting of the large animal under her grew gradually quieter. She didn’t look to see if it stayed or left.

Right before she fell asleep, her mind clicked.

Hatred. The emotion behind those dark, expressive eyes was hatred.

~

It was gone when she woke.

She hopped down without reservation and began her stretches, massaging feeling back into her arm. Her shoulder was a bit sorer than the previous day, but that wasn’t surprising given what she’d put it through.

Her sadness that the deer had left surprised her. She’d really hoped it would stay. Well… perhaps it was for the best.

She ate an apple and put a meal out in case it came back to the area after she’d headed out. And off she went.

Not twenty minutes had gone by when the loud crashing betrayed the animal’s presence. It let out another one of its high-pitched bugles and barreled for her, its eyes wild and enraged, nostrils flaring. She yelped a “Whoop!” and scrambled around the trunk of a pine tree, barely avoiding being gored.

It skidded to a stop and whipped its head to look around at her. She darted around the trunk again. “This is the thanks I get? Real nice.”

Nothing except the ragged breathing met her ears. She peeked around to peer at it. It was only half a meter away at this point, so close she could have touched it. This close she could really see the terrible condition it was in, but her attention was soon dragged back to its face. It—he, actually, she could see that now—locked eyes with her, and this time, the emotion there was indeed directed at her.

She raised a brow right back at him. “What gives, huh? I thought you left!”

He pawed savagely at the ground and opened his mouth as if to answer. Instead, he groaned, a low guttural sound completely unlike the high-pitched shriek from earlier. “Well, I’m sorry,” she replied, as if he had indeed scolded her for her transgression. “How the hell was I supposed to know you didn’t leave for good?”

He flattened his ears. She folded her arms and stared him down, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It really was as if he could understand her. He blinked and tilted his head at the gesture, body language going from aggressive to confused in the span of a second. She began to cautiously edge around the trunk. “Well, I won’t make that mistake again, okay? Just… stop that.”

His eyes tracked her intensely as she inched by him, head lowered, brow furrowed. After a moment he let out a deep sigh and relaxed, and when she began on her trek once more he followed, this time level with her shoulder. On a whim she held out her apple core. He snatched it without thought, rough lips scratching her palm.

“You’re not a reindeer at all,” she told him conversationally, as if he hadn’t just tried to kill her. “Your head’s all wrong. You’re not a white-tail, either. Elk?”

His head raised and he refocused his eyes on her.

“And elk, then. Sorry about that. I just spent a season on a reindeer farm.”

He snorted.

“I don’t blame you for hating me, you know. You probably have a shit view on humans. That’s understandable. I’d like to kick the balls of whoever put you in this state.” She began to gesture at him, then thought better of it.

They fell into a companionable silence as they walked. The elk wandered from her a few times, but never far, and usually to just get a drink of water or, oddly, inspect a flower or a particularly interesting bug. She began to wonder if his ordeal had severely damaged his mind. It would explain the strange behavior. Who would try to chain up an elk like that anyway? Reindeer were the only type of domesticated deer. Had her new companion been in some sort of horrible zoo? What was with the collar imprint, then?

They learned how to exist around each other in the days that came. She determined he expected her to hang around in the morning if he’d disappeared; he’d invariably reappear so they could eat breakfast together. It was kind of nice to share her traveling days with someone, even if that someone was an abused, mentally broken wild animal.

And even that was suspect. There was something different about this creature. She was no animal expert other than to know when she was in danger, but she was an expert in Things That Should Not Be, and this animal… was off. He responded as if he understood every word, and when she cracked a stupid joke he gave her a look of such deadpan disgust that she burst into giggles. When she looked back up she could have sworn the corner of his mouth was curving upwards.

Despite his growing relaxation around her, she still couldn’t trust him. That off-ness made him dangerous. He clearly suffered from some sort of post-traumatic disorder. Whatever he had gone through affected him deeply and even the slightest thing could set him on a path of blank-eyed fury. Sometimes just looking at her would set him to freeze, vibrating in barely-concealed hatred and fear before he exploded and screamed in a raw emotion she hadn’t heard in a long time. The first time he did it her body’s ability to move without thought saved her from flailing hooves and horns. She learned to keep an eye on him at all times.

“If you hate me so much,” she asked him once from the safety of thick underbrush, “why are you following me? I mean, I told you I don’t blame you, but jeez dude.”

He stared at her, and the rage slowly died.

She waited until she deemed it was safe and approached him. He was shaking again, but this time it was exhaustion. His eyes were full of a deep longing. They gazed at each other for a minute as she tried to decipher his inhuman expression. Then, he dropped to his knees and bent his head. His antlers scraped the forest floor.

“Oh, honey.” The wave of compassion was enough to push aside trepidation. She knelt down in front of him. “I’m so sorry.”

The elk leaned forward, just a little, and that small gesture betrayed his desperation and pain. She held out her hands. He pressed his face into them, ragged breaths hot against her forearms. A low, broken groan escaped his throat and her chest twisted as she began to gently massage the rough, patchy hairs of his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she repeated softly, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this. I know you’re hurting. I’m sorry.”

He took a deep shuddering breath. She wanted to lean down to kiss that nose of his, but was wary of appearing as if she was trying to headbutt.

They stayed that way for a while. Every soft word she spoke relaxed him just a little, each time she shifted weight to get more comfortable brought her closer, and eventually she sat cross legged with his head on her lap. It didn’t matter that only minutes before he’d lashed out with the intent of maiming or killing her.

“We can stay here today,” she informed him quietly, smoothing the thick ruff of his neck. Her fingers dipped into that raw patch of skin around his neck. “No traveling. Okay?”

His eyes closed. She removed her backpack carefully, slowly, so as to not startle him again. One hand rummaged through while the other rubbed his ears.

She had a first aid kit in her bag, of course, and used the salve she found to slather into the crusty skin of his neck. He sighed deeply again, leaning into her touch. She hummed as she worked, and he seemed to take solace in the vibration of her chest, tilting his head to press one ear against it.

Eventually the ice of evening air graced her skin with goosebumps. He felt her shivering and raised his head a little, careful of his antlers under her chin. One toss of his head would decapitate her completely.

“I’ll sleep down here tonight,” she told him. “But you can’t trample or gore me, deal?”

One dark eye gazed quietly up at her. He blinked slowly, and deigned to look incredulous.

Man, she really needed to get around sapient people again. There she was, assigning complex emotion to animal expression. “Okay, let me get some food out.”

That got his attention. He rolled back onto his other haunch to free her and she pulled out the last apple, some sausage, and the last couple rolls. “This is the last of the fresh food. The rest is dried stuff. We’ll have to start foraging on the way tomorrow until we can reach town.”

They ate in silence. The woman’s legs were all but numb and her injured shoulder cramped, so she stretched before bed. The elk, meanwhile, hadn’t moved, seemingly content to lie on the ground and watch her. He was so relaxed that she boldly crawled into the space between his front and back legs, leaned into his warm bulk, and got comfortable.

He stiffened. “Chill,” she told him, and put her head down, trying to remain as relaxed as possible. After a moment of tense deliberation she felt his muscles loosen and he slowly lowered his head again, crossing over in front of her and resting his chin on her hip. Only then did she close her eyes.

A swell of accomplishment raised her spirits. She’d gained his trust, for better or for worse.

It would take a long time for her to realize just what that meant.

~

With their newfound friendship settled, the air of wariness all but dissipated and they could travel with far greater ease than before. She kept an eye on him all the same—his trauma meant he was still at risk for violent episodes—but he seemed to have decided she wasn’t at fault for whatever pain he was going through. Instead of targeting her he would lash out at the branches and trunks around them, slamming his head and roaring to the skies until he collapsed. And then she would comfort him until he pressed his face into her hands and his shaking subsided and they could continue.

She picked chicken of the woods and rosehips and found a bush of blackberries. He studied her every move and followed her lead, sometimes even disappearing and reappearing with the fungus or to bring her to a possible food source. They found a wild apple tree and she built a fire, using honey and sloe berries to make an absolutely delicious concoction. He was even able to sniff out hazelnuts. With every day that passed he seemed more lively, eyes sparkling, sometimes trotting ahead or staying behind to explore. His separation anxiety was still there though, and if she’d walked too far for too long he’d appear in a semi-panic looking for her. And then demanded snuggles, which she always gladly gave.

She led him into a stream and boldly washed his neck, scrubbing away old blood and dead skin that was left behind by whatever yolk he’d been forced to wear. He’d been itching at it and it was clear that being out in the elements was causing some irritation. “I’d give you a brushing, but I lost my brush a while ago,” she informed him truthfully, and washed her own hair while she was at it. He dipped his head as if shrugging.

He even learned to ask her for help. At one point he limped up to her and raised his hoof, looking at her expectantly. She obliged and dug out the stone that was wedged far between his toes.

They walked, for the most part, in silence. The woman decided she no longer needed to keep up a steady stream of talk to get him used to her presence or remind him that she was still there. He didn’t seem to mind.

The feeling that something was terribly wrong, however, didn’t go away. She didn’t know what it was. The darkness in his eyes didn’t disappear even when he seemed to be smiling at her. She caught him staring in a particular direction more than once, and the cold hard look on his face began to convince her she wasn’t making things up—he did have expressions.

And she wasn’t entirely safe. She woke up on the forest floor once to warm breath on her skin. Barely suppressing her flight response, she very carefully cracked an eye until she could see the glint of antlers in the moonlight. He was standing over her, staring unblinkingly at her prone form. Carefully, he lifted a hoof, dangling it above her chest. Her heart stopped.

Lowering the hoof, he caught the hem of her collar and gently tugged it down just slightly to uncover her collarbones. He tilted his head very slowly.

She felt the heat come to her face and made a show of shifting in her “sleep,” stretching. He stepped back a few paces. Opening her eyes, she blinked blearily at him and muttered, “What’s up man?”

He huffed out a breath and settled down next to her again, the heavy weight of his bulk leaning against her side. She snuggled against his back and remained awake the rest of the night.

What the fuck?

She resisted the urge to start sleeping in trees again. He’d know something was up. And she was now convinced there was something far more than just an animal behind those eyes.

She learned just how right she was a few days after they found the road. The wanderer had picked up pace, seeing as they’d run out of the dried food and were now relying solely on foraging–she couldn’t hope to feed a full-grown bull elk the amount he needed. And it didn’t seem like he was interested in grazing like a normal animal.

The road became busier the closer they got to town. The elk made a habit of disappearing every time the sound of a cart or carriage approached. This enabled her to avoid awkward questions and she could even barter food off a couple of people who weren’t in a hurry.

“Hey look what I managed to get,” she called once the sound of clattering wheels and hooves faded in the distance. Her companion galloped eagerly out of the brush, eyes bright, and she showed him the container of coleslaw, her travel mug now full of coffee, and two large folded pies. “Here, let me eat a bit and you can have the rest. You must be way hungrier than me.” She inhaled a small amount of the coleslaw while he munched on a pie, then handed him the rest while she ate half the second.

She gave him the second half and sipped the coffee while they walked. “Hey now, I don’t think you need coffee,” she laughed when he tried to shove his face at it. He growled at her and stomped a hoof. “Stop that!”

He knocked her clear over in his eagerness, but there was little malice in the pseudo-attack. She barely managed to close the thermos before going down, laughing. “Hey—hey! Ow!”

Clearly, he was in a good mood, and hopped over her rolling body. She tried to hide the mug from him as he dug at her arms to find it. They tussled for a few minutes until her arm began to cramp in earnest and she begged him to stop. “Okay—okay you win, ow, let me up!”

He made a weird chuckling noise at her and lowered his head to offer his antlers. She grabbed one and he hauled her to her feet where she stood, panting and rubbing her shoulder. “Fine,” she groused, unscrewing the cap. “You’re lucky I like you.”

His eyes said You’re lucky I like you. She wrinkled her nose at him and poured some into the cap for him to drink. “Pain in the ass,” she informed him. His eyes crinkled. She smiled back.

Three hours and just over sixteen kilometers later, they topped a rise and stared down at the rolling hills beyond. The wall of a town stretched out before them, lit by the sun’s reflection off roofs and cobblestone. They stood in silence, gazing down at civilization until the woman rested a hand on the elk’s shoulder. “Shall we?”

He didn’t move. She began to walk down the hill. And then behind her a voice spoke out.

“Wait.”

Chapter Text

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Please.”

What.

“I can’t,” the voice was deep and raw, unused to speech. “I can’t go with you.”

What.

The weary traveler turned around to face her companion. His expression was sunken and haunted. His breathing was ragged, clearly unsure how she would react. After a moment of stunned silence he spoke again, and she watched his mouth carefully. Was this some sort of—nope, no, the elk was talking. “Don’t leave.”

She cleared her own throat. “Huh.”

His breath caught. She removed the strap of her backpack from her sore shoulder. “Okay then,” she continued blandly. “Well, I… you know what, I can’t say I’m surprised?”

His sides heaved in a shaky gasp—the breath he’d been holding. He pulled in another, shuddering, afraid, and stepped warily towards her. “You’re not… I’m… please don’t be scared,” he begged.

“I’m not.” She studied him a moment, then dropped her bag and held her arms out. He stumbled towards her, desperate, and nearly knocked her over again. The force of his impact sent pain shooting through her shoulder and she grimaced, but didn’t retreat. He didn’t seem to notice and shook in her arms, heaving ragged gasps, knees buckling until they were on the ground, and she realized he was sobbing in a way only a person could, except no tears fell from his eyes. They lay there as she held on and stroked his ears and hummed a soft lullaby to calm him.

“Why would I be afraid of talking,” she added after his shaking began to subside, “when you straight-up tried to kill me when we met?”

He laughed gutturally. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t think a human could be kind, anymore.”

“Well, that tracks.” She rubbed a hand over his eyes and he closed them. “I kinda figured.”

“You really aren’t upset? Or surprised?”

“To be honest, I’ve seen weirder things.” She favored him with a lopsided grin. She felt a little relieved; she was taking this better than she should have. “And you’re not the first person to try and kill me. ‘Sides, I thought you were a wild animal.”

“Oh.” He leaned the side of his face against her chest, his antlers curving over her head. She cupped his cheek in one hand and wrapped the other arm around his neck. “Are… I suppose you’ve been to Centaurworld, then, if you’ve seen… weirder things.”

“Once or twice,” she replied, carefully.

“That’s where I’m from, you know, I used to be a centaur—and I—I m-messed with something I shouldn’t have and split myself,” he was babbling now, pent-up words spilling from his throat, “and my other half broke his promise and put me in the dungeons and kept me there for years, for ten years, and he lived the life I was promised with the Princess—I did it for her, all for her, I wanted the man, not the beast—”

She let him ramble on; he needed to break his silence about this, clearly. The picture he painted was a tragedy in the making. Of a lovelorn soul who hated himself so much he ripped himself in two, who tore asunder his own body and mind to live among humans. Of the cruelty he showed his own self and the deep loathing he felt towards his new body. Of a man trapped in the shell of an elk, unable to exist in either world, of the abyss of contempt he was drowning in. Of the madness that tore at his mind and the darkness eating him from the inside. He told her everything, and it came easier with each word; now she knew the reason behind his sudden bouts of rage and violence. For a minute she wondered how much of it was true and how much of it was his broken mind trying to make sense of things, but banished the thought. He was a talking elk, why would anything he said be untrue?

“No wonder you were so scared,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he choked out. “You didn’t deserve to—I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you of all people deserve kindness.” She disappeared her fingers into the thick fur of his neck. “Especially after this.”

He turned his head suddenly, tensing. “We’re still on the road,” he said, and now that he mentioned it she could hear the rattle of a cart coming up the hill. She didn’t know what the problem with that was but followed as he scrambled to his feet and bounded into the woods. Now that their moment was interrupted, she could feel her stomach begin to grumble again. She’d basically been slowly starving herself throughout their journey trying to feed her companion, and now that they were so close to the town she really wanted a nice big meal.

“Why so freaked?” she asked, sitting on a log. “I get being scared of people, but it’s not likely anyone’s gonna give you a second glance.”

The look he flung her was of weary disgust. “All it takes is one person saying there was a deer acting strange, and the General’s men will come running.”

She raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, I get it. The General? You mean of the royal army?” She’d heard of him. The most trusted of soldiers to the King, married to the Princess. Someday to become king himself. He was a ruthless veteran of battle, and had brought countless provinces into the kingdom’s rule. He had also apparently brought peace and prosperity on the heels of each triumph, such that even the conquered counties couldn’t lament about their newfound forced allegiance. No matter what side he was on, he was respected.

“The one and only,” the elk replied mournfully.

“Damn. Okay,” she repeated. “So we’ll be quiet about it.”

He raised his eyes from where he’d been staring at the ground. “You’d defy the General?” He tilted his head. “For me?”

“Did you lie to me about what he did to you?”

“What? No!”

“Then yes.”

He stared at her, confused; hopeful; nervous. “O-Oh. I… thank you.” He hesitated. “...I never thought about where you were going,” he added finally. “I just sort of… I didn’t know what else to do when I followed you. Where are you going?”

“Well,” she flexed her arm, crossing it in front of her to stretch the muscles on her back. “Like I said before, I spent a season on a reindeer farm way up north. I didn’t wanna be snowed in there come winter, so I figured I’d better head back south. I was gonna hit up the main city and spend the winter there, you know, find some work or something and figure out my next move. But if you don’t wanna go there then… I guess we better stay here for a while.”

Again with the staring. It was as if he couldn’t believe she was just…okay with this. Understandable. “You’ll stay with me?”

The hopefulness made her heart melt. “Of course I will. You need help.”

“Oh—” and he stepped forward, lowering his head towards her; she obliged in massaging his ears and scratching between his antlers. “Th-Thank you. I can’t be alone again.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “After… the cell… I thought—everything was just so much… ”

“I understand,” she said gently.

“Do you?”

“You didn’t think you could enjoy someone’s presence ever again. Especially a human’s.”

He let out that breath. “Everything is just so much,” he repeated. She was thrown back suddenly to the first time she’d seen him. His wide-eyed stare at the water, taking steps incredulously in a world he’d only imagined for years, and perhaps forgotten entirely. The howls of pain for what he’d missed and the way he’d stop and lose himself in his surroundings. The desperation when he thought he was alone again the first time she’d walked off without him. No wonder he panicked. No wonder he would wander off sometimes, hollow with confusion, as if he just didn’t believe that this all wasn’t just a hallucination.

Resolve formed in the pit of her stomach. This poor thing needed help. He needed help, and literally no one could or would help him. He’d been tortured, broken, belonged to neither the world he was born nor the world he’d joined. He hated himself so much he’d tried to get rid of an entire half of his soul. And he’d disguised that horrible decision under the guise of love for another. Well, she’d help him. And, who knew? Maybe eventually if and when he got better, they could figure out a real resolution for his current problem. She was such a sap.

“I never asked your name,” she said.

He was silent for a minute. “I don’t have one,” he said finally, “I guess. I mean,” he raised his head again. “Whoever the elk…taur was before. Me. Whoever I was before, it doesn’t matter. That person doesn’t exist right now. I know the General took another name.” The venom in his voice ended the sentence with a hiss. “So… I guess… you can just call me Elk.”

For a moment she thought about arguing. It wasn’t very personable to call him by merely an animal descriptor, especially since his other half had long since moved on. It felt like he was using that word out of spite to himself. But she stopped herself before she could speak. It wasn’t her place to force a name on him when he clearly didn’t want it. Instead she said, “Okay.”

He studied her for a moment. When she didn’t reciprocate he prompted, “What should I call you?”

She hesitated. Then smiled. “I guess you can just call me Vagabond.”

“Vagabond.” He blinked his large dark eyes at her.

“Well, that’s what I am.” She stood. “And you know what, I’m hungry as fuck and so are you. So let’s go get something to eat. Like, gorge ourselves.”

That got him moving. He bounded ahead of her. Now that evening was settling over the land he was bolder in trotting towards the road. “Oh, yes, can we—can we get cake? And—ohh, let’s get pasta. A really big bowl of pasta with white sauce and clams and sundried tomatoes.”

She giggled and followed. “And more coffee? Because you drank mine?”

“The nerve,” he shot back. “I had two sips!”

“And all the coleslaw, and half my pie—”

“You gave it to me!”

“And, if you’ll remember, I went hungry trying to feed you the whole time we were hiking and I had to teach you how to forage!”

“That’s not my fault,” he huffed. She laughed. They crested the hill once more and at the sight of the now-darkened town, now lit from within by candles and fire instead of outside by the sun, he froze again. Vagabond drew up next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon. The wall isn’t very high, you can jump it.”

“What do you suggest we do though?”

“I’m gonna find a room at an inn close to the border. I’ll let you in through the window and you can relax a bit while I go get food. We can at least enjoy a meal by a fire and not out in the cold.”

“Ohh.” He savored that thought. It had been a long time, she remembered, then realized something important.

“You’ll be okay in a small room by yourself for a bit?”

He blinked at her. “Why?”

“You said you were locked in a cell for ten years,” she reminded gently.

Elk’s mouth opened, then closed. His earlier eagerness dissipated, leaving a silent, dark pain. “I… I see what you mean.” He turned his head away slightly, refusing to look her in the eye. “You’re right. I should stay outside.” The bitterness spoke for him. Like an animal, he meant.

She sighed. “No, dude. Maybe I’ll get a room and food first, and then you come in. So you’re not alone.”

He still didn’t look at her. “Okay.”

She studied him a moment, then stepped closer. “Hey. C’mon. Don’t close yourself off now.” He flicked an ear at her; lifted his head. She gave him an encouraging smile. “Come on. You’re gonna have to get a little closer if you wanna see where I go.”

He followed her to the hill before the gate, then vanished more quietly than she ever thought an animal that size even could. The guards were easy to take care of; they were really just there to make sure people really were bringing and taking what they said they were. Out here, there wasn’t much crime, and all she needed to do was state her (fake) name, reason for visiting and how long she planned on staying.

“Not sure,” Vagabond told them truthfully. “I’m pretty sure right now I’ll be staying past winter, but that depends. How’s the job situation?”

“Not bad, since winter’s coming,” she was told. “Most couples try to plan pregnancies during the winter so you might be able to pick up a temp job while they need the help.”

“I heard the jeweler's assistant broke his hand,” the other offered. “Near the center of town. He’s gettin’ up there in age and he might need some help while his assistant recovers.”

“Nice,” she nodded to the two of them. “Thanks. Can you also give me a recommendation for an inn?”

She followed their suggestion down the path along the wall. Just beyond, she could just pick up the eye shine of Elk just beyond the border, keeping close pace with her. She waved and he hesitantly lifted a front leg to wave back. It was both weird and cute enough to make her grin.

The tavern was not far from the entrance of the town; by design, of course. It wouldn’t do if newcomers had to walk too far when they were done traveling. It fortunately wasn’t too expensive, either, and she was able to finagle a room on the backside of the building facing the forest. Room secured, she poked her head out of the window to signal to Elk, then headed back out to get some food.

Entering the room again nearly gave her a heart attack. Elk waited eerily on the other side of the half-open shutters, his broken image flickering in the firelight the innkeepers had been nice enough to start for her. “Jeez,” she muttered, and threw open the window. There was no glass—that was for more well-off families—so he was able to clamber right in with some help, nostrils flaring at the delicious smells within.

“Ohh,” he breathed. “That smells so good.”

“I found cake,” she replied, amused. He perked up even more. “And pasta.”

“With white sauce? And clams?”

She giggled. “We’re a little far from the ocean, so no clams.” His carriage drooped. “But it does have sausage and sundried tomatoes.”

“I won’t complain about that,” he replied happily. Vagabond laughed again and began dishing out their treasure. Her own stomach was screaming loudly in protest at it being so damn long, and he was always hungry, so they quickly fell silent and just dug in. Elk seemed determined to use utensils, pincering them between his toes and carefully maneuvering forkfuls of pasta, salad and yams into his mouth with loud slurps. She decided to pretend not to notice his struggles. Calling attention to them would only make him feel worse, she figured. He’d ask for help if he needed it.

Frankly, his manners were atrocious, but that was understandable. He had been locked up for a very long time.

“You’re not going to have any?” he asked when she pushed an overly large piece of carrot cake towards him.

“Not a big sweets person,” she shrugged. “That pie was enough.” He didn’t need any further encouragement. Vagabond sat back and pulled out the variety of separate coin pouches to count what they had left. She’d bought a lot of food to satisfy him, and they still had to figure out breakfast. And tomorrow’s lunch. And dinner.

Well, she still had quite a bit saved. It would last them longer than she’d originally thought. Even so, she needed to find work. Taking care of another person was hard. With a sigh she began to pick up their dinner mess, though Elk insisted on licking each plate completely clean before he allowed her to take it away.

It was the first time he looked completely content. His stomach bulged and he settled back on his haunches with a satisfied sigh.

“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” she teased. He laughed. It was nice to hear him so happy. She could practically feel the weight on his shoulders having dissipated once she accepted him.

“Careful,” he bantered back, “or I’ll eat you.”

Despite herself, a chill went up her spine. Vagabond faltered a moment, a thousand responses rushing to her head. “Kinky,” she replied instead, deadpan. He sputtered and she grinned. “Hey, I didn’t know deer could blush!”

He threw a napkin at her. He really was getting very dexterous with those feet of his. She stuck her tongue out at him.

They looked at the bed. It was a standard cot, and nowhere big enough for him. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offered. “I’m used to it. This is downright luxurious for me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That just doesn’t feel right.”

“Well, I’ll break the bed.”

She got up, wiped off her hands and began pulling at the corner of the mattress. He stared at her, incredulous, then clued in and helped her drag it to the floor. “There,” she panted, rubbing her shoulder, “now we can both sleep on the bed.”

He stared at her with an unreadable expression, head tilted. The fire sent his silhouette against the opposite wall, making him seem far larger and more intimidating than he really was—which was saying something. It rolled and distorted as he leaned forward, and she was suddenly struck with a strange feeling of dread and vertigo.

“Hey—are you okay?” Elk stepped closer as she sat hard on the mattress they’d just put down.

“I’m… yeah, I’m fine. I think the day just caught up to me.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. He snorted agreement, then clambered into bed himself and circled a few times before lying down. Vagabond crawled up to snuggle against his side.

“You’re sure?” he asked quietly, folding his neck back to rest his head on her as per usual.

“I’m sure. Promise.” She took out her water skin and sipped at it. “I get headaches, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh. Okay.” They settled in. Vagabond let her mind wander as her body slowed down for rest. Her head was beginning to hurt in earnest now; hopefully a good night’s sleep would clear that up. Tomorrow she needed to catch up on journaling and go find a job. And visit a bathhouse. Man, she stunk. She envied Elk’s natural musk. It was deep and earthy and smelled of freedom and soil. One of the things she liked about centaurs. They were so carefree and didn’t really care about silly human things like social constraints. It was too bad going there gave her migraines, she really would love to stay for longer—

“Vagabond?”

His voice rumbled in his chest. She turned her head from where she’d buried her face in his ruff. “Mhm?”

“Thank you.”

“Welcome,” she mumbled, not sure why but polite all the same.

He raised his head a little to put his chin on her shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn’t the sore one. His voice was soft. “Thank you,” he repeated, “for treating me like a person.”

~

“I never asked,” he said abruptly as they studied a bees’ nest thirty feet in the air, “what happened to your arm?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Vagabond replied vaguely, trying to determine whether she could scale the pine tree’s bare trunk. It looked like a bear or something had already tried. The bees had chosen a good safe place. “I was running from some brigands and they threw a rock at me. Fractured my shoulder blade.”

He looked over at her, frowning. “That seems like a little more than nothing much.”

“I’ve had worse.” She sighed and stepped back from the tree. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to climb this.”

Elk snorted. “I could have told you that.”

“Oh hush. You’d be surprised what I can climb.” She unzipped a side pouch of her bag and pulled out a slingshot. She hadn’t had to use it in a while, but fortunately had had the foresight to wrap it in an oiled bag to keep the elastic from cracking. She was down to her last throwing stone though, damn, she’d forgotten about that.

“Must be nice,” he muttered.

“What?” She walked around the tree to look for a good angle.

“Being able to climb things. Without a huge body dragging you down.” His voice lowered, along with his eyes, as he began to withdraw. “And dance. And—and—”

“And run really fast, and still be able to run after breaking a leg because you have three more, and jump over two meters, and have weapons on your goddamn head, and who the hell said centaurs can’t dance?” Vagabond turned to face him. “Or climb? Where is all this coming from, anyway?”

He raised his dark eyes to her face again. There was the haunted look, the feeling that there was something terrible going on in that brain of his. She sighed and walked over to him despite the danger, and placed a hand on his neck. The touch seemed to ground him. He leaned in. “I’m not even a centaur anymore,” he said bitterly. “I don’t even have hands.”

“Having hands before didn’t help,” she replied. “Look at what you did to yourself.”

He shook his head, and she was glad that at least he was being mindful of his antlers nowadays. “I didn’t do this for me. I did it for her. I thought…”

“Sure as hell doesn’t seem like it.” He looked at her sharply. Vagabond kept her voice gentle to try and avoid an episode. “From what you’ve told me, she seemed to be trying to spend time with you. You know, the way you were. Seems like you did it because you hated yourself, not because of anything to do with her.” Elk’s eyes didn’t waver from her face. She wasn’t sure if that was a sign he was listening, or a sign that he was about to explode. “Which means you split yourself out of self-loathing, not love.”

“How would you know?” he spat suddenly. “It’s not like you know what real love feels like.”

Vagabond removed her hand and turned back to the tree.

“No—wait. I’m sorry.”

She found a good angle and took aim.

“Vagabond, please. Forgive me. I didn’t mean it.” The crunch of his hooves came closer. She pulled back on the slingshot just a little more and let fly. With a sharp crack, one of the branches snapped at the force of the stone. The nest swayed and dropped about a foot among the cloud of bees trying to find the source of the attack. Vagabond kept her eyes on the stone, trying to keep an eye where it fell.

The double tines of his antlers jutted over each shoulder. Elk pressed his nose against the small of her back. “I just—I just love her so much. Even now. She’s beautiful and kind. You should meet her. You’d like each other. She’s not some stuffy royal, she loves running around and being wild and slipping away from her guards to look at the stars. Maybe… maybe we can go back to the castle and you can talk to her. She knows what her husband did now, maybe she’ll shun him and take us in and we can all live together and—”

“Elk.”

He fell silent, breathing heavily. Vagabond turned her head slightly and studied the majestic curve of his antler over her shoulder. “Stop.”

“I,” he broke, deep shuddering sobs wracking his body. “I tried to tell him. I tried to get him to join back together. Being a centaur is better than… this. Once we were joined again I wouldn’t separate again. I’d beg her forgiveness. Maybe we could still be together. If she loves him, she could love me. Love both of us.”

“It sounds like she was already falling for you,” Vagabond replied. “And you fucked it up.” It was harsh, but it needed to be said. There was no reason for him to pine after someone who had made their decision.

“I know,” he replied, and she grimaced—he hadn’t taken the bait. “I know. He won’t though, he won’t admit it. The only reason I’m alive now is because he’d have to kill himself to kill me.”

Vagabond stepped away from him and turned around. He followed her, desperate and afraid she’d leave, and rested his chin on her shoulder. Despite herself her hands came up to stroke his neck, her hands settling on the rough patch of hairless skin. The fur would probably never grow back properly.  “Listen. I know you’re in pain. But that doesn’t mean you get to hurt me the way you were hurt.”

Elk moved forward again, crowding against her. “I’m sorry. I… have you? Ever been in love?”

“Once, yeah.” She hesitated. Normally she’d brush this off, but he seemed to need it. “It didn’t work out.”

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could. We said our goodbyes.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Sure,” she said lightly, though he could definitely hear the strain in her voice. “But it was… well, it wouldn’t have… wasn’t… working out.”

He was quiet for a minute. Then, hesitantly, “Why not?”

“We were… we were too different.” Vagabond closed her eyes. She wasn’t good at this sort of thing. When a problem arose, she brushed it off or ran from it, and refused to acknowledge it ever again. To a fault. “We were young. You know. We were together for… jeez, two years? It was wonderful. But it, it fell apart in the end.”

Elk nudged her after a moment when she didn’t continue. “What were they like?”

“Shy. Sweet. Focused.” Her lips stretched in a self-deprecating grin. “I didn’t deserve them.” Her eyes went distant as she remembered despite trying not to. The twisting in her chest reminded her just how much it had hurt. “The day I packed and left was…” Her partner’s quiet, sad gaze. That soft voice wishing her good luck. Her own cheerful goodbye, masking the clenching of her heart. The knowledge she’d never come back. They’d both known.

Pulling away, Vagabond went to find the throwing stone where she’d traced it as it fell to distract herself. It was better this way, to forget. “Anyway. Yes. Take it from someone with experience. Just because you missed out with one person doesn’t mean you’ll never find someone else. Sometimes you just gotta… move on.”

She went to find another vantage point. Elk remained where she left him, watching her quietly. Telling him a little bit of that story, while painful, was probably good for him, she rationalized as she went to find another vantage point. She didn’t want to, but… well, he needed to understand that it wasn’t just him who felt that pain. 

He remained quiet as she shot at the nest over and over, aiming for the smaller branches and chipping at the larger one it was anchored on. They were lucky it was a pine tree; the soft wood was easily broken and the weight of the nest slowly bent it lower and lower. Vagabond leaned back and watched, hopeful that it would do the rest of the work for her. Her shoulder was feeling much better nowadays but it was starting to ache from all the current use.

“Did you find love again? Ever?” His voice was still cracked with pain.

She sighed. He was on that still, huh. “I’ve had a few partners, but… no, not yet. I’m not really, um, relationship material, you know?”

“Why not?”

“Hey,” she said brightly, pointing. The branch was bending lower and lower and, with a popping noise, began to break. Pieces of wood went flying, shooting off the splintering branch, and with a final deafening snap the nest plummeted towards the ground. Vagabond began to run over, only to be blocked by the solid wall of muscle that was Elk. And it was just in time, as the cloud of bees rose from the sticky mess, air vibrating with their fury, and lunged at the nearest threat.

In unison Elk and Vagabond both yelled and bolted. By the time they’d escaped the bees and found a way to gather their hard-earned treasure without being stung to death, they’d both let the conversation die.

~

A few months went by. The temperature continued to drop. Vagabond had secured two temp jobs; one at the inn where they stayed, which was just enough to earn her free room and board, and the other at the jeweler's shop to help keep it running while his assistant recovered. Elk’s mood had stabilized for the most part, but though he never said as much she knew he'd decided he did indeed want to head back towards the castle. She’d barely convinced him it wasn’t a good idea to start back now, not when they had a good thing going and the weather would soon take a turn for the worse. She wasn’t sure what he thought he’d do. He was clearly scheming something.

She wasn’t any better, she told herself. The urge to just up and leave was strong. With her, it was always strong. If it weren’t for Elk’s need for support she would have thrown caution to the wind and struck out on her own already. As it were, he seemed to be adjusting okay with being alone for the periods of time she was out working—as long as she came back. Sometimes he was there when she came back to the room. Sometimes he was waiting outside the window to be let in, the fear in his eyes betraying that he’d been looking for her as much as he could when she stayed overtime.

The town geared up for winter solstice celebrations. Vagabond, who usually enjoyed festivities, tried to get Elk to lighten up a bit, but his eyes would darken the moment he saw the decorations and heard any sort of joyful laughter. It was, to be honest, quite worrying, and dragged her own mood down. Still, she tried.

She was once again thankful the inn they stayed at was on the outskirts of town and away from the center of it all. The more it spread though the more tense he became and at night he sat upright, listening silently to the laughter and music outside, every muscle in his body rock-hard and his eyes reflecting such a deep loathing his companion was afraid to make any sudden movement or speak too loudly. It started to fray her own nerves.

They stayed up one night, kept awake by all the commotion and merrymaking both inside and out. Vagabond wanted to join in but the tense shadow he cast dampened her spirits. They’d tried to turn in early to no avail; he sat ramrod straight and trembling, stiff as a board. She leaned against him, hoping the pressure would ease his mind. It didn’t seem to.

As the party ramped up and the laughter and cheer echoed through the inn, muffled but loud, he spoke. His deep voice was ominous. “If I joined I would be chased away. Like an animal.”

“They just don’t understand.” She hooked an arm around his front leg. His skin twitched, but he otherwise didn’t move. “It’s not their fault.”

“I don’t care if it’s not their fault,” he grated. Finally he shifted, raising his opposite hoof and striking it down against the floorboards. Then again, and again. Vagabond winced at the dents in the wood. Hopefully no one would notice. She’d push the rug over to cover them when they left. “They don’t deserve to be so happy. Not when they’d deny me the same.” His hoof raised and wavered in the air, and she was reminded of the time he scared the shit out of her by holding it above her chest.

“That doesn’t make any sense. You’re worrying me.”

He tore his eyes from wherever his mind had sent them and turned to look at her. Vagabond’s face was strained and stressed; there were bags under her eyes. He blinked and flicked his ears at her. “You look tired.”

“That’s because I am. You wanna go for a walk? Away from everything?”

He ignored that. “Why are you so tired? You sleep every night.”

“I’m a light sleeper. Every time you get mad at night I wake up.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said shortly, turning back to staring at the window. “I didn’t realize. I try not to move.”

Vagabond shrugged. “I didn’t survive this long by not waking up when something changes.” A notion occurred to her. “So every time you move, every time you tense up, I wake up. You’re a big guy, and let’s not forget you’ve tried to gore me before.”

He thought about that for a second, brow furrowing. “But you never woke up before…” his voice died.

“Oh, I have. Every time you moved.” They stared at each other. Vagabond repeated slowly, “Every time.”

“Every…” his eyes widened and he swung his head back to look down at her. “O-Oh.”

“I shoulda guessed you were a man the night you looked down my shirt,” she said, deadpan. Elk jerked back, his mouth falling open in a comical O. He began to sputter. Vagabond grinned in relief, glad she’d gotten his mind off the dark path he’d been going down. As soon as his focus shifted he was almost back to his normal self.

“I didn’t,” he stammered, “I wasn’t, I didn’t try to—”

“What else do you call it?”

He covered his eyes with the hoof he’d just been tearing the floor up with. “Good goose. I didn’t mean to! That’s not what I was looking at, I swear!”

“Oh, really.”

“It wasn’t—I swear,” he repeated. “But I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry. I was—I was looking at your scars.”

A bolt of shock and twisted dread stabbed her guts. Vagabond’s hand flew up to her chest. The ridges of the thick Y-shaped scar pressed into her palm through her shirt and she knew he was telling the truth. He really hadn’t pulled her shirt down far enough to see her breasts. Her mouth agape slightly, she sat up off him and turned around. Frankly she didn’t know which was worse.

His ears went so far back they disappeared. “Are you—really mad?”

“Mad?” she squeaked. “I, uh, no, I guess not. Just. I didn’t realize you were looking at… those.”

“What are they from?”

Her gaze was steady on his for a moment. Then she dropped her hand and allowed for her signature bright, lopsided smile. “Oh, nothing, I just trusted someone I shouldn’t have. Don’t worry about it.”

“Who—”

“You know what? Just because you hate the festivities doesn’t mean I have to be miserable, too.” She stood up determinedly despite the dull ache that was beginning behind her eyes. Elk also scrambled to his feet. “If you go out, just remember to close the blinds.”

“Wait!”

She fumbled with her bag, grabbed her coin purse and strode out the door, slamming it shut behind her. She was going to enjoy herself and not worry about him for a night, dammit.

The muffled cry of “Don’t leave!” was swallowed by the music and clatter of the dining room. Vagabond and one of the servers exchanged waves and she headed outside, long strides taking her to the center of town.

She shouldn’t have left. She knew she shouldn’t have left. But if there was one thing she was good at, it was running away from her problems.

Unfortunately, Elk was not a problem that could be ignored.

Chapter Text

I was looking at your scars.

She went from stall to stall, picking out homemade trinkets made by children and trying the wares of different vendors. She danced to the myriad of bands and solo songwriters, accepted drinks from strangers and steadfastly ignored the way the lights were getting more and more painful. She ate way too many sweets and traipsed from one side of the town to the other and back, pushing herself far more than she should have and pretending her hands weren’t shaking and the music wasn’t starting to ring in her ears.

I was looking at your scars.

When the nausea started to take hold she started to ignore that too, concealing her discomfort and telling people she’d had too much to drink. She batted away the hands of perverts and danced with their partners to make them mad, and only when the moon reached its zenith and that high-pitched bugle interrupted the merrymaking did she come to. The throngs of people began to stagger to a stop, the music grinding to a halt, and heads began to turn this way and that to find the cause of the commotion.

Vagabond knew what the problem would be the second before she saw it. Elk’s roar pierced the air, and everyone began to scramble back as the maddened creature exploded into view. His eyes were burning and focused—he knew exactly why he’d come here and he was determined to get it. The woman stood completely still, the lights blurring in front of her as people began to scatter. She was burning up. Was that the migraine or the alcohol?

I was looking at your scars.

The alcohol was certainly to blame for her flight response kicking in almost too late. He saw her and locked on, hooves clattering over cobblestone as he barreled towards her. She didn’t know what he meant to do, and by the look in his eyes he probably hadn’t thought about it either. And then someone was grabbing her arm and hauling her to the side, and her true nature kicked in. She bolted, making a beeline for the edge of town. In the back of her mind she knew he would follow.

“Come back!” His deep bellow was nearly lost in the chaos. She heard someone shriek, and then it was cut off as he likely either tossed them aside or trampled them. The thought made her sick.

She heard the cry of men now returning with bows and arrows and spears, and feared the worst, leaning forward and churning her legs as fast as they would go to lead him away from danger.

She didn’t stop running until she’d vaulted over a dip in the stone wall. She didn’t stop running until she was in the forest, until the sounds of the town faded in the distance, until she was well and truly lost and emotion welled up inside her and the nausea couldn’t be denied any longer and she collapsed and vomited and sobbed and shivered. She couldn’t hear him. Somehow, he’d lost her. Did someone take him down? Did they hurt him, or worse?

It almost didn’t matter at that point. Vagabond couldn’t stand, couldn’t even really move, and any thought was wiped out by the nauseating agony pounding in her skull. She vomited again, coughing and gasping, and the only comfort she had was the freezing air soothing her overheated body.

There was no indication of the time that went by. It was just dark and cold. Vagabond had put on a coat and scarf, but somewhere along the way in her partying had shed her outermost layer as she got hotter. She didn’t even know where she’d put it. Not before long, the frigid temperature shifted from soothing to uncomfortable to dangerous and Vagabond realized she had to get up and move or risk never making it out of the woods alive. Elk wasn’t coming. How they got separated she had no idea—couldn’t he smell her, or something? He’d mentioned his senses had been increased tenfold after he’d found himself in that body.

In her current state it was near impossible to reorient herself. She told herself she’d been in worse situations, and would figure it out, but it was hard to convince herself as she managed to stand and take a few steps.

I was looking at your scars.

She should’ve known she couldn’t take care of someone with such issues as Elk. Or anyone, for that matter. She had enough to deal with. Why’d she have to run into him? If he hated humans so much why’d he insist on following? He should have just let her leave, and hopefully the impression of kindness would have stuck with him. This always happened to her. Every attempt at kindness, thrown in her face.

It wasn’t true and she knew it. Despite his problems, Elk had proven to be a good friend. Each time he was lost in his own mind, the moment she showed any sort of discomfort or unhappiness he dropped everything to see if she was okay. He may have been a selfish bastard at times, but everyone had their vices. Gods knew she did. 

Vagabond ping-ponged back and forth between irritation and grudging acceptance as she maneuvered slowly, trying to get her bearings. The moon had been over there when she’d vaulted the wall, so it needed to be over there on her return. That was as much as she knew.

“I wanna go home,” she whispered into the night, to the oppressive silence of hibernation and the canopy of bare branches. She fought back tears. Not allowed. Not allowed.

The world spun. She took it one step at a time. Despite being cold, she was sweating, and that made the cold even more dangerous even under her sweater. Take a few steps, sit down. Take another few steps, vomit. Every step of the way, curse herself. If she died out here it would be her own damn fault. Sure, Elk had flipped out, but she should have known leaving him in a huff like that would have driven him to a panic. He probably thought she’d left him for good…

“Vagabond?”

She could just hear him, the creaking branches echoing his call until it was impossible to tell the direction. Vagabond took another few steps and had to crouch down against the trunk of a mighty oak, heaving. She tried, and failed, to respond, her throat burning with stomach acid.

“I smell you… where are you?”

“Here,” her voice was barely audible, even to her. It hurt.

“Vagabond!”

“I’m here.”

She could hear the crunch of footsteps now. She shivered and coughed up some more bile. The sound got louder, too loud in the overwhelming quiet. Elk galloped up to her, leaping easily over any obstacles and skidding to a halt next to her shaking form.

“There you are,” she mumbled, lifting a hand to touch his leg. “I… thought you were following…”

“They cut me off before I could get to the wall.” He towered over her, his breathing raspy. She could feel him shaking just as much as she was from adrenaline and anger, torn between fear and fury. “They tried to kill me.”

Of course they did, she wanted to snap at him, but she didn’t have the energy. Instead she just awkwardly patted his knee. He hesitated, then lowered his head towards her, nostrils flaring, taking in the scent of sick and sweat. “You left me. Why did you leave me? Why did you run?”

A question for the damn ages. Her hand dropped from his leg so she could curl into a fetal position. It was so cold. “I was upset,” she managed to croak. “Sorry. That was dumb of you. You could’ve died…”

“Oh. I… yes,” he faltered, and she knew he knew she was right. “I… I panicked. I’m sorry I made you mad, please don’t—” He choked the words off suddenly and studied her shaking body, then something broke and his anger collapsed. He knelt down beside her, crowding her between the tree and his body heat. She burrowed into his side. For a solid few minutes they just sat there, until her shivering ebbed and the hypothermia began to subside. “Get on.” Gone was the fearful begging. He’d found conviction.

“I, I don’t think—”

“Don’t argue with me.”

She’d never heard him sound so commanding. Grabbing handfuls of fur, she managed to drag herself slowly up onto his back. He stood carefully and as smoothly as he could, and began to walk. Vagabond buried her face in his fur and let go, just focusing on keeping herself steady and not vomiting all over him.

The ride was long and quiet. If having a weight on his back hurt at all he didn’t say anything. Vagabond had long lost track of where she was and didn’t try to start now, trusting him to bring her to safety.

She heard voices, first exclaiming and calling as the wild bull elk that had threatened lives reappeared. And then shock and surprise as he turned to the side to show them the sick woman on his back.

And then terror, when she felt his deep voice through his chest snapping at them. She tried to clue into what was happening, lifting her head slightly to free her ears. The movement sent a wave of queasiness through her.

“Take care of her.”

“What—”

“Oh my gods it’s talking. It’s talking.”

“That’s right, I’m talking. And you’re going to take care of her, and make her better, or this crazy magical monster is going to make you regret everything in life.” His tone was so cold. Vagabond tried to speak, but the words died. Her throat burned with stomach acid. “Do you want to find out what else I’m capable of?” His voice lowered even more, threatening. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Elk,” she finally managed to whisper.

“Hush,” he whispered back, gently, but with an air of authority.

She obeyed. And when she lost track of what everyone was saying, when hands carefully took her off his back and carried her away and she was made to drink something medicated as her brow was mopped by a cool compress, she wondered exactly what she’d done when she’d befriended him.

~

The migraine lingered for another two days, as migraines do when fueled by too much alcohol. Elk’s reign over the town was still very much alive when she was finally functional enough to get out of bed. He spent much of that time by her side, keeping her company and intimidating the people coming in to tend to her. They were terrified of him, and understandably so. This far from the Rift they had only heard stories of the creatures that lay beyond it by out of town travelers. It threatened their otherwise simple and peaceful lifestyle, so they usually just pretended it didn’t exist. Elk challenged that worldview and took full advantage of it, telling them the ring of missing fur around his neck was of a collar to keep him from his true power. She couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at the not-lie. He’d been listening to her avoid subjects strictly by telling the truth and letting others make their own conclusions. Nice.

He had, fortunately, not killed anyone, but there were broken bones aplenty and destroyed property. People had lost money and hard work but fortunately not their lives. She supposed it was better than the alternative.

“We should probably head out as soon as I’m better,” she told him casually after he’d scared out a woman giving her a bowl of soup. She hadn’t been able to eat anything since she vomited everything up that night and bland soup was the only thing she trusted herself with right now. “It’s only a matter of time until they start getting out the torches and pitchforks.” She sighed, rubbing her still-tender head. “Why couldn’t you have just… had a conversation like a normal person, huh? Instead of threatening them?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he replied, sitting on his haunches near the head of the bed. His nostrils flared at the soup. “They would still hate me.”

She ate in silence for a few minutes. “It’s not hate, Elk. It’s fear of the unknown.”

“The end result is the same.” She offered him a spoonful of soup, which he happily took. “Fear, hate… they’d want me dead anyway. You wouldn’t understand.”

She paused at that, then resumed eating. “...Or would you?” he went on, tilting his head.

“We’re talking about you, remember. Let’s not talk about me.”

“Oh, come on,” he growled, almost sounding like his old self, “I told you everything. You owe me the same.”

Vagabond groaned and held out the now empty bowl. He couldn’t resist, and scraped the inside with his tongue. “And you’re not going to get away with distracting me with food,” he added between licks.

“Damn.”

He chuckled.

“I suppose it’s fair,” she said. “I just… it’s been a while, you know? And a lot of that stuff doesn’t matter anymore.” She put the bowl on the nightstand and leaned back into the pillows. “Not where I come from, not what I’ve done, not what I’ve been through. It’s just… stuff I don’t think about. I’ve made friends, I’ve traveled, I’ve seen crazy shit,” she made a vague motion with her hand. “What matters is… this, right now. I don’t want to think about myself, I don’t wanna think about my scars. I want to think about you, and how we’re gonna help you.”

He regarded her for a moment, then plunked his upper body on the bed. It creaked, but he paid it no mind, flopping his head on her chest and knocking the air out of her lungs. She gasped and coughed. “You’re too selfless for your own good. How have you survived this long?”

“Back on track,” she wheezed, catching her breath. He pinned his ears in annoyance. “...Look, I’ll… I’ll tell you things, okay? I just… I’ve had friends for a lot longer than you that I have never told anything to. It’s a bit of a stretch to just start talking about it out of the blue.”

“All right, fine.” Elk let out a huffy sigh. “You’re right. We should leave soon. But not until you’re better.”

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” She tried to lift a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and relieve some pressure, but gave up. His head was in the way. “I just pushed myself too far. And drank too much. And now you’re gonna ask why I suddenly started getting headaches when I didn’t the whole time we were walking here.”

He waited.

“I’m not exactly sure what all the triggers are, but a lot of it has to do with stress, and when I’m not… when I’m around, y’know, civilization, and people, and rules, and walls…” she closed her eyes. “I get. Y’know. Stressed. It’s silly—”

“You like being free,” he said quietly. “That’s not silly.” He hesitated. “And it’s my fault you got stressed. I should have just… asked you about it. I was being selfish, again.”

“Hey.” She tucked her hand behind his antlers. “At least you admit it.”

He didn’t respond to that. They just sat there for a while, lost in their own thoughts, as Vagabond floated somewhere halfway between sleep and wakefulness, lulled there by his comforting weight and the scent of his breath. His earlier words turned in her head, over and over, till she blinked herself awake and spoke again. Something needed to be addressed. “Elk… I want you to know that even if I want to be alone for a while, I’m not gonna leave you. There’s no reason to panic. I’ll always come back. Okay?”

His head tilted and a deep brown eye peered down at her. “Promise?” he breathed.

“I promise. I know I’m not your long-lost-love, but… I can be in your life long-term, if that’s what you want.” She rubbed one of his antlers. “But you have to give me freedom. Being around long-term doesn’t mean I have to be with you every second of every day, right?”

“Okay,” he agreed, and his relief was palpable. “I… you’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just, you walked off and you were so angry and I thought, if I didn’t find you you might just run away because I know you do that and then I went to find you and then you did —” his breath caught and he curved his neck to push his muzzle against her cheek. He always got touchy when he was feeling insecure. She supposed she could handle it better because he wasn’t human. It would have been really weird to feel a humanoid nose nuzzling her face. She wasn’t used to it. Had the elktaur been this touchy with the Princess before everything happened? Was the General this touchy? She felt her lips twitch at the mental image.

“I ran because you were charging at me,” she told him, pushing the thought away. “And I thought they might hurt you. I figured you’d follow.”

There was a knock on the door. The woman was back, and stood at the doorway, wide-eyed and nervous, to take her dishes. Vagabond patted Elk’s shoulder and he heaved himself off the bed. Before he could say anything she swung her legs out, stood up, and walked over to hand her the dishes herself, offering her a comforting smile. That seemed to mollify her a little, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Elk’s voice rumbled out to them.

“Vagabond? You should get back into bed.”

“Give me a minute,” she called back, and made as if to walk through the door. She wanted to talk to the other woman, maybe allay some of the fears she and the rest of the village had. Perhaps if she could talk to them without Elk around, she could convince them he wasn’t a threat or that she was being mind-controlled or some sort of sorcerer or—

He crossed the room swiftly and used one leg to hook the door and pull it open. The poor woman stumbled back, pale and shaking, as his antlered head filled the doorway, firelight reflecting in his dark eyes. Vagabond rolled her own, heaving an annoyed sigh. “Elk, for fuck’s sake. I’m well enough to be walking around, I don’t need to be babied.”

“I don’t want you leaving right now. They could take you away.”

“We just had this conversation.” She turned to look him in the eye. “You know, if you keep scaring people, you’re not gonna make friends.”

He snorted and made another dent in the floorboards with his hoof. “I tried to kill you and you were still nice to me.”

“Gosh, maybe that’s a deviation and not the norm.”

“You sure are a deviation,” he muttered.

“There, see? Now stop being a possessive jerk and let me talk to someone in peace.”

For a long moment they just stared each other down. Elk didn’t move a muscle and neither did she, locked on one another and barely breathing. Before either of them could speak to present their case further the terrified woman squeaked out, “Nevermind!” and bolted down the hall back to the main dining room. Vagabond was the first to blink and she turned to watch her go, then, aggravated, turned and favored Elk with a thin-lipped glare. His ears flattened.

She was about to give him a piece of her mind when the server she’d made friends with poked his head around the corner and called, concerned, “Is everything okay?”

Vagabond threw her hands up. “He thinks everyone’s out to get him!”

“We’re not,” he yelled down the hall. Elk’s ears crept out from behind his antlers and he cocked his head, then tapped forward and leaned around the doorframe. The young server hesitated, flicking his eyes to Vagabond then back to him before giving a little nervous wave. “Uh, hi.”

Elk just stared. The server took a few steps forward, then looked at Vagabond again, who beckoned to him encouragingly. She could hear muttering from the dining hall, urging him not to get too close, but he bravely advanced until he was only a meter or so away, wiping sweaty palms nervously against his pants. For a moment the two just regarded each other.

“Who are you?” Elk asked finally, and Vagabond was glad to hear him sound normal for a change. He wasn’t trying to intimidate the man or chase him away. For once he just sounded curious.

“Um, I’m… I work here.” He gestured to Vagabond. “With her.” He looked between them. “Are you two from Centaurworld?”

“I am. She’s not.” Elk eyed him for another moment. “Ever been?”

“N-No. I’ve always wanted to, but… I can’t leave here. Not yet.” He allowed for a hesitant smile.

“Why not?”

“My mom, my brother—they need me.” He was studying Elk now with open interest, clearly having a million questions and not daring to ask a single one. “My dad’s gone. I have to work. My brother can’t.” Shifting his weight, he glanced again at Vagabond and added wistfully, “I’d love to join you.”

Elk’s brow furrowed, his expression utterly opposite of her half-smile. “Join us? In travel?”

“Well, yeah.” Clearly delighted to be having a civil conversation with the so-called monster, he began practically hopping from foot to foot. “You must have such cool adventures.” Vagabond regarded him with amusement. He was such an excitable and genuine young man; she found it extra sweet that he was finally trying his hand at conversing with Elk. Flicking her eyes over to her companion, she caught his gaze and raised her brows. I told you so.

Elk blinked a few times, then realized her intent and snorted at her before pulling back into the room. The server blinked in turn, and looked askance at her. “D-Did I say something wrong?”

“No, don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand. It was good timing though, she was getting a little sick. “He’s being a grumpy ass.”

“Oh.” He bit his lip. “But… he’s from Centaurworld? He’s not a centaur. Am I missing something?”

“Yes,” Elk’s voice barked from inside the room. “You are. Vagabond, get in here and get back into bed. You need to rest.”

“‘Vagabond’?”

She rubbed her eyes, frustrated anew, before shaking her head at him and offering a small smile. “I’ll tell you about it later. Thanks for coming over. You helped me prove a point.” She waved and went back inside, shutting and locking the door behind her, before planting her hands on her hips and glaring at Elk. Despite his commanding air he faltered, unsure and unwilling to press her further.

After a moment, Vagabond stalked across the room and got into bed. Her head was spinning with all the motion. He came up slowly, settled on the floor and nudged his nose under her nearest hand. She stared up at the ceiling, determinedly ignoring him, until he pushed just a little further. At that she turned her head to look at him and had to force herself to keep her stern mien. His pathetic expression was adorable. Dammit.

“I know you don’t like being told what to do,” he said softly, deep voice vibrating her hand, “but you’re not well. And I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.”

She heaved a sigh. Oh, he was just pitiful, she couldn’t stand it.

“Please stay near me until you’re better.”

For a long moment she just regarded him. His separation anxiety was a force to behold; the terror at losing the first person who had shown him kindness it what felt like a lifetime coursed through him as if it replaced his blood. Vagabond could feel it in the set of his neck and the stiff facial muscles under her palm. It was going to take a long time for him to lose this fear of his. But she supposed she’d signed up for it the moment she’d made an offering to the broken, wailing soul on the side of a river.

“Okay,” she said finally. Then, “Tomorrow we’ll pick up supplies for the road.”

“I’ll go with you,” Elk replied. He closed his eyes and relaxed, exhaling deeply. “Thank you.”

She patted his cheek and settled down for sleep, rolling onto her side to face him and closing her eyes. He got up to circle a few times and lay back down on the rug, and she dangled a hand down to rest on his shoulder. Despite his fear, despite his desperation and forceful nature, she couldn’t be angry at him for long. It wasn’t his fault. And they had time to work on his problems. 

And, she realized as she drifted off to the haze just before sleep, despite the emotional unhealthiness of it all, it was nice to be so fiercely guarded. It made her feel wanted.

~

She jolted awake to the change of energy in the room. Elk was standing straight next to the bed, quivering with tension, his eyes hard and his lips stretched back in a snarl. There was no light other than the dull orange-red glow of old embers, but that didn’t matter; she always knew where she put her things before falling asleep. Vagabond sat bolt upright and threw off the blankets. She didn’t know what was going on but it didn’t matter; her nerves sang to her to flee. Without asking she swung her legs over the side of the bed and shoved her feet into her boots.

“Vagabond,” Elk hissed. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flicked an ear in her direction. “They’re here.”

She yanked her sweater over her head and grabbed her coat. She didn’t need to be told who he was talking about. She’d been privy to his hatred and rage and fear, but she knew immediately what had caused the choked malice in his voice.

The castle soldiers had finally reached the town in their search for him. Sent by their General, who had been scorned by his wife for the very existence of the Elk, they would stop at nothing to capture him again.

They had to run.

Oh hell yes.

“They probably sent out for the soldiers,” she said, grabbing her bag and throwing open the window. Freezing air exploded through the opening, wiping away any warmth from the dying fire. “The King’s arm is long.”

She grinned. The prospect of a wild chase, of having to run through the woods again and dodge their pursuers, sent the rush of adrenaline through her veins. “Elk, c’mon!”

He turned to look at her. Two blazing sets of eyes met each other—one eager, the other enraged. Elk blinked and snorted. “You’re crazy,” he said, but she was glad to hear the amused affection in his voice.

“You know it!” She vaulted out of the window and he followed with the ease of long practice, ducking his head to avoid the top frame with his antlers. Vagabond couldn’t contain her glee as they sneaked away, scrambling over the wall and ducking behind it—just in time. The soldiers were fanning out, surrounding the building and quietly taking the inhabitants outside out of harm’s way. Despite the fact that they were the target, she couldn’t help but be impressed at their training. They weren’t headstrong, brutish thugs; they were well-trained and prepared to minimize human casualties. The General may have been a horrible person underneath it all (and she had to admit, she only had Elk’s version of things, and though the story was awful she couldn’t pass judgment) but he knew how to train his men.

Crouched next to her, Elk watched with far less delight. His sides heaved and his eyes were dilated, his lips drawn up in a loathing so intense she didn’t even try to soothe him. He sensed her gaze and turned slightly to look at her. “We can take them.”

It was her turn to snort. “We sure as hell can’t, and you mean you. ”

“You won’t fight them with me?”

“I think you’re crazy,” she retorted. “There’s no way we can fight however many fully-armed soldiers. And I don’t fight anyway.”

“But you defend yourself, don’t you?”

“I don’t fight,” she repeated. “At all. Ever.” She pointed to herself. “Pacifist.”

For a moment the hatred lifted a little in favor of astonishment. “How have you survived this long?”

“I told you. I run. Which is what we’re gonna do. Come on.” She crept up the hill towards the treeline, not bothering to check to see if he was following. He’d figure out she was right in a second. Sure enough, minutes later his hooves crunched on the frozen ground as he ran to catch up. He was clearly irritated at this turn of events though, and kept looking back as they crested the hill.

Vagabond had thought the darkness of the early morning would mask their escape. No one should have noticed the two shadows heading for the trees, and yet the sudden yells of the soldiers below them notified the escapees they had done so anyway. 

“Get on,” Elk said, and this time she didn’t hesitate, springing up onto his back. He’d filled in well since they’d met and he’d been practically a skeleton; powerful muscles rippled under her legs and she couldn’t feel a single rib. “Slide back a little, off my shoulders. Lean forward and grab my neck.” She obeyed, practically lying fully across his back and bunching his thick ruff in her fists. It was very different from riding a horse.

“Secure?”

“Yeah. I think.”

“Good.” And then he reared, spinning on his hind legs, and charged back down the hill towards the wall—and the soldiers.

“Elk what the fuck! ”

He laughed, his voice as wild as she was, and launched over the wall. She yelped and hung on as tightly as she could. The landing jarred her entire body and sent spikes of pain and spots behind her eyes. He reared again, swinging his antlers at the soldiers scrambling to get out of the way, then shifted his weight and bucked, kicking one of them square in the chest so hard the armor dented. Vagabond’s entire body went up and then slammed back down onto his back, sending a jolt of even more pain through the base of her skull to her brain. Elk sprung into a gallop and bolted through the silent, dark town, breath steam upon the wind. Vagabond couldn’t help it; she laughed too, the shock of it all turning into adrenaline.

“Who’s crazy now?” she yelled over the frigid wind. Her words were met with more laughter.

She managed to glance behind them. The soldiers were in hot pursuit, having remounted their horses. “Don’t take the road, they’re on horses! Head for the trees!”

He veered and skittered over cobblestone, then hurdled over the opposite wall at last, bounding lightly into the forest. His status as a woodland creature meant he maneuvered the obstacles with ease while the horses had to slow down. Thick brush whipped at his rider, and she kept her head down and nose in his warm fur, just concentrating on hanging on. She was still glad she’d started to let her hair grow out for winter. At this rate she would have already lost her ears to frostbite.

The night was their ally now; the horses relied on weak human eyes to guide their way and their bulk slowed them down. Elk clearly knew where he was going, and called over his shoulder, “I think there’s a trail towards the mountains. I saw it when I was exploring. We could lose them there.”

“Cool,” she replied, and giggled at the danger.

“You really are up for anything, aren’t you.”

She lifted her head and waited till he glanced back, then winked broadly at him. He shook his head, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. He slowed to a brisk trot and she sat up a bit, concerned. “You want me to get off?”

“No, stay up there. I’m faster and more agile than you.”

“How dare you,” she huffed in fake outrage. He accidentally-on-purpose hopped over a lot just a little too roughly, nearly knocking her from her seat. She barely righted herself and deigned not to respond to such blatant disrespect. “Also, what possessed you to run through them?”

“If we had gone around town it would have taken too long.” A pause. “And I really wanted to kick at least one of them. How is your head?”

“Painful,” she replied truthfully. “But I’ll be okay. The worst of it’s over.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “But, uh, if you can help it, try not to knock me around. That really hurt.”

“Oh!” He canted his head sideways to look back again. “I’m so sorry, I should have known that. Are you okay?”

“No no, I mean yes, I’m fine! I just don’t want to jostle the ol’ brain stem too much, you know?” Vagabond leaned forward once more to snuggle into his fur, thickened from winter, and took a deep inhale. “You’re so nice and warm.”

“I suppose there are some positives in not being human right now,” he groused.

“Ha! See?”

“Quiet, you.”

“Make me!”

Their voices joined once again in laughter, and Vagabond felt herself relax and enjoy the ride. This was where she was meant to be—on the run, barely ready to strike out again, in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

For the first time though, she had a friend. And that, almost more than his body heat, would keep the cold at bay during their wild ride.

Chapter Text

They continued their brisk trot and eventually found their way to the trail he’d seen winding its way towards the mountains, likely used by adventurers in warmer seasons. It wasn’t a great path to take in the winter, which was why the road was the best option, but the horses would overtake them in a heartbeat were they to use it.

Eventually Elk did get tired of hauling a human around, as light as she was, and Vagabond hopped off. He couldn’t hear the horses anymore, and the ground was so hard it was nigh-impossible to find any sort of footprints to track them with. They continued with a steady, swift pace until nightfall and, deeming it safe at last, stopped to rest. They did not, of course, light a fire; not only would it give away their position, it was also simply too dangerous in the dry season unless it started snowing. They ate an emergency ration each and slept in shifts, Vagabond pressed deep into his fur for warmth. 

Even though they seemed to have lost their pursuers temporarily they didn’t dare stop. The path over the mountains was dangerous enough as it was, but it would turn downright deadly if they waited until it began to snow.

“Bit of a predicament,” Vagabond muttered, taking stock of their rations.

“What’s that?”

She started. “Y’know, somehow, I’m still not used to having a traveling companion. I’m talking about the rations, we don’t have a lot.” She began reorganizing what they did have, repacking her bag and swinging it back over her shoulders. “But there are usually high-altitude lodges and emergency shelters on paths like this. We’ll just have to hope they’re stocked.”

“You use the rations,” Elk replied graciously. She buckled the straps in front of her for more leverage and they continued up the trail. “I bulked up pretty well for winter. I’m pretty sure this body can withstand a bit of hunger the way it is.”

Vagabond bit her lip. “I don’t like letting you starve—”

“You’re not.” He bumped into her with his shoulder gently. “You helped me not starve. And now I’m going to do the same. Besides, you’re good at foraging, I trust you to find something.”

Her stride paused for a moment and she watched him move ahead, shocked, then hurried to catch up. He didn’t seem to notice the significance of his own words; the stark difference between his starvation when she’d found him and his now-casual dismissal of food when there was a shortage. A smile slowly spread its way across her face. Despite the setbacks every once and a while, he was making progress. There was a long way to go, of course, but for the moment things were going well. Vagabond got level with his head and hooked an arm under his neck for a moment in a quick hug. “Thanks.” She wanted to call more attention to the importance of the moment, but she wasn’t used to dealing with the situation to begin with and didn’t know what to say. She just squeezed him a bit and let go.

He turned, still walking, and his eyes crinkled. “You’re welcome,” he replied simply.

The air grew thinner and colder. Vagabond kept an eye out for foraging opportunities and taught Elk about juniper and hawthorne berries, how to tell the difference between edible and nonedible evergreen trees, and stopped every once and a while to dig up a root or tuber. Elk’s teeth were designed for the tough shoots so he had a better time of it, but she still aimed for the more tender buds. Eventually they dared to make a small fire and Vagabond used a small metal cup to boil water, where she made tea out of their meager findings, then set a flat stone in the coals to slice up a few roots and mix them with leftover dried herbs she had in her bag. It was a rare hot meal, and one they relished. They chewed on old honeycomb mixed with berries for dessert.

As the days passed and snow dusted the higher altitudes, it became apparent they’d actually somehow succeeded in losing the soldiers. They made more fires then, using gathered snow to create a barrier between it and the dead, dry earth, and Vagabond even broke out the book she’d gotten in town that they’d been reading together. They settled against one another and she read aloud to him, softly, as he folded around her and rested his head on her lap.

She finished the chapter and just lay back against her friend, gazing up at the clear sky, while his eyes slowly drifted shut. The waxing moon was half-full and provided just enough light to reflect off bare branches and illuminate the path they’d just climbed. She’d chosen this location for exactly that reason; anyone climbing in the shadow of the incline now would need a lantern to see and would be visible far before they’d be able to sneak up on them. It would be difficult to do though; Elk was nigh-impossible to spot in the dark and she’d gathered leaves around them to serve as both camouflage and protection against the cold. They were fairly safe at the moment.

“Vagabond,” Elk murmured, half asleep, “can I ask a question?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you ever get lonely, traveling alone?”

Vagabond was silent for a moment, considering how to respond. She nestled her back into his side and tucked her hands into her pockets, striving to keep her voice casual and light. “Sometimes, I guess. But then I head into town and I get my fill of people.”

A quiet laugh vibrated his throat. “Me, too. This is nice. Quiet.”

“Yeah.”

“I wish the Princess were here. She’d like this.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“Well,” she said softly, staring off into the dark sky, “I hope I get to meet her someday.”

“You will. And we’ll go on a trip together, just the three of us.” He tucked his nose under the crook of her arm and she smiled sadly down at him, turning back to the trail and her first watch. It didn’t matter that his fantasy was unlikely. What mattered was that he had something to hold onto, and that he used it to heal. And, well, who knew. Maybe things would work out. Maybe they’d be able to get Elk and the General in one place and put the elktaur back together. She could pretend that he’d still want to be friends.

If not… that was okay. She’d still have the memories of their friendship to warm her on the cold, empty nights she traveled alone.

~

“Do you ever sing?” he asked as they hiked along a relatively flat part of the trail. Vagabond let the humming die in her throat and felt her face heat up. She hadn’t even been aware she’d been doing it. “No, don’t stop, I like it.”

She shrugged, keeping her eyes on the trail. “I prefer not to.”

“Why not?”

“Draws attention.” She felt him eye her suspiciously.

“...Are you keeping secrets from me again?”

“Always,” she glanced over and tried to distract him with a disarmingly bland expression. He sighed in irritation. “Well, I want to hear your voice,” he said, doggedly pursuing the subject. Vagabond made a face and returned her attention to the trail.

“Vagabond—”

“So, what’s your plan? I assume we’re heading back to the main city. Any idea what you wanna do after that?”

He sped up a bit, turned, and used his butt to knock her off her feet. Her reflexes allowed her to fall properly without getting hurt, but she yelped all the same. “Hey!” Flailing a bit and stuck against her backpack, she was forced to slip her arms out of the straps. She stood and glowered at him.

“If you won’t sing, I will,” he said as if nothing had happened. Vagabond snatched up her bag and swung it back over her shoulders. “And you can hum along with me.”

“Okay, bossy,” she grumbled, but she wasn’t really mad. Humming she could handle. She just had to make sure she didn’t get lost in it.

There was a short silence. Elk hummed, himself, for a few moments, before opening his mouth. His deep voice rang forth in what seemed like the first time he’d done so in a long, long time, echoing up and down the mountainside. 

“My love, she told me…”

He started slow and picked up pace, getting more relaxed, and her footsteps slowed as she listened. It was haunting, his voice; she wondered if he’d sung to himself in the cell these lonesome words. A memory of Centaurworld struck her, of the sheer amount of music floating in the air as if she were inside some sort of child’s musical. Everything was a song, not something as eerie and empty as this, but a song nonetheless. They always seemed to know the words their counterparts belted out, as if they’d rehearsed it a thousand times, even if it was brand new. And Elk had once been a centaur. Of course he’d want to sing. Why hadn’t he, before this?

“...the madness of hate and love; to the darkness and rage it drove, me…”

Had they even let him sing? Had he been muzzled to avoid attention, or had he been so deep in the dungeons it didn’t matter and he sang to uncaring ears? It hurt her heart to think he’d been denied such joy, and she found herself humming along. It didn’t matter that his song was one he’d likely drowned himself in during his cruel imprisonment. Her own voice rose in cadence, though she dared not try to join in on the words, and despite herself she began to let go just a little.

It was different than when she hummed on her own. This time, her voice dipped and rose with his, catching upon him like a dreamcatcher. He was, in origin, a being of Centaurworld, and magic filled his blood and bones; it twisted around her throat like a snake and something insidious choked her and writhed in her stomach. Vagabond stumbled and pressed a hand to her mouth, her ears popping, as the sky above them rippled as if made of fabric and someone had hung it out to dry. She darted a glance at him in the corner of her eye, hoping he hadn’t noticed, but he lifted his head suddenly and trailed to a stop, his own eyes widening.

She sped up, trotting up the trail and hopping over a log, willing away her nausea. “Man,” she said brightly, “the air’s getting thin, isn’t it? I can’t wait to get down from here, the pressure sucks.”

He didn’t say anything, but she heard his hooves trotting after her, and she couldn’t help it; she went faster, scrambling up the rocky incline. The freezing stone scraped her skin and cracked her fingernails in her haste to climb. She ignored it. Elk leaped up behind her easily. He still hadn’t said anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, heavy and pensive.

“You have a nice voice,” she added, desperate to distract him. “It’s too bad I don’t. Never took any lessons, you know?”

She grabbed a root and hauled herself to the top of the incline, pushing herself faster. It was useless and she knew it; there was no way she could outrun her friend. Still he kept pace and said nothing. It made her nervous. The way he was looking at her when she glanced back made her want to keep chatting. “Do centaurs like, go to singing school, or is it something that just comes naturally?”

The trail dipped down again, and she trotted down it to use the momentum to push her up the other side. “I mean, how do you—”

“Vagabond.”

She fell silent. There was that command in his voice again. Elk moved smoothly in front of her, forcing her to stop, and she stared over his back up the trail. “Calm down,” he said quietly.

She couldn’t. She couldn’t, her body screamed at her to run, to escape this discomfort, flee her problems. This was why she traveled alone. This was why—

“Look at me.”

Vagabond hissed out her breath and reluctantly met his gaze. He studied her calmly, and asked, “Why are you running?”

“I have never,” she replied, her voice still cheerful, “met a single person who didn’t ask me that.”

“No,” he said, and took a few steps back so he could swing his hindquarters around and face her completely, “why are you running from me?”

“Ha.” She averted her gaze again. A hawk was wheeling up above. Vagabond’s eyes followed it, trying to ignore the intense stare in front of her. “Like I would run from you.” She paused. “Except that one time. But that was one time.”

He studied her for another moment. She could practically hear all the questions whirling in his mind, and prayed he would ask exactly none of them. The silence stretched on for another minute, then two, and Elk finally stepped forward and rested his cheek against hers. Vagabond’s breath caught. He didn’t have hands and he couldn’t hug her, couldn’t put her head in his lap and cuddle her like she did when he panicked. But it felt the same, the silent support extending from him to her and offering what words could not. She leaned in, just slightly, and they stood there as her breathing slowed, the nausea began to fade and she could gather herself once more.

Presently he took a step back, rested his rough lips against her cheek for a split second as if giving her a kiss, then turned around. “Come on,” he said simply, and started back up the trail. She followed, not trusting herself to speak.

He did end up singing again, but Vagabond didn’t join in and he didn’t ask. She spaced out for a while, counting the pretty rocks along the trail and silently enjoying the melodies pouring from his throat. It was as if she were traveling with a walking soundtrack and it was utterly fantastic and she didn’t want to interrupt.

The trek took them higher and higher. Vagabond kept them at a steady pace, determined to at least reach the topmost ridge before the end of the day. It was a doable, but pressing goal, and eventually Elk had to stop singing to save his breath. The path narrowed and took them alongside a cliff (Elk insisted on keeping at least his head in between her and the drop despite her insistence that she’d be fine). He really wanted her to ride, considering he had four feet and the snow made things downright slippery, but she refused. Deer were not meant to be ridden despite his size so she didn’t want to do that unless there was an emergency, and she wanted him to save his strength at least until they were headed downhill.

Their fast pace paid off. Abruptly an empty space yawned in front of them. The path had been a scenic one and now the gleam of the city sprawled along the rolling hills was to the northwest. The castle carved deep into the huge rocky outcrop loomed over it all, and the Rift, slightly smaller but flashier and even more majestic, lit the sky and surrounding area with its golden beam of light disappearing into the heavens. It was an incredible sight and they paused to take it all in, using that time to also catch their breaths.

Vagabond ruined the moment by sniffling loudly and wiping her nose, runny from the freezing air and altitude. “Cool.” She started down the opposite side, then paused when she didn’t hear his footsteps. Turning, she blinked up at him. He was still staring at the view, and his eyes were flat and his expression blank. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

“...Elk? You okay man?”

For a few seconds, which seemed to last forever, he didn’t move or respond. Then, slowly, he turned and began to follow her once more. The sudden dead, still silence sent her heart rate climbing and she began to fidget. It was as if he were holding his breath, and her chest began to hurt as she did the same. As he came down level with her, she moved to the side of the trail, unconsciously keeping a space between them. Elk paused, blinked, and looked at her in earnest now. His expression softened upon seeing her twitching and he said, calmly but clearly strained, “I’m okay.”

“You, uh, you sure?”

Another long pause. He looked down the mountain again, then back at her. “...Let’s go.”

“O…kay.” Nervously she started down again, darting a glance every so often back at him. It made it hard to pay attention to where she was walking, but finally something caught her eye and she was able to pull her mind off his sudden change in mood and she perked up. Nestled below them among snow-covered evergreens was a tiny shelter, tucked off the trail and clearly unused. Finally, they’d get a chance to rest somewhere warm and without the added irritation of always being soaked from the damp earth. She started down with renewed vigor, Elk trailing behind.

By the time they made their way down the sun had all but set. There was a wide flat plateau of sorts where the cabin was tucked, surrounded by evergreens, and once they reached it Elk began to trot around, kicking up snow and snapping up his hind legs here and there in jerky motions as if to fling off unwanted mud. To the untrained eye it seemed as if he were playing, but Vagabond, who knew him, saw the stiffness of his motions and the blank look in his eyes. He was trying to clear his mind of whatever had darkened his thoughts the moment he’d seen the city.

Vagabond was close to collapse at that point though, the promise of their hard work paying off with a warm fire and bed beckoning her. She grabbed some of the firewood stacked outside against the wall and dragged them inside. After a moment her friend followed and she shut and latched the door to keep out any unwanted visitors.

The firewood was wet but there was tinder left to dry inside, and without too much fumbling Vagabond soon had a steadily growing blaze in the hearth. The heat filled the tiny shelter swiftly and both of them relaxed. As soon as her hands were less creaky Vagabond rummaged around until she found the hidden cache of supplies—dried beans, rice, herbs, dehydrated vegetables and jerky. “Thank the gods,” she muttered.

It took some time, but they were able to have a hot if simple dinner of rice and vegetable soup. By the time they’d eaten it was late, and Vagabond was exhausted. She unfolded the cot and started tugging at the mattress to bring it to the floor, but Elk stopped her, murmuring that it was all right and to go ahead and sleep.

She should have argued, she knew, but she was so tired, and simply obeyed, collapsing upon the cot. The shelter was smaller even than the room at the inn and barely had enough space for the both of them, much less with the cot unfolded, but for once she didn’t have the brain power to think about him. She couldn’t concern herself with the way he just stood there and stared at the door, his earlier carefree air gone, rigid and frozen. She’d deal with it tomorrow. It was time for sleep.

~

“Let me out.”

Vagabond blinked awake slowly, her eyes sore and gritty. Something had changed. Squinting into the dark, she tried to find a source of light to see what was going on. The fire had all but died and the trees shaded any illumination from the moon, casting everything into total black. As her eyes adjusted she could just make out his form and movement in the center of the room; he pawed at the air slowly, breathing in shaky gasps. “Let me out.”

“Okay,” she swung her legs out and inched by him. “Hold on, I’m—”

“Let me out!” And he reared up suddenly, antlers scraping the ceiling. He couldn’t get very far. His hooves flashed uncomfortably close to her head. Vagabond woke up very quickly at that, jerking back and falling right back onto the cot; he crashed back down to the floor, his voice rising— “Let me out! ”

“Okay!” Vagabond raised her hands to try and protect her face, stumbling over the edge of the cot to avoid getting trampled. Alarm screamed in her mind. She wanted out now, too, but couldn’t get to the door without his cooperation. He was ramping himself up, and in the dark she could just see the whites of his eyes shining, terror pulsing through them and twisting her heart. “Okay, hold on, Elk, buddy—”

“Let!” He reared up, lunged forward and slammed his head into the heavy wooden door so hard she was surprised his antlers didn’t snap straight off. “Me!” Flecks of spit flew everywhere, and he screamed the last word, crashing into the door again—the force of it sent the frame shuddering— “OUT!”

Vagabond ducked under his flailing hooves and scrambled to the door. Being stuck in a tiny room with a wildly bucking deer was enough to make anyone brave enough to try, but she was running purely on instinct here and the desire to get the hell out of dodge.

“LET ME OUT!”

She lunged when he backed up to get a better stance, scrabbling at the lock and utterly unconcerned about her own safety. He reared up again, antlers grating against the ceiling once more, hooves whipping through the air and clipping her shoulder. Gods damn it, I just got better—she ignored the pain and finally managed to shove the latch into the unlocked position, throwing the door open and blasting everything with frigid wind. She shoved herself as far into the corner as possible, plastering against the wall as her maddened friend lunged, his antlers ripping fabric and skin on her back, and then he was gone, charging into the night. Vagabond stumbled a few steps after him, then just stood there, panting from adrenaline and pain.

For a moment she stood there, shocked into stillness, before alarm sent her bolting after him—to no avail. There was no way she’d be able to catch up to him, or even see him. “Elk!”

She staggered over to the fire and stirred it back to life, grabbed a cloth from her bag and wet it in the snow to use as a barrier wrapped around a piece of wood. The ever-active Rift provided some light, but it wasn’t enough. Thrusting the dry end into the fire, she set her makeshift torch ablaze and, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, tried to track his hoof prints in the snow. What if he broke one of those legs of his stumbling around in the dark? What if, in his panic, he ran straight off a cliff?

The hoof prints went back up the trail. Vagabond began to climb, once again heedless and uncaring about the danger of trying to hike the frozen, jagged rocks. She stumbled and slipped, caught herself and kept going, and didn’t stop to think about what she was doing until she crested the ridge they’d just come down. There she stood, scanning the darkness frantically until the cold began to win against the warmth of her torch and she realized she hadn’t even paused to put on her boots. She couldn’t feel her toes.

“ELK!”  

Nothing but a faint echo answered her, and she hissed a curse. She had to go back. She couldn’t follow him. It would be madness to even try.

Still, she considered it, frozen in indecision for a minute more than she should have before realizing she’d lose her toes if she stood there any longer. She practically slid back down the trail and headed inside, where she sat by the fire to save her limbs and slow her shaking.

The adrenaline and worry kept her awake, and the stress sent a band of tension around her skull. When her body was out of danger she got properly dressed and stood outside, striving to hear any signs of her friend. Dead silence met her attempt, punctuated only by an occasional pop of the fire inside. The sky lightened and she paced to keep herself warm, calling for him every so often, until the scrape and click of his hooves alerted her to his return.

Elk walked slowly down the path again, illuminated only by the Rift and the barest of slivers of sun peeking over the horizon, and Vagabond moved to meet him, a powerful wave of relief making her lightheaded. He was there, he was alive, he wasn’t injured—was he injured?

“Thank the gods,” she whispered, feeling her chest loosen. She could breathe again. Elk picked his way to her, carefully, and stopped a meter away to just study her. Then he knelt, bowing his head just like he had when they’d first met.

His voice was quiet, subdued; barely above a murmur. “I hurt you.”

“Good gods do you think I care?” She dropped the torch that had been burning out anyway and fell to her knees in front of him, throwing caution to the wind and placing both hands alongside his face, struggling to lift so he’d look her in the eye. “You’re okay. Thank fuck you’re okay. I thought you’d fall off a cliff or, or—” she choked to a halt when he finally lifted his head and rested his forehead against hers. The tines of his antlers scraped her skin gently.

“I promise,” he said, in the same low tone, “I will never hurt you again. Ever again. I swear it. Forgive me.”

She wanted to brush it off, tell him that there was nothing to forgive, but sensed that would be the wrong thing to say. He needed her forgiveness. “I forgive you.” She hugged him tightly. “Now, please… come inside.”

She coaxed him to his feet. He followed her in and she shut the door, letting the fire heat the tiny space once more. He stood there quietly as she fussed over him, melting the frozen dewdrops on his fur and wiping them away with the blanket, his eyes vacant, and she pulled the folding mattress off the cot and made him lay down as she made breakfast. He only came to when she shrugged out of her coat, baring her torn shirt stained with her blood. She heard his sharp intake of breath and glanced over, spooning sticky rice and herbs into bowls. “Oh, Vagabond…”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse, remember?” She smiled faintly and put his bowl in front of him. His nostrils flared but he didn’t dip his head yet to eat.

“It’s not fine. Turn around.”

She thought about arguing but refrained, allowing him to inspect her more closely. “Take off your shirt,” he added, peering at the tears in the fabric. Vagabond opened her mouth but once again swallowed her protest and obeyed. She had a bra band on, and she really did need to know how bad it was. He leaned in and hissed through clenched teeth. “How bad is it?”

“Well… I don’t think you need stitches. But we need to bandage it.” He shuffled around a bit to peer at her bruised shoulder. “Did… Did I do that, too?”

“You caught me with your hooves. It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay. It is the opposite of okay. Stop saying that!” He was starting to spiral again, and Vagabond turned to face him, stopping him from going down that rabbit hole by throwing her arms around his long neck and squeezing tightly.

His somber silence broke and he sobbed in the way only he could, heart-wrenching and tearless, shuddering in her arms. She held him tightly until he slumped, then cradled his head on her lap and stroked his face. He babbled incoherently, only gradually making any sense. “—tried to stop but the walls were closing in, I tried, I tried, no one came, no one would even listen, I begged them but they muzzled me—it was so dark, there was no window, no sky—and then the fire died and there was no light and I couldn’t take it anymore I couldn’t breathe I couldn’t think I couldn’t—I couldn’t—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Oh, honey.” He gasped and drew in ragged, shaky breaths, and she hummed to him until he pressed one ear to her chest and closed his eyes.

“You don’t deserve this. I hurt you and you’re the one comforting me,” he pressed in closer and she just kept humming, stroking the ridge under his eye and rubbing a hand up and down the crest of his neck until at last he inhaled deeply and let it out in one big whoosh, letting his body settle into hers.

They didn’t leave the lodge that day. Vagabond cleaned and wrapped her cuts, and he insisted on helping her, grasping the cloth in between his cloven toes and carefully dabbing at the wounds. After that he slept, utterly depleted from his ordeal, waking only to eat dinner. When dinner was finished he got up slowly to stretch his limbs and asked her to open the door again.

They took a walk outside. Vagabond kept her eyes out for more forage, but honestly it was a useless endeavor. Not up here in the dead of winter, anyway.

“What are the words?” He asked suddenly. She blinked, taken aback.

“Words?”

“To the song you keep humming. It’s always the same tune.”

“Oh, I don’t remember. Just something my mom would sing to me when I was little.” She shrugged, then winced as the cuts rubbed against cloth. “Lost in time, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d rather remember it.”

“I… yeah, I guess.” She gazed up at the mountaintop rising high above them. Thank goodness the trail hadn’t gone up there. “But whatever, the tune is nice. I’m glad I remember that, at least.” She didn’t want to talk about her mom, so she changed the subject, adding idly, “Did your mom sing?”

“Well, yes. Centaur and all that.” He also changed the subject. “Are we heading out soon?”

“Not right now. Tomorrow morning at first light.”

That’s what they did, restocking her bag and setting out right as the sun’s rays began to warm the earth. Elk was still emotionally drained, but his energy was back, and he insisted that she ride him when the trail narrowed again to a ledge alongside the mountain. This time she didn’t argue. It was more likely that she’d slip while heading down rather than up, and her shoulder was bruised anew from being struck. Plus, it was cloudy, and the air smelled like snow; Elk would make better time against the clock.

“Do you want to go back to Centaurworld?” she asked around midday. She’d half-slept on his back, more physically tired than he was. The good news was, they were nearing the last stretch of the trail and the exhausting climb. They were still heading downhill but at a much gentler slope.

“No. No.” He hissed out a short breath, shaking his antlers and pinning his ears. “When she set me free, I thought that’s where I would go. But I couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Why not?”

He was silent for a minute. “I never fit in as it were, as a centaur myself. I can’t imagine what the reception would be as… this.” He lowered his head and heaved them up a rock. Vagabond leaned forward too, trying to relieve the stress off his haunches. She’d offered a few times to jump down, even tried to herself a few times, but he’d refused to let her.

With a sigh, she reached up to hug his neck. “I think you’d be in for a nice surprise if you just gave them a chance. Remember the kid back in town? He was pretty chill. There’s gotta be more people who’re the same, if you explained to them what happened.”

“It’s unlikely they’d even let me,” he sighed. “Vagabond, I appreciate it, but… I think I met a diamond in the rough when you found me.”

“Aww. And I thought I was the sap.”

“Oh, you are.”

He paused for a minute, and she could feel his flanks heaving. He was strong, but he wasn’t a horse. “Okay, that’s enough,” she said firmly, and began sliding off. There was just enough room on one side to jump down. “No reason to strain yourself.”

“Vagabond—wait—” he sidestepped a bit to keep her under him, but she kept going nonetheless. “What if you fall? Your shoulder—”

“Elk, sweetheart, I’ve been on my own for a long time.” She brushed herself off. “I’ve scaled enough mountains to know how to keep my footing.” Glancing at him, she saw his ears back again, this time with nervousness. She pushed at his muzzle playfully. “I’ll be fine.”

He pawed the ground, but didn’t argue anymore. They kept going down the winding trail, heading further and further into the wilderness. The scent of snow grew stronger, and after about an hour of travel the sky decided to make do on that promise, flakes swirling down to whisper over the rocks. Vagabond hummed softly to herself.

“I used to work on the Rift, you know,” Elk said abruptly. She glanced over her shoulder again, brows rising, before returning her attention to the rocky path ahead of them. He’d neglected to mention that little detail. “I was a repairman. I would help fix it when it went awry.” The steam of his breath curled over her shoulder.

“Oh, neato.” She turned around so she was walking backward. He huffed and grabbed at her coat, worried she might take a wrong step and fall off the ledge—she chuckled and obeyed, turning back around. “How’d you fix it?”

“Well… you know how I said I pulled myself apart?” She was pretty proud of him for not immediately breaking down at the mention. The very phrase “pulled myself apart” had some pretty traumatizing connotations. “There’s this thing that I used that’s part of the Rift. It can join things together, or split them apart. We call it the ‘Key’ because it can open or close the doors.” He paused, then added, “I helped build it,” and she could practically feel him arching his neck behind her with his pride.

“So you’re not just a repairman. You’re an engineer, an inventor, and a repairman. Damn, boy, that’s impressive.” She glanced over her shoulder at him again. His mouth curved up shyly and he picked his feet up a little more with the praise, prancing across the rocks. It was very cute, and a welcome change to the melancholy that had followed him since his breakdown.

“I suppose. Never thought about it that way.” He considered that. “I’m bringing this up because I was thinking about what you said, about having a plan.” Vagabond stiffened a little, wary, but he didn’t notice. “If I become powerful enough, the General wouldn’t be able to touch me and, and maybe he and the Princess would be forced to acknowledge my existence. Maybe I could even make him fuse with me.”

“Ah,” she said weakly. “Well. That’s… quite the grand plan.” She scrambled to think of something, anything, to get him off that train of thought. She couldn’t deal with this right now. Or ever.

Elk brushed her back gently with his nose. “What’s wrong? You don’t agree?”

She cleared her throat and strove to bring lightness back into her voice. “Oh, it’s not that! I was just thinking about the snow. We should probably find some sort of shelter. You know. It’s only gonna keep snowing.”

“Oh!” The sound of his hooves paused, then he hurried to catch up again. “Oh, you’re right. I didn’t think of that. Maybe there’s another one of those cabins…?”

Vagabond shook her head. “I’ve been looking around. There really isn’t room to put one. But even if there’s an overhang or something we could camp out under it and make a fire.” She hesitated. “And I thought you just said you didn’t want to go back to Centaurworld.”

“I don’t! Not permanently. I just thought… I know my workshop probably isn’t there anymore but I have all the knowledge in my head. If I could grab the key I might even be able to replicate it…” His voice darkened. “...In my head. Ha. Insanity is a crazy thing. I forgot so many things in that cell. But I think it’ll come back to me. I was very good at my job.”

“I can’t imagine,” she said gently, reaching a hand up over her shoulder. He pressed his muzzle against her palm. Stuck in a tiny cell, unable to even stand, probably force-fed and wallowing in his own filth for a decade? It was a miracle he was in any way functional. Of course he’d panicked in the middle of the night.

They turned a bend and Vagabond stopped short, causing Elk to nearly run into her. He tossed his antlers up to avoid scraping her. “Vagabond…? What—” His voice died.

Ahead of them, the trail widened into a large plateau facing a bridge stretched across a chasm. The good news was, there was an overhang just as she’d mentioned on the other side where they could take shelter. The bad news was, said overhang was full of waiting soldiers.

Chapter Text

The steam billowed from Elk’s nostrils as he let out a low, dangerous rumble. She could feel him tensing up behind her, his hate and rage pouring out in waves. She remained firmly in his way lest he do something foolish like try to lunge over the bridge at them.

“Well,” she said mildly. “That’s a problem.”

“I can take them.”

“Oh stop—”

“No.” He stepped forward, forcing her to move. She resisted, but it was like trying to stop a boulder from rolling down a hill. Elk’s neck curved around her, protective despite the distance of their pursuers. His antlers jutted towards them threateningly and his voice was low with conviction. “They won’t dare hurt me. He won’t let them.”

She leaned back against him, trying to put on the breaks. He simply shouldered her aside. “You know what they’ll do to you if they catch you.”

“I do. We have no choice. Stay behind me.”

He crossed to the ledge and stepped onto the bridge. It was of sturdy build; Vagabond wasn’t worried about it, but her heart still pounded. It was big enough for the both of them side by side, but per his orders she hovered at his haunches. Her head began to throb from the tense, heavy silence. Going towards danger wasn’t in her repertoire. She ran, she didn’t charge. As they got closer they could see the soldiers getting ready, nooses and nets and wicked looking weighted ropes in their hands. They’d been there for a while; she could see the tent they’d been sleeping in now, behind the lone horse they’d brought with them.

She and Elk hadn’t lost them, she realized. They’d simply gone to the other end of the trail.

“Elk…”

His antlers lowered again, muscles taut with readying power.

“Wait.”

“This isn’t the time to run.” Fog steamed from his mouth.

“Hold on—”

“We can’t turn around.”

“No shit, ” she hissed. Her breath caught. “Listen, I can help. I—you wanted to know something about me, right? About my scars? Remember when the air got weird once when we were—when I was humming?”

He paused. An ear flicked back towards her. He was listening.

“There’s another way than this. There’s always another way.” She inhaled the sharp, cold air, shakily, and lifted her head to look into the sky. “You just have to think outside the box.”

She reached out.

“What are you—”

Sparks swam on the edges of her vision. Her temples began to throb and the dull ache behind her eyes sharpened. Elk cut himself off, sensing the difference in air pressure. He turned his head sideways to both look at her and keep an eye on the soldiers. Vagabond’s face was pale and her eyes dilated.

“Strings,” she muttered.

They crisscrossed in front of her, connecting and weaving together. She swallowed hard, throat dry and scratchy, and for a single moment wished she were alone. She would have been easily able to escape on her own; slipping away from trouble was what she did. But now, Vagabond closed her eyes and hummed deeply, almost as deep as Elk’s, catching a thread and pulling it taut before letting it go. This time she didn’t need him. This time it was on purpose.

The air roiled. The soldiers yelled, now seeing the new danger. The horse, though heavily trained, was not used to this unseen threat and reared and screamed. A pile of snow slid off the overhang and collapsed atop them, adding to the confusion. Vagabond swayed, gritting her teeth, as the pain got worse and she leaned on Elk’s rump. He was staring back at her wide-eyed and stock still, but moved the moment her shaking body met his. He backed up alongside her and spoke, but she couldn’t hear, her mind overtaken with the thrum of their surroundings. Blood dripped out her nose.

“Vagabond!”

She shook violently and opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. Elk nudged her hands and she grabbed at his fur. He began walking towards the other side determinedly, leading her across the bridge. Vagabond couldn’t think, couldn’t see; her eyes clouded with tears and each breath was a knife to the back of her throat.

Her feet hit rock. They’d reached the other side. The chaos whirled around them, flickers of light weaving in and out of sight, swimming through the snow and ice. Reality writhed. Elk stopped and spoke to her again; she stared at him blankly, unseeing. He put his mouth next to her ear. “Sit down,” he bellowed, and she dropped to the frozen ground.

Everything seemed to be underwater. Her head throbbed. She pressed her hands to her temples and hummed, softly, each vibration painful, begging it to stop. The air slowly began to still.

As everything died down the sounds of her surroundings came back to her. The cries of the soldiers had gone from surprise to pain and fear, and the roar of her companion intermingled with the shrieks of the warhorse. She wiped the blood from her nose and tried to focus her eyes on what was going on. There was so much movement she couldn’t quite make sense of it. Something big rushed past her and into the open air with an equine scream. She squinted through her swimming vision.

Elk was rearing, crimson dripping from his antlers, his eyes blazing and teeth bared. A body lay at his feet, throat torn to shreds. The horse was missing. Another body twitched and kicked on the rock from injuries she couldn’t discern. Elk had taken advantage of their surprise and ran with it, slaughtering them as they flailed in the churning snow and muddied atmosphere. One of them tried to get his footing and throw a weighted net. He missed and went down and Elk went for him next, one prong of his antler entering the slit in front of the helm. Blood shot out like a fountain amidst the man’s screams.

“Wh-What are you doing?” she croaked. As she watched, he lunged out of his reared pose and, legs ramrod straight, slammed his sharp hooves with all his weight behind them into the neck of the man as he screamed and clawed at his helm and the ruined eye underneath. The sharp crack shot Vagabond through the core, and the man instantly went limp. “Stop!”

She heaved herself to her feet. The ground was slick with blood. She slid and stumbled towards him, heedless of the danger—but she didn’t have to be anyway; he looked at her, and smiled.

“Getting rid of them,” he said, and pranced towards her. A shred of skin hung from his uppermost prong. “I don’t know what you did, but it gave us enough of an edge to—”

“To run,” she gasped, staring, numb, at the scene he’d laid out before her. “I g-gave us an opening t-to get away!”

Her legs folded and she sat again, hard, and the pain in her head flared again, forcing her to close her eyes and will herself not to retch as copper mist flooded her senses. The click of his hooves got louder and soon she felt the heat of his breath on her cheek. He nuzzled her gently, and his deep voice was soothing. “You were in no condition to ride, Vagabond. I couldn’t wait for them to get their footing. You understand, don’t you?”

She pressed her palms against her eyes. She hurt so much. She just wanted to sleep. All of that had sucked her energy from her, and now her body was desperately trying to regulate and regain what it had lost. Her stomach growled in a desperate plea for her to replace the calories that had been stripped away.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t face the bloody mess that covered the ground and him. The metallic tang in her mouth made her retch. Tears rolled past her hands.

“Oh…” his muzzle left a warm wetness on her cheek. “It’s okay. I know this is hard for you.” He paused at a small sound. “...Hold on.” He started to turn away, and Vagabond realized that the sound was of a soldier still alive. Her eyes flew open and she braved the scene to see a young man, dusty blond hair bare from losing his helmet, absolutely frozen as the elk began to stalk towards him.

She grabbed one hind leg in a bear hug, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. The man’s life depended on it. Elk tugged at her, then flicked an ear back. The one eye he tilted at her was unreadable. “Let go.”

“N-No. Leave him alone.”

“I can’t let him live. He’ll attack us when our backs are turned.”

She gripped him even tighter, until her arms began to cramp. “So we’ll tie him up,” she begged. “W-We don’t need to kill him. We’ll bring him down the mountain and leave him at an outpost, or s-something.”

Elk turned to look at her fully, ears cocked towards the soldier. There was a terrifying, frozen pause. “My friend,” he said finally, his voice gentling to a low murmur as if she were a frightened animal—the irony was not lost on her— “if we let him leave, he will tell everyone who you are. You’ll be in as much danger as I am. He will come after you.”

“But—”

“If he doesn’t kill you outright, he’ll lie. He’ll lie and tell you that I’m a monster, that everything I’ve said isn’t true, that I deserve to be in that dungeon. He’ll lie until you start to doubt, until you believe him, until you didn’t see me as a person anymore,” his eyes began to glaze as he sunk deeper, and she could feel the trembling in his limbs, “until you only saw me as a beast and left me in the dark to rot. Just like he’s convinced of everyone else. Just like he convinced her. Just how humans see all centaurs…”

Vagabond grabbed tufts of his fur and forced herself to her feet as he ranted, stumbling up to his head, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The world tilted dangerously. “Elk. Elk. Sweetheart. Listen to me. Listen. Please.” She dragged her hands over his eyes, his ears, slipping over the slimy dampness left by flecks of blood. “S-She… let you go. Set you free. Right?”

Another pause. His eyes flickered. Her head pounded. “...Yes.”

“And… And I don’t see centaurs like… that. Like however you mean. N-Neither did she. Right?” All the muscles in her arms and fingers and shoulders sang with pain from clutching so hard. It shook all the way up to her head, ringing with agony.

“Yes,” he murmured again, and she was relieved to see his focus sharpen again, pulling out of the darkness he was sinking into.

“I’m not gonna leave you. I promised. I won’t. B-But don’t do this.”

She wasn’t looking at his face anymore, having closed her eyes against the torrent of nauseating pain and dizziness, but she could feel his gaze on her. His powerful heart thudded all the way up to his throat and his rough fur chafed her skin in the icy cold. “Don’t do this,” she whispered again, feeling her limbs loosen; her muscles give up in protest. Everything spun behind her closed eyelids, threatening to send her crashing to the ground. “Please.”

A deep, shuddering sigh worked its way through his body. “All right, dearheart,” he said finally, his voice strained, and she released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “All right. We’ll do this your way. Just this once.

“You,” he barked at the young soldier, “on your knees.”

The man floundered as Vagabond half-collapsed in relief. Elk pushed his head at her and she grabbed his antlers, and he helped her sit back down. She hooked an arm loosely around his leg again and put her head between her knees, focusing on breathing as her friend barked orders at him. “Take out your weapons. All of them. Throw them to the side.” The clangs of their contact with stone were too loud in her overly sensitive ears. She winced each time, but still refused to release her companion’s leg. It was getting harder and harder to keep awake. Lightheadedness threatened to overtake her, and it was getting dark now. The soft hissing sound of snow reminded her they needed to make a fire, and soon.

“Do you have any rope, Vagabond?” Elk asked, his voice once again gentle.

“Y-Yeah.”

“Do you think you can tie him up?”

“I…” she gulped in a few breaths. She hurt. So much. But if the man’s life was in jeopardy… “I’ll try.”

“My friend is going to come over now,” Elk returned his attention to their captive. “And you’re going to be very still. Aren’t you.”

A soft whimper escaped his throat, but he nodded. Poor guy. He probably had only just gotten out of training and hadn’t seen any real action yet. Despite his role as their wannabe captor, she couldn’t help but feel her heart go out to him.

You did this. Your stupid bleeding heart got you into this mess.

Elk knelt down on his front legs and Vagabond draped her arm around his neck. He lifted her once again to her feet easily. Everything writhed when she opened her eyes and she clamped them shut again. “Are you sure you can do this?” he asked, and her heart melted a little. Even though he’d just shown her a remarkably savage display of violence, the concern in his voice assured her he was still Elk. “I don’t trust him to tie himself.”

Vagabond went to nod, then winced at the movement. “Yeah,” she murmured instead.

He led her over and stood over them as she shakily got to her knees and put her backpack on the ground next to the trembling soldier. The rope was always one of the first things that met her fingertips in the event that she needed to get it out in a hurry, and she strove to concentrate and tie his wrists together in front of him. She knew how to tie a damn good knot, even if she’d never done it to a person before.

“Shouldn’t his hands be behind him?” Elk asked.

“We need someone to make a fire,” she managed, keeping her voice low. Anything louder pulsed in her temples. “I can’t. Not now.”

Her hands were shaking so hard she wasn’t sure how she managed to finish the knot, but she did it. Her body knew the motion even though her vision was getting blurrier by the moment. His legs were easier. She crawled a few feet away and leaned against the rock wall, eyes glazed and head turned away from the carnage that lay around them. “I… I might puke.”

“That’s okay. I understand.”

Gods, she couldn’t do this. She curled into herself, breathing labored. Too much. She’d pushed herself too much. She needed food, but if she ate she might just vomit it up, but she needed the strength to regulate her body again and she needed to eat before she took any medication, but if she ate she might vomit it up…

“You. Get out your water. Give it to her.”

There was some more fumbling, and the young soldier’s bound hands pressed his water container to her side. She took it with a whispered thanks and took a few shaky sips. The liquid soothed her scratchy throat.

Elk coaxed her into the tent, and intimidated the man into the very back of the overhang. The snow was picking up now, but fortunately none of it was reaching the back wall of the not-cave. The snow that had dropped had completely snuffed out their campfire, so the soldier made a new one, hands shaking under the cold gaze of his inhuman captor.

Vagabond slept fitfully, the pain interrupting her every so often, but the time she spent awake became further and further apart. Deep into the night she woke long enough to eat some nuts and dried fruit and take some medication, then fell asleep again.

A few hours later she woke again, and just sat there quietly until she felt well enough to sit up. She didn’t want to open the tent, but did so anyway, keeping her eyes to the darkness beyond and away from the massacre. Elk was standing just inside the firelight, keeping one ear turned towards their captive and staring into the snow. He turned upon hearing her movement. “Vagabond?”

The pain had subsided to a bearable level, at least. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a pack of jerky.

“Please look at me.”

She lifted her head reluctantly to meet his gaze, her eyes dull and strained. Elk was back to his nervous self, but the dried blood on his face and legs didn’t let her forget. It did look like he’d tried to scrape some of it off, at least. They stared at each other for a moment, then he asked, hesitantly, “Do you hate me?”

“No,” she said immediately, surprising the both of them. “I… I understand why you felt you had to do that.”

“Thank goose,” he breathed, stepping a little closer. She forced herself to keep her eyes on him. “I was so worried.”

“I’m not gonna ever hate you,” she said quietly. “I just wish you would think of a better way to do things. Th-They didn’t need to die.”

He reached for her, resting his chin on the top of her head for a moment and blowing a long sigh out his nose. “Oh, my friend.” One leg came up and he put a hoof awkwardly on her shoulder. “Sometimes it’s the only way.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, except what she already had before, but there was something else that was far more pressing and it took a good minute to raise the courage to broach the subject. When she finally spoke again she almost couldn’t believe how timid and fearful she sounded. “Do you hate me?”

Elk pulled back sharply. “What! No! I would never.” The hoof slipped down to hook her shoulder and pull her into an embrace. She hugged his other leg. “I have to admit I did at first just because you’re human, but… but that feels like so long ago.”

“S-So what I just did doesn’t scare you?” Elk released her, folded his hind legs and sat, letting her lean against him and curving his neck over her as she inched out of the tent.

“No,” he said firmly. “I want answers, but I’m not afraid.”

“Okay. Okay. That makes sense.” She wiped her eyes on his fur.

“You’re my friend, Vagabond. And let’s not forget. I’ve seen some crazy shit too.”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him curse for real. She sniffled a little and wiped her eyes again. “Heh. Here.” She unpacked one of her rags and leaned out of the range of the fire to gather some snow in it, then plopped it next to the heat. The snow soon melted, and she used the now wet rag to wipe Elk’s face and horns of the blood. 

“Oh, thank you,” he said, relieved. “It was starting to itch. You got some, uh,” he brushed her cheek with his muzzle. She wiped at the imprint his nose had left earlier. “Your nose, too—there, you got it.”

Vagabond offered him some jerky, which he took, and then a few pieces to the soldier. She was worried Elk might make her stop, but he didn’t say anything. The young man blinked at her wide-eyed, but his hunger overcame his trepidation and he hesitantly accepted the proffered food. They all chewed in silence. Vagabond ended up ripping Elk’s serving into a few smaller pieces. His herbivorous teeth weren’t built for meat. Every movement she made was muffled, as if underwater. Dimly, she realized she was somehow still in shock.

“That wasn’t deer, was it,” he said after he’d finished, deadpan.

She stared at him blankly. There was a joke in there somewhere, but she was too distant to figure it out. Or find it funny. “No, it’s rabbit.”

“Oh, thank goodness. Not that I am a deer. It would just be…” he trailed off, realizing she wasn’t following, and sighed.

She drank some water and gave the skin back to the soldier. She had her own; she didn’t need to finish his. The wind blew, howling past the open end of the overhang and swirling snow towards them. Vagabond shivered and nestled closer to Elk. He seemed to be the only one not bothered by the cold; his thick winter coat worked wonders in keeping him warm.

“Sooooo,” he said finally, tapping at the stone floor with his hooves.

“Yeah,” she muttered. He pulled back a bit to look at her face, the light reflecting in his large dark eyes. She turned away to stare into the beyond again. What a crazy couple of days. The insane swings of emotion left her feeling empty.

“Did you study in Centaurworld?”

Vagabond didn’t remove her gaze from the dark of the abyss. There was a long silence as she steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. Finally he huffed and tossed his head a little, frustrated. “Come on. Tell me something. It can’t be any more fantastical than me ripping my body and soul in half. Or, well, all of Centaurworld.”

It hit her, suddenly, all at once. Her head spun and she pulled backward away from him, stumbling to her feet before he could get to his own. She lurched into the night, beyond the warmth of the fire, and Elk cried out and darted past and around her, stopping her in her tracks. He pushed her bodily towards the back of the overhang again, and she could hear the panicked anger die in his throat when he looked at her tear-streaked face. “What are you—! No, no, it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re all right.”

“It’s not all right!” She shrieked, trying to go around him. He lowered his head and caged her between his antlers, pressing her ever backwards away from the yawning chasm. “You killed four people!” The soldier was watching wide-eyed, but she didn’t have the bandwidth to spare him a thought. Couldn’t spare him a thought. Elk had killed his comrades, and she’d abetted in it. She couldn’t think of anything worse. It was hard to breathe. “And I helped you do it!”

“What would you have me do!” He bellowed back, and with one final shove knocked her on her butt. Her shoulder tensed and her back burned, but it was a good pain; one that brought her back to the present. Only then did she realize what she’d been doing and took deep gulps of air to calm herself. He heaved a breath, himself, trying to stay calm, and his next words were forcibly even. “Listen to me. Listen.”

She hiccupped and shuddered, but nodded. He paused, then slowly hunkered down to all four knees, making sure he was between her and the darkness beyond. “I didn’t know what it meant to you. And—And you saved the last one, see? He’s alive. I didn’t kill him because of you.”

“I don’t,” she croaked, “I don’t like seeing people get hurt.” She couldn’t stop the tears from coming, though, and Elk leaned forward and pressed his cheek against hers.

“Hush,” he murmured, “hush now,” and she saw it; a thread coiling from him, his thread, but it was black and oozed and she’d never before seen one like it. It scared her and she leaned into his fur as he inched closer, nestling her between his front legs and against his neck. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It was all wrong. She sobbed into his coat and he hummed her lullaby to her until the tears began to slow and she was spent and exhausted all over again. She lay there and took in his earthy scent, trying her best to ignore the copper tinge at the edge of it and letting the outside world fade away.

At present she felt his muzzle brush her temple and his warm breath waft against her skin. “The Princess has magic too,” he murmured. Vagabond lifted her head a little, forcing herself not to cringe as dried blood scratched her face.  “And she looked at me like a person, like you.” A soft, breathy chuckle. “Maybe I’m just attracted to weird humans.”

After a short hesitation she leaned back a bit to meet his gaze and forced a smile, wincing a bit as her lip split. “That’s us. Fuckin’ weirdos. And you wanted t’be one of us?”

He tossed his head and laughed throatily, and the soldier took that moment to speak up. It was clear he had been holding his tongue their whole conversation and just couldn’t help but interject, trying to sound brave. “What do you know about the Princess? Stay away from her! You can’t have—”

Elk whipped around so fast Vagabond jerked. The soldier choked to a halt. Vagabond wrapped her arms around his neck again, nervously, to keep him from killing the young man right then and there. His muscles were rock-hard with his sudden hatred. “You,” he hissed, “have no idea what you are talking about. Keep that mouth shut, or you’ll join your fellows.”

The sheer amount of sudden loathing in his voice was downright scary. Vagabond thought back to when she’d first met him and saw that deep, cold malevolence in his eyes bordering on madness. She still had no idea if it was a good idea to befriend him then. Though, to be honest, he’d practically forced friendship on her. He could have walked away at any moment, but no; he’d followed, and for better or for worse. After seeing what he was capable of, she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. Well at least she wasn’t on the receiving end…?

“I’m not scared of you,” she said suddenly, pressing into him. “But I never want to see that again. And I don’t want to help…” She trailed off, unable to continue.

He turned back to her, and, thankfully, his muscles relaxed a bit. Beyond them the soldier sagged in relief at her interruption. “Vagabond, I… I’m sorry. I can’t help it. No,” he corrected, “I can, but the soldiers deserved it. But I am sorry I brought you into this. You said you were a pacifist, but I didn’t know how important it was to you.” He hooked his chin over her shoulder. “If you don’t want to fight, you don’t have to. But at least let me do it for you. You can’t run forever. Sooner or later, there will be nowhere left to go.”

“Not necessarily,” she muttered. “Got two whole worlds to explore.” And maybe even more, given the nature of the Rift.

“And never find a home?” He pulled back to lock eyes with her: hard, cold, possessive. Vagabond dropped her gaze to avoid the discomfort. This tortured man wasn’t about to let it go; he’d found someone who fit in as poorly as he did, and he’d cling to that with every bit of violence he’d shown the soldiers. “And where,” he continued, his voice low, “is your home, Vagabond?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, and gave him her signature half-smile, though weak and definitely not convincing. She lifted a hand and pointed downwards to the ground. “Wherever I tread.”

“That’s a funny way of saying nowhere.” With difficulty given their position, he raised a hoof and pushed her hand down. “I want to belong somewhere. And I want you there with me. Because I think you want the same.”

The smile dropped from her face and she dared to lift her eyes to his. The memory of the tonal change when she was in the woods struck her—that moment after fleeing the town and he’d realized she counted on him to take care of her; the conviction in his voice. It was a start, she thought; perhaps he could be persuaded to channel the violence he’d displayed into a protective sort of energy. Maybe he could have his own little kingdom. Vagabond grasped onto those straws desperately. She and him needed to have another heart to heart while they weren’t being listened to. “We need to put you back together first. Remember?”

“Right, right.” At the mention of his other half he huffed and pulled his lips back in a grimace. She tucked her head into his fur and closed her eyes to shut out the world and everything in it, letting her mind wander to escape the current reality. Her friend had just murdered people, and she’d helped. Inadvertently, but it had been because of her. She should have known he would have never just run by them. He had been right though; there would have been no way she could gotten onto his back and held on at that point. She’d been completely useless the moment she’d reached into the well of unpredictable abilities. Maybe it was the only way…

 Elk interrupted her musings abruptly. “Vagabond?”

“Mm.” She didn’t pull her face out of his ruff.

“Will you at least tell me something about yourself? Anything?”

She hesitated. She didn’t really want to, not with the soldier there. Not ever, really. It went against everything she’d cultivated in the years of solo travel. “Um…” She pulled away a bit to speak. “Okay. I left home when I was fifteen.” There, that was innocuous enough.

“That’s… pretty young,” he replied, carefully. A hesitation, and then he couldn’t help himself. “...Why?”

Vagabond turned away to reach into the tent for her pack, rummaging through for a little more grub. “All right,” her friend muttered, and though he sounded disappointed there was also a grudging acceptance in his voice. “I get it. One thing at a time.”

She managed to smile at him. “Thanks, man.” He smiled back at her, encouraged and relieved.

They couldn’t safely continue. So they stayed right where they were the rest of the night and deep into the next day when the snow finally stopped. She read to him a little, then took out her journal to catch up. Anything to get her mind off things and keep her attention away from the frozen crimson slush near the bridge. The falling fluff covered everything and soon the macabre sight was all but hidden from sight. She was relieved.

When the snow had stopped and the sun had melted most of it off the rocks late in the afternoon, they prepared to leave. Vagabond forced herself to rummage through the bags of the fallen to look for food and other necessities.

It felt so, so wrong. She refused to look at the young soldier, but she could feel his stare boring into her as she gingerly opened bags and removed the supplies they needed. She rolled up the tent too—they wouldn’t need it anymore and it was big enough to house her and Elk. The trio had lunch before setting out, the soldier in the front to clear snow, Vagabond right behind him and Elk’s head bobbing just next to her shoulder when the trail was wide enough. He’d agonized on what order they should travel for longer than was necessary, wanting to be between them but also wanting to be near her. It would have been cute if the slaughter of the past night wasn’t still hovering behind her eyes.

Vagabond was glad to move; she had to carve out a trail for them, and she looked forward to the single-minded goal that would serve as a much-needed distraction. It even distracted her from the traces of migraine hangover that still hovered behind her eyes.

Her hand found the man’s shoulder. “Hey,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. It’ll be okay.”

He didn’t respond, and behind her, Elk snorted but didn’t comment. Vagabond removed her hand and reached back to whack at Elk, hoping to hit him in the nose or something, but she only touched open air. The slight click of teeth indicated he snapped at her playfully. He was in a good mood, apparently.

She refused to think about why that was. And she refused to acknowledge the darkness writhing inside of him, burning his soul behind her.

She could only hope she was doing the right thing.

Chapter Text

“What are strings?”

Elk piped up from behind her as they traversed a rather narrow path. He seemed to have forgotten his human companions needed to use a lot more concentration for their footing than he did. He wasn’t even paying attention. Not only that, but the sun had come out and blinded the travelers with the mirror of the brilliantly white snow. Both humans squinted and covered their eyes but, once again, Elk didn’t seem bothered. Vagabond pushed her annoyance aside. Hearing someone speak while she was hiking just wasn’t something she was used to

“What are you,” her foot slipped off a rock. She caught herself, but not before she heard Elk’s breath hitch. “I’m fine, don’t worry—what’re you talking about?”

“You said ‘strings’ when you were humming. What did you mean?”

Vagabond grimaced and leaned on the rock wall for support as she tested a loose-looking pile of gravel. “Elk, buddy, I really need to concentrate. Maybe later.”

“Oh, right, right, sorry.” He seemed to be in a good mood, at least. She didn’t want to think that it might be because he’d finally gotten some revenge on a few of the people who hunted him. She never wanted to remember that again, honestly.

The trail flattened gradually into an easy decline down the slope of the mountain. It was slow going as they picked their way carefully across ice and snow. Vagabond had them all but tiptoe over a mound of collapsed slush, the sagging threat of an avalanche above it a series of thinning icicles. It was because of this she kept them at as brisk a pace as she could—the mountains were a dangerous place to be after any sort of snow. At least, that’s what she told herself.

“You weren’t kidding,” Elk mused.

“Hm?” She grabbed the soldier’s arm when he teetered. The only problem with her not being in front was she couldn't test the terrain before them. If the young man fell to his death because she didn’t see a hazard before he stepped on it she’d never forgive herself. It was the least she could do to keep him alive now.

“You really do know what you’re doing.”

“Told you.” They hit another flat stretch and collectively relaxed a bit. “Took you long enough to admit it.” She heard him huff and knew the only reason he wasn’t shoving her was because they were currently on the side of a ravine. “Been at this since I was fifteen.”

“Why did you leave?”

Augh, again? And the soldier was still there, listening. But she owed Elk a little bit more, she reasoned. And she didn’t have to tell him everything, just a tidbit. Why were people so hard to deal with… As soon as the thought passed through her mind she banished it. It wasn’t fair to even think that. Elk was difficult, but he was a good guy under it all. Right?

Something wicked festered inside him still. She might not be telling him everything, but neither was he; the endless hatred smoldered like rotten sore, laid bare to her by the second sight she sought to repress. Sure, he was making progress. But he was a long ways away, and perhaps he would never be rid of that noxious venom seeping through his veins. Maybe he wasn’t telling her about it because he wanted to protect her. Maybe because he was afraid it would drive her away. Maybe he didn’t even know.

Going back and forth like this was dizzying. Not long ago she had been delighted by his growth. That seemed so faint and distant now, and not for the first time she cursed herself for tapping into that perception. If only she could be normal for once in her life, if only she didn’t have this stupid—Vagabond came back to herself, abruptly, when her friend clopped alongside her as the trail widened. “Well, you know me,” she said cheerfully. “I’m a bit of a troublemaker.”

“Would have never guessed.”

“I figured I’d strike out on my own before I caused any more problems for my poor parents.” She tried to elbow him and missed. “And you’re just as bad, sir!”

“Me?” She glanced over at him with a grin, which faltered just a little when it met his dark smile. “Perish the thought.”

Down, down they traveled, until the cooling fog of the forest meeting pre-evening sun crept up the trail. It wasn’t warm enough to burn away the vestiges of condensation, which Vagabond didn’t like; it would saturate their clothing and freeze come night. She paused once the path finally met the forest floor, taking in her surroundings and getting her bearings. The heavy, wet scent of pine and earth filled their lungs and she sucked it in slowly, closing her eyes. As much as she loved mountains, she loved trees even more. The only thing missing was the scent of a nearby ocean. Once they reached the Rift she’d have to pop through to get a good whiff of the salt water on the other side.

She was reminded of her entourage when the soldier surreptitiously cleared his throat. Right, right, she had people to guide. Taking a step back between them momentarily to stop Elk from lashing out at the man for his interruption, she ignored his soft grunt of annoyance and said, “Okay. If we continue following the path we’ll hit the road. If we follow the road we’ll meet the next outpost. Yeah?” She looked at the soldier, who hesitated, then nodded. “We should be able to just let you go as soon as we see the road. You’ll be able to find your way from there.”

Another nod. He’d perked up, the worried exhaustion and stress lifting just a little to show his youthful face once more. Vagabond patted his arm. “But before that, we need to make a fire. It’s getting late.”

“Where?” Elk said, stepping forward, his chest brushing one shoulder and hovering over her. He was feeling left out. Vagabond smiled slightly and reached up to mess with his ears. “Everything is all damp.” He canted his head into her hand, letting out a sigh of pleasure as she picked a crusted piece of dried blood from the fur lining the inside of one ear. Gross. She’d have to give him a good washing later, when it was warmer.

“I kept some kindling.” She nodded towards the trees. “It’s actually kinda good it’s all wet; it won’t spread. Plus we need to keep an eye out for dead logs. They might be soaked but the wood’s porous and it’ll dry quick.”

Elk pushed his snout into her hand for more scratches. Vagabond obliged easily. It would be nice to get back to her new normal; just him and her and the world. And then eventually, to just her. Say what he like, but Vagabond had never found anywhere that felt like home enough to stay indefinitely. And even if she did… well… she would eventually cause enough problems that she’d have to leave anyway. “C’mon,” she said, leading the way into the trees. They’d get off the trail for a bit, and tomorrow they’d be rid of the soldier.

Evening sent flames of color across the horizon, followed by the deep purple of night. Vagabond led them to a rocky hill fully hidden by trees, where she wiped the wet stone down and set up a campfire.

“You’re not going to put up the tent?” Elk asked, curious. He settled on a jutting stone above them and looked for all the world like a king surveying his little nation of a willing and not-so-willing subject. The fire lit him from underneath. The effect was odd and dizzying and Vagabond busied herself with dinner. “You’ll be dry.”

“If it was just us, yeah.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Unless you’re okay with him using it. I’m fine with that.”

He flattened his ears and gave her a look. She pretended not to see it, adding idly, “Or if you wanna use the tent with him…”

The soldier looked absolutely horrified. Still keeping her head down, Vagabond winked at him to let him know she was joking, divvying up pieces of flatbread  while the potatoes rehydrated. She buttered a piece and handed it to him to tide him over til dinner was done, then held out a piece for her friend, who balanced it between his hooves. “Very funny,” he grumbled, mouth full. She waggled her eyebrows and clambered up to lean against his bulk.

“You’re more comfy,” she told him. “And you’re warmer. And you smell nice.”

He lifted his head suddenly, blinking. “I smell nice?”

Vagabond raised a brow. Why else did he think she was always shoving her face in his coat? “Uh, yeah?”

“I haven’t taken a bath in a long time. I doubt I smell nice.” His tone was low and his expression unreadable, and Vagabond stared at him, trying to figure out what was going through his head. The way he said that word meant he wasn’t used to hearing it in conjunction with him. She swiftly pieced his thoughts together.

“No one’s ever told you that, huh,” she said simply. He flicked an ear at her and turned back to studying the bread. “Well, I’m sorry. I should have said that earlier. I mean, I figured you knew that based on the fact that I kept like… practically inhaling your fur.” She elbowed him, and didn’t hold back. The motion sent a sharp ache up her bruised shoulder. Oops.

Elk stuffed his face with the bread and didn’t answer. She finished her own and hopped down to finish their meal, and for a while they said nothing. It was only until she was carefully arranging partially dried pieces of wood into a peak to slowly catch fire as they rested during the night did he speak up. “I always thought it was because I was warm.”

“Me? Your fur?” He nodded. Vagabond dusted off her hands and rummaged for the blanket in her backpack. “Sure, you’re warm. But that’s just an added bonus.” She smiled at him and handed the soldier the blanket. “Go ahead,” she reassured him when he hesitated, darting a look at Elk, “we’re gonna cuddle, but you’re gonna be cold.”

“Vagabond,” Elk muttered.

“Quiet, you. We’ll be rid of him tomorrow.” She circled the fire and he reluctantly settled down again, curving his body a bit so she could snuggle into him. “You do smell nice,” she added quietly, propping her elbow on him and her chin in her hand. “And you’re smart, and you’ve got a great sense of humor, and you’re cute, and that’s all after you fucked around and found out. So. I’m not surprised she fell for you. It’s too bad you didn’t see it.”

For once he turned his head entirely away from their prisoner and stared at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and she giggled, tapping his chin. “Close that. G'night!”

Before he could formulate any sort of reply she rolled over, facing his rear, and got comfortable. He’d wake her when it was time for her watch. For now, she’d let him ruminate on her compliments. He needed them, after all. And maybe it would help keep that creeping darkness at bay.

It turned out that he didn’t have to wake her after all; she was used to tending to a fire during the damp winter on her lonesome and got up every few hours anyway to be sure it didn’t go out. It was hard to tell the time in the forest during winter but she judged how late it was with how tired Elk looked, and told him to sleep when she figured it was sometime after midnight and his eyes were drooping. At one point she took out tea from the stolen supplies and made a cup for both her and the soldier, who looked like he hadn’t slept much either. They sat in silence and sipped; Vagabond left the small pot out with simmering water to make some for her friend when he woke.

With the magical talking elk apparently unconscious the soldier finally spoke up, though he kept his voice as low as possible so as not to wake his captor. “What,” he hesitated; Vagabond looked at him expectantly, “what happened. Back… there. When… when…”

Her hands tightened on her cup and she stared at the flames. He deserved to know. And she deserved what he’d think of her. “When he killed them.”

He nodded jerkily, also keeping his eyes averted. “The air got all… weird. Everything was…” he faltered, clearly not sure how to describe it. “...Like it was wiggling. Like I was overtired or something. And then the snow...” For a moment he lifted his gaze to hers, then back down. He had pretty blue eyes. They were so young, and so tired. He’d had to grow up fast the past few days. She felt her chest clench in sympathy. It was her fault.

For a long moment Vagabond just sipped at her tea, trying to come up with a good way to explain without revealing too much. Before she could say anything however he added, “I heard you say you helped.”

Ow, her heart. But, justified. Taking a deep breath, she replied weakly, “I didn’t mean to.”

Another short silence. Quietly, hesitantly, he pressed, “The monster said you have magic.”

She glanced away from the fire and at him sharply. “He’s not a monster. He’s a person.”

“You don’t even know,” he replied, raising his voice a little before catching himself and lowering it again. “That thing, the General said—”

“I don’t care what the General said. Elk is not a thing. He’s a man.” She locked eyes with him. Part of her wanted to avoid this discussion altogether, but the other part of her wanted to defend her friend. Even if Elk’s mind had gone and he didn’t actually remember what had happened to him, even if he was lying—she doubted it; there were too many little details he’d have to fake and his emotional state convinced her he wasn’t—he was her friend, and she’d forgotten what it was like to have one around her for so long. “He’s as much of a man as you are.”

The soldier stared at her. She stared back, and because she didn’t like confrontation she was the first to break, gentling her voice. “And he’s my friend. Please don’t talk about him like that.”

“He killed my troop,” the soldier replied in a low, cracked voice.

“I know. I’m sorry. But to be fair… you were going to drag him back to the castle and lock him in the dungeons. Again. For the rest of his life.” Vagabond stretched. Defending someone, even verbally, was tiring. Those were not muscles she was used to flexing. She had to move. “In that case I think it’s fair he wanted to defend himself.”

She got up and busied herself finding more wood to stock the fire with. The sky was getting lighter and as soon as the sun poked its flaming head over the horizon the morning condensation would become morning mist. They needed the fire to remain dry. Vagabond held out a hand for the blanket, which the soldier reluctantly handed over, and hung it over a tree branch that drooped near the fire. Breakfast would be figs, nuts and cheese in a pocket of flatbread roasted over the coals to give them a warm start. She debated the coffee before deciding to hell with it, they all needed the jump, and set up her little pot.

The sun was halfway up when she decided Elk had slept long enough; she grabbed a stick and poked his shoulder with it in case he roused in some sort of homicidal fury. Friend or not, those antlers were sharp. Elk did jump a bit but his waking was slow and bumbling enough to be safe, so she dropped the stick into the fire and dished out breakfast. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

“Baaaahhhhh.” He yawned and stretched out his front legs. Vagabond set his much larger portion in front of him. Even half asleep he inhaled it in record time, and she smiled fondly.

“You get coffee when you’re awake enough to not spill it,” she teased, and he blinked blearily at her, then huffed and stood to shake himself off. Half of him was dry from the fire and the other half was full of frozen mist, which tinkled on the rocks before swiftly melting. He hopped down from the rock.

“I’m awake, I’m awake.” She laughed and held out a cup for him to sip out of so he didn’t have to, testing the dryness of the hanging blanket with the other hand as she did so. “So what’s the plan today?”

“Oh, am I allowed to make the rules now?”

“I thought you deserved a turn,” he replied, sniffing haughtily, “I’ll take over when I’m more awake.”

“Will you now.” She dipped the cup away from him, then to the side when he reached for it. He huffed and followed, and she turned in a circle. “How gracious of you, my liege.”

“Get back here—this isn’t fair—”

“What? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I swear I will knock you to the ground, give me that!”

“What’s the magic word?”

“The magic word is coffee, now give it to me!”

“Coffee is pretty magical, huh?”

“Please,” he groaned, “ please give me the coffee, it’s too early for this.”

Vagabond grinned and held it out. “Attaboy.”

He muttered something under his breath and took a gulp. “What was that?”

“Nothing, dearheart.” He cocked his head to eye her, still drinking. She leaned forward to kiss the top of his head as an apology and obligingly stood still so he could finish. He licked the cup clean and sighed contentedly.

“Anyway.” Vagabond started packing up. “We’re gonna get him to the road,” she nodded at the soldier, who hadn’t moved or spoken the moment Elk roused, “and then we’re gonna figure out how to restock without being caught, and hash out what you plan on doing.” She didn’t really want to give too many details while the soldier was listening. He’d no doubt relay everything to everyone as soon as he reached the outpost.

She helped the young man to his feet and, promptly forgetting her shoulder was now reinjured, slung the pack onto her back. “Hhhhhh.” Ow. “...We gotta redress those cuts soon too.”

Elk hung his head in shame. She patted his shoulder. “C’mon, you two.”

They set out. It was a bit early still and the freezing fog was still prevalent, but the sooner they headed out the sooner they could get out of the mountains. Closer to civilization, no matter if they were on the outskirts, would be warmer than here. She’d probably have to start stealing now; as soon as her image got out there she could no longer just walk up and buy things. At least, not in the main city. They’d probably have to hang in one of the outlying towns beyond the walls, where people didn’t care who you were. That was fine; she was used to slumming it. Kind of fun, really, trying to figure out how to survive on the bare minimum. At least, it was when she didn’t have to take care of someone else. Hmm. She foresaw a lot of dumpster diving in the near future. If she got a job as a waitress at some low-income bar she’d be able to take whatever scraps weren’t used that day.

“Vagabond,” Ekl said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Why did you say those things? Last night.”

“That you’re cute and smart?” He curved his neck a bit, looking away shyly, and nodded.

“Because you keep focusing on the bad things.” She gave him a sidelong look, catching his eye. He peeked up at her face then away again. “And I need you to know that fucking up doesn’t mean the end of all things. Focus on the good things, yeah? Everyone deserves to love themselves.” The word hypocrite came to mind. She shoved it aside.

Elk was silent for a few minutes. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try. But… did you mean all of those things?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She hooked an arm under his neck in a brief squeeze. “So yeah.”

He leaned into her touch, and she saw his fragility in that moment. The moment she’d offered him a meal on the side of that river she’d also offered a hand to a drowning man, one who was in the process of being swept away in a more metaphorical type of river of pain and suffering. Right now, he was hanging on for dear life. And now instead of only one hand he was hanging on with both.

He’d make it. He had to. She couldn’t lose someone she’d stayed with for so long—not like that, at least. They’d blown past her own personal record for length of time being in a friend’s constant company. Even at the reindeer farm, the older owners had been more like foster parents than friends. Elk steadfastly refused to leave her side for more than half a day whereas before she’d go for months or years between seeing others who had wormed their way into her affections.

It was a pair of paradoxical thoughts; knowing she was helping him leave her and clinging so closely at the same time. Something she stewed upon as they walked, engrossed in how to marry the two ideas into one—he wouldn’t be around forever if she helped him, but she couldn’t not help him, that was out of the question. Vagabond let go of Elk’s neck and moved forward to take the lead, using the direction of the sun and what she’d seen up on the topmost ridge as her guide.

She refused to think about the implications of her own fierce desire to keep him around even as she considered how to deal with his obsessions. She wasn’t here to help herself. She was here to help him. And if that meant he joined with his other half and wasn’t him anymore, then so be it. She’d deal, just as she always had.

Why were relationships so complicated.

“Are you all right?”

Belatedly, she realized her palms were pressed against her forehead in her aggravation. “Oh!” Dropping her hands, she flushed in embarrassment. So unused to having companions among what were once solo hikes across the land, Vagabond had long since developed the habit of being expressive with her thoughts where no one could see her. It had been different when she thought he was a wild animal, and when they were on the run there simply hadn’t been any time to have animated conversations with herself. “Yep. Yep! Everything’s fine.”

“Your head?” he prompted, concerned.

“No no, I mean yes, my head’s fine.” The ache had all but disappeared with a good night’s rest. “I was just arguing with myself. Just ignore me.”

She wasn’t looking, but she could feel his raised eyebrow. “Argue with yourself? Since when do you do that?”

“I do it sometimes,” she protested. “But usually there aren’t people to watch me. I’m fine, really.”

“Are you certain about that?” Vagabond turned then, confused, to see Elk cocking his head and tuning one ear to the side. “Because I’m fairly certain the road is off that way.”

Blinking, she stopped walking and took a gander up at the sky and the sun’s position. He was right; she’d deviated from her previous course while her mind was up in the clouds. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem; when she was alone, she’d often just go where her feet and wandering mind took her. She felt her face heat up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I,” she sighed and turned. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I was just,” she waved a hand, “letting my brain go to la-la land. How close is the road?”

“Probably not even half a kilometer.” He eyed her slyly. “Shall I take over now?”

Vagabond stared at him a moment before stooping and pulling together a small mound of snow that gathered on a stump. Elk watched her with a brow cocked, not fully understanding at first, then his eyes widened and he yelped, “Don’t you—” before she let fly. He was fast, but there was a lot of him to move, and it hit him on the flank. “You!” he huffed, twitching his skin to flick it off. “You wait until we’re rid of him, then I’m going to get you.”

She thumbed her nose at him, stuck out her tongue, and replied, “And now, which way should we go, Sire?”

“This way.” He turned and headed off, but not before kicking a bit of snow in her face. She snorted wetly, brushed it off, and followed, giggling.

The walk was quiet, but comfortable. Elk’s pace was slow, and she could tell he was thinking deeply, though about what she couldn’t figure out. It made her vaguely uneasy, but she tossed the emotion aside. She always got nervous when he was this quiet. It didn’t mean anything bad, she told herself, and settled into just enjoying the hike and the smell of damp earth. Once she pushed her own agitation out of the way it was a nice, quiet stroll. And it was completely ruined by the soldier suddenly whispering to her, apparently forgetting how good Elk’s hearing was, “A-Are you… were you flirting with him?”

Elk stopped dead in his tracks and whipped his head around, but this time instead of aggressively his mouth was dropped open in shock. Vagabond squeaked, stopped watching where she was going, tripped over a protruding root and grabbed his haunches to steady herself. “What!”

Her friend looked at her sharply, mouth still open, the question clear in his eyes. Vagabond sputtered. “No! Not in the slightest—no offense my dude—” She waved her hands in the air, beet red. “I promise I just, I-I don’t—oh fucking hell come on, I love you and all but you’re my friend okay?”

Thankfully, Elk turned his gaze to the soldier, sparing her from more scrutiny and allowing her respite to recover. “Who said you could talk?” He hissed, ears flat and head lowered; Vagabond took the moment to duck behind him and get her thoughts in order. She wasn’t sure why she was so flustered by the question; she was always like this with her friends. In fact, they’d always complain she was too lovey-dovey. It wasn’t as if she’d never been mistaken as someone’s girlfriend before.

“Sorry,” she mumbled to her friend, though she wasn’t sure what she was sorry for. He flicked an ear back but didn’t respond. At least he was listening.

Finally he tossed his head, pointing with his nose. “Get in front of me.” 

The soldier obeyed quickly, pale-faced and trembling, and Elk finally looked at her. “Let’s go. The sooner we can get rid of him, the better.” He scowled. “I wish you’d just let me kill him.” He started off again, and at his words Vagabond drew closer to the young man, giving him reassurance by means of her proximity.

Despite being behind them once again Elk was still in charge, his domineering trait completely overtaking both humans as they walked. Vagabond fretted all the while, wondering if she should say something to dissuade the line of thought she was sure he was going down. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, of course, or make him feel like he wasn’t worthy of being a romantic partner; that was the thing that got him where he was now, after all. But how to breach it?

The gods smiled down on her at that moment, because Elk drew up close to her and put his head near hers and muttered, nervously, “You weren’t flirting with me, right?”

“Oh thank the gods.” A rush of tension released from her chest and she dropped her hands from where she was, once again, using them to talk to herself. “I didn’t know how to say it. No, I wasn’t.”

A sigh of relief indicated he felt the same way, giving her the courage to keep going. “I was just telling you the truth. You are smart and you are funny and I wish you would see it instead of…” she gestured to all of him, vaguely. “Whatever the hell you got goin’ on in there.”

He spared a glance, and she was glad to see a brow raised in light amusement instead of the dark smile he’d given her the other day. “Besides,” she added, relaxing further and offering him a lopsided grin, “you have someone you wanna be with already and I meant it when I said I’m not relationship material, so it wouldn’t work out anyway.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon. “Alas! Our fates are not meant to intertwine in such ways!”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous.” He nudged her roughly and she squeaked and leaned swiftly against a trunk to keep from falling. “I bet you’d make a fine wife for someone.”

“Oh you are so full of shit, friend-o, I’d make a terrible wife, but nice try.”

“There are plenty of people who like to travel as much as you!”

“Been there, done that. I also got too much goin’ on in here,” she tapped her forehead. “Got as much baggage as you do, believe it or not.”

“I wish you would tell me,” he replied wistfully, and she squirmed uncomfortably. “I know, I know. Tidbits. Crumbs for me to ruminate on.”

“Don’t ruminate too hard. Your brain’s too big as it is, smartypants.”

“I can’t believe you’ve forgotten I don’t wear pants.” He tilted his chin upward just so he could look down at her and smirk, and she couldn’t help it: she snorted and fell into helpless laughter, flopping against his side and feeling the rumble of his own chuckles through his body. He kept walking, forcing her to move alongside. She was able to reach his head though, and tugged him down for a brief snuggle, glad it wouldn’t be misconstrued as a romantic gesture.

It wasn’t long after that they heard the murmur of voices filtering through the trees, and Elk threw his head back and hissed at the soldier to stop. Vagabond froze, heart rate rising and singing through her veins, as the colors of the crown came into view ahead, flashing brightly against the monochrome of winter. She couldn’t stop a little grin from her expression though. She could certainly be called an adrenaline junkie.

“Okay,” she said quietly, and the soldier looked back at them, wide-eyed and hopeful, “There ya go, pal. Get outta here.”

Elk raised a hoof, clawing at the air, eyes narrowed. The soldier nodded and stumbled back, away from them, keeping an eye on the hateful gaze of one who would have happily slaughtered him along with the others, until there were a good few trees between them. He turned and darted away, and as the duo did the same to head in the opposite direction, his voice rang out with the crown’s call. “Keepers of the peace, bound to iron!” 

She’d never heard that before, but it seemed to be a code of sorts; the idle chatter and sound of hooves instantly ceased and as Elk reared, furious, someone belted back, “What ho, forged in fire!”

“Welp,” Vagabond muttered, and leaped upon his back without any hesitation; he came crashing down, startled and she snapped, “No time! Let’s go!”

With a snarl her enraged friend lunged in the other direction, thankfully at least recognizing her wisdom on the matter. Once again she held on tightly as he sprung into the forest, legs churning as they fled the scene.

“I told you!” he spat over his shoulder; she bunched her fists in his fur and deigned not to respond. It would only fuel his anger.

He wound through brush and over a frozen stream, his muscles thrumming powerfully under her body with each bound. She could enjoy this far more now, her brain no longer throbbing in tune with her pulse, and despite the rage burning through his veins she couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly against the wind. Maybe she needed to buy a horse; that way she could keep up without exhausting him. Or a pony; they were more rugged—

“Why don’t you take anything seriously!” She was brought back to the present at her friend’s snarled accusation, thrown at her from deep within his loathing. Vagabond didn’t take it personally. He had a hard time controlling himself when he was upset, if his bitter You don’t know what love feels like was anything to go by. Or his maddened rampage through a party.

“Aw c’mon,” she called back, and couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Adds flavor to life!”

She could feel the growl under her hands even through the drumming of his hooves; he didn’t reply, stretching out as they hit a length of flat land. Peeking under her arm like she’d been taught to do at the reindeer farm, she scanned behind them through the cloud of loose snow Elk kicked up for any signs of pursuants.

“You can slow down,” she called, “I don’t think they’re following.”

“Yet,” he snapped, but he did slow his wild pace, and she knew he was having difficulty as they hit deeper snow. For a while they were quiet and Elk only spoke when they hit rock again, effectively stopping any trail they were leaving. “Why didn’t you let me kill him?”

“It’ll be fine,” she replied. “It’s always worth it to spare someone’s life.”

He snorted, breath steam in the chill, ears flat with his fading rage, and Vagabond hugged his neck awkwardly. Finally, with a final huff, he jolted back to a walk, almost tossing her from his back with the abruptness. She squeaked and flailed for balance, then sent a huff back up at him before swinging off his back.

“You,” he said, ominously, then with a deep sigh craned his neck to look at her. “You are the strangest, wildest little thing I’ve ever met.”

“Who’re you calling little?” she eyed him, but couldn’t keep a straight face, especially through the vestiges of adrenaline from the run. He didn’t smile fully, but she saw the twitch of the corner of his mouth. “C’monnnnn. C’mon c’mon c’mon. You can’t stay mad at me.”

“Great goose in the sky,” he growled, “I can’t. Every time I try… ”

“Love you too,” she sang back, and skipped ahead, already moving on to their next step. “Let’s head thataway. I know a few people on the east side of the city.”

“In the city?”

“No, outside the walls. We can hang there for a bit.”

“But how am I going to—”

“I got a plan, trust me. Winter ain’t over yet, anyway. We can’t stay out here.” A pause. “Well, you could, probably.” Another pause. “...I guess I have too, before. But trying to feed you is gonna be way easier if I have a steady income and access to food.”

“Oh. Hm.” He still didn’t like it, she knew, but didn’t argue further. Instead his head canted upward to stare at the beam of light in the distance, so much brighter given their proximity. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him look, then swing his head back into line, look at her, open his mouth as if to speak, then give up and close it. She lay a hand on his shoulder and his skin shivered under her touch. He was still worked up. There was still something under it all. The longer they were together the more she realized it wasn’t going to go away, no matter how many steps he took towards the light. It would only go from festering to simmering.

“Hey,” she said quietly. He didn’t respond, but an ear flicked. “Don’t worry about it, okay?

“Nothing bad’s ever come from showing mercy.”

Chapter Text

Again she kept the pace swift and unyielding. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume the soldiers would be debriefed by the young man and then swiftly rally after them. To both their relief and their concern, it began to snow again, which covered their tracks and pushed them more urgently on. Elk quietly accepted her wisdom on the matter, glancing sidelong at her as he plodded alongside. She couldn’t tell if he was still mad, or just preferred not to talk, so she let it go. Let him stew if he wanted. She was tired of managing his raging emotions, and she sure as hell didn’t want to talk about what he’d done… back there, anymore.

The snow was slow, but steady, and by the time the far side of the city’s walls came into view the sky had darkened considerably and almost four inches had accumulated with no end in sight. Though they were in a rush, Vagabond took them in a roundabout way up to the quiet hills of a small town just beyond the towering walls. The city didn’t have slums, per se; the General was actually credited for bringing equality to the kingdom, but there were still poorer neighborhoods. More often than not people with less money—or those who wanted to be nearby, but under the radar—lived outside the security of royalty’s direct eye.

That was perfectly fine for what they needed. Vagabond left Elk in the safety of the trees and trudged the familiar path to an inn nestled next to the wall itself. Despite its proximity it often escaped notice as being run-down and unremarkable. Just how she liked it.

It wasn’t difficult finding a place to stay, given that it was now the time of year everyone stayed home. Vagabond managed to haggle a stall for them to sleep in; she didn’t have enough money for an actual room as it was and it would be far easier to sneak Elk in and out of a stable. The owner tried to swindle her of course, but all it took was the bland explanation that she was, in fact, learned enough to read the sign behind him. She didn’t blame him though. Times were usually tough in the dead time between late winter and spring, and she did look like a country bumpkin.

She gave a sardonic salute to the man as she departed the inn, heading into the cold quiet tranquility of the snow-smothered evening. Swiftly checking the inside of the building for any stablehands still awake, she confirmed it was empty aside from the current animal occupants and leaned back out the door. The silent and honestly creepy visage of Elk’s antlers in the distance bobbed as he made his way to her, and as he got closer the gleam of hazy lanterns in the snow picked up his eyes.

He clopped past her onto the stone of the barn and she pulled the door shut, leaving them in darkness. They waited till their eyes adjusted and checked the stalls one by one until they found an empty one and went inside, where Vagabond threw down her bag and unceremoniously stripped down to her underwear, then while Elk looked politely away removed those too and put on some dry clothing. “That feels,” she muttered, “so good.”

He got comfortable while she hung her clothing around the stall to dry and rummaged in her bag for something to eat, idly working out kinks in his muscular body. Vagabond also stretched, digging her toes through the nice clean straw and pulling out some dried fruit and more jerky. “I’ll get somethin’ of more substance tomorrow,” she told him, offering the meager dinner, which he took. “And look for a job.”

“I’m sorry.”

She leaned against the wall and blinked over at him. “For what?”

“I feel bad that you’re working and I’m not.” He lowered his head, not looking at her, and lipped the fruit he was cradling between his feet into his mouth. “You’re taking such good care of me and I don’t have anything to offer.”

“Sure you do. I like your company.”

“That’s not enough,” he replied quietly, but she could hear the shy smile in his voice. It faded in his next words. “If I could work, like a normal person…good goose I was such an idiot,” he sighed. “I was such a good Rift worker. I wasn’t happy but… but my life wasn’t bad.”

Vagabond studied him for a moment, unsure of what to say. Sad thing was, he was right in his assessment; ripping himself in half was such a fundamentally stupid and over-the-top thing to do literally no one else would have thought to do it. But she’d already told him as much before; it would do no good to say that now. Now he was a tortured half a soul of a man fighting for the right to just be acknowledged as a person. “We’ll get you back,” she said finally. “Just focus on that.”

He didn’t look up. Vagabond didn’t know what else to say, so she leaned back against the wall and eventually nodded off, her own uneaten dinner still on her lap. The last thing she felt before she fell asleep was his warm breath on her hand, and the pressure as he rested his chin on her knee.

~

“You’re still upset.”

Vagabond glanced up from her journal, where she’d been staring uselessly at the page. “Upset?”

“About what I did.”

It was probably the most aware he’d ever been with emotions that weren’t his—and that was saying something, as he wasn’t in control of those, either. Vagabond blinked and straightened from her cross-legged hunch, staring over at him. He gazed back, and somehow the calm in his eyes was far more disturbing than anything else he could have been looking at her with. She opened her mouth, closed it, then looked back at her journal. The page was still infuriatingly empty.

“Vagabond.”

“Elk, please.” The words came out a little more harsh than she expected, and in an effort to salvage the conversation she added, much more gently, “Let me just… finish this entry. Then we’ll talk.”

He was silent, but she heard the rustle of hay as he moved to the other side of the stall. Vagabond wracked her brains about how to respond to this unexpected statement, fumbling with her pen with suddenly sweaty hands. How in the hell was she supposed to make him understand the absolute horror he’d laid out before her up on that cliff? He’d said he’d understood her trepidation, but how did she know that he really did?

…Or even more horrifying, how did she know he didn’t revel in it?

Up until now she’d been able to push the memory aside; making sure everyone was safe and fed as they hiked down the mountains had made it easy. Now that they didn’t have to be concerned about survival it came creeping back up on her like a creature from a ghost story, hovering just behind her out of sight. Vagabond tapped the pen to the paper, blinking back unwanted tears, until his shadow once more fell over her through the light of the window. It chilled her blood more than it ever should have, so she made a show of brushing imaginary hay off the book and moving so that she was once more in the sunlight. Only then did she turn to look at him.

The expression in his eyes was unreadable. The sun lit him from behind, keeping his face in darkness, and the hollow stare reminded her of the emptiness she’d seen when they’d first found each other. For a solid few moments that felt like hours they stared at each other, then he said, softly, pleadingly, “Don’t close yourself off from me now.”

Vagabond swallowed hard at the familiar words. She deserved that. Elk took a step forward and murmured, dipping his head down to her level as if afraid he’d frighten her off like a wild animal, “Up until we got here, you seemed fine. But you haven’t slept with me since we arrived. What changed?”

She couldn’t let him stand there and beg her not to be afraid like that; once again his pathetic demeanor drove her to respond. Vagabond put the book aside and rose, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him to her. He leaned against her gently and now she could feel the trembling she couldn’t see under all that fur before.

“I don’t,” her voice broke; she didn’t like talking about herself, “I don’t do well with… confrontation. Talking about hard stuff. I… I avoid it.”

“How are you going to fix things if you just run away from them?” he asked, taking another step forward and nudging her closer. “Up there, on the cliff… you had a moment of facing it. You tried to run but you tried to fight, too.”

“And you didn’t let me,” she replied, tensing. Every fiber of her being burned to change the subject, to flee. “If you’ll remember that part.”

“I didn’t let you run, Vagabond.” He lifted his head to nuzzle her cheek. “Because you would’ve hurt yourself just by doing it. But I could tell. You retreated. I made you stop running and instead you stopped fighting.”

She grit her teeth. “I don’t fight. I don’t—and I don’t want to talk about this either, let’s just—”

“No.” Down went his head again, and the angle of his neck trapped her arm between it and his antlers, keeping her there. Despite herself, she was impressed, even as she tugged uselessly to step away. “It’ll fester. Trust me. I know something or two about festering.”

The last word was guttural and low, filled with loathing, and hissed from between his teeth. Vagabond froze. It was the first time since they’d met that emotion was directed in any way towards her, and the first time he ever came close to admitting anything was wrong with him. She stared at the flecks of dried blood he hadn’t been able to remove on his ears and neck and swallowed hard, averting her gaze. He was still trembling, but now she wasn’t sure if it was due to anxiety about being shut out or to the intensity of his darker emotions.

The points of his antlers dug into her shoulder, bringing her back to wherever her mind tried to go to escape this discomfort. Vagabond let out a shuddering breath, one she wasn’t aware she’d been holding, and said softly, “You… murdered… people.”

It hurt to even say it.

He raised his head, releasing her. She reclaimed her arm and tried to pull away, but he moved with her, hooking his chin over her shoulder and pressing her to him. One foreleg came up and wrapped around the back of her legs, preventing her from retreating again. His hoof rested on her opposite calf. It was a weird position to be in, but she didn’t complain, just closed her eyes and shuddered.

“I did,” he murmured. “I did. And do you know why?”

“Because you think they deserved—”

“Because you couldn’t have ridden me without falling. Because I refuse to leave you. Because they would have dragged me back to that disgusting cell, and left me there to be forgotten, to rot, because all my life as an elk he has never, ever taken me seriously. Even when I escaped. He won’t. I know him because he is me and because I am just an animal and I am no threat to him.” He kept his voice low, almost soothing, even as his words dripped with hatred and poison. Vagabond gave in to rest against him, feeling that powerful heartbeat under his fur and muscle. “But he will now, you know. That soldier will return to him, and tell him of the rage I released upon them, of the slaughter that followed, and he will have to reassess.”

“Elk,” she whispered into his fur.

“Maybe he won’t take me seriously enough. But he won’t make that same mistake. He’ll have to send more people. Stronger people. But I’ll defeat them all. I’ll make him acknowledge me. I’ll make him take me seriously.” He tightened his hold, pressing her closer, though she wasn’t sure if he was even aware of her presence anymore. His deep voice was still so very soft.

“Elk.”

He pulled her in tighter. The knee on the leg he was using as a footrest buckled, forcing her to grab handles of fur for stability. Her own heart rate jumped nervously; it was now getting hard to breathe. The room was starting to spin with the intensity of it all. “Hey. Hey.” Hooking an arm around his shoulders she used the other hand to reach up and find his face, rubbing over the ridge of his eye and stroking one ear. “Okay. Buddy. Sweetie. Are you listening.”

No response verbally, but his eyelid twitched at her touch.

“You wanna know another thing about me?”

His ear flicked and he shifted; he was listening.

“No matter how terrible my promises are, or how stupid, I’ll always keep them. Always.”

The pressure of his chin lessened, just slightly.

“That means I can’t leave you. I can’t. I promised.”

A very, very soft exhalation. “...Why?”

Vagabond opened her mouth to answer, then swallowed hard. “Just, I, just… nevermind that. Listen. We might be separated sometimes but I said I’d always come back and that means I can’t just up and leave forever.” She continued rubbing his face, and bit by bit he began to relax and release the pressure he was putting on her. “So… so no matter what you do, no matter what happens, no matter if you terrify me and you kill people and, and, whatever you do, I might run and hide and try to make sense of it all but I’ll always come back.”

He lifted his head, resting his cheek to hers. Vagabond straightened a little, able to put weight on her feet again. She felt hot and flushed, her throat dry, but she managed to croak out, “But do you really want to force me to see all the awful things you’re thinking about right now?”

A weird little shudder passed through his body. He hissed out a staggering breath.

“Please, Elk.” It was her turn to hug him, hoping to ground him to the present. “Don’t make me go through that. Please.”

There was a long, long silence. Then he nuzzled her hair and quietly said, “You’re trembling.”

It was true. Somewhere along the way he’d stopped shaking and the tremors she felt were her own now. She felt hot and dizzy. Somehow she managed to speak again. “You’re scaring me. That’s why.”

He released her and stepped back and she in turn let him out of her bear hug, but the world tilted and suddenly she was the one clinging to him to keep from falling. She grabbed his antlers with a whispered “Sorry,” and he braced his legs and waited, head bent perpendicular to the floor and resting lightly on her chest to let her hang on until she regained her balance. For several long moments—or minutes, she couldn’t tell—she just stood there, weaving a little back and forth as she strove to control her breathing.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he said finally.

Vagabond nodded jerkily and forced her sweaty hands to let him go, lifted her face to the cold breeze from outside and sucked in the soothing air. Elk stepped back and regarded her silently, and she closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow.

“I won’t let anyone touch you,” his voice came from far away, even though he was right there. “Anyone. Ever. I won’t make you go through what we did on the cliff. But you can’t fight. And you can’t leave.” Even several feet away, she could feel the heat of his breath, and for a moment, she thought she could smell rot. “And I don’t know what you’ve been through. But it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to tell me. I’ll stay with you, if only to make sure no one hurts you ever again.”

She hung her head and nodded again. There was no denying him in this. And that tiny, sickening part of her deep inside whispered that it felt kind of nice that he was so protective. What if, it whispered, you never have to be afraid again? What if you could feel safe for once in your life?

His breath was closer now; hotter and more focused on her face. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She lifted a hand, found his cheek, and patted awkwardly. “I… I have to go be alone for a bit. B-Before work.” There was no way she could deal with people in a crowded atmosphere like the bar she’d picked a job up at. Not the way she was now.

“Go ahead. I understand.”

She fumbled with the sliding door and dragged it open before darting down the hall, slipping through the tack room to the outside. Once the world opened up before her she instantly felt better, her mind clearing as her legs churned over snow and mud. Through the uneven cobblestone streets she ran, over the haphazard crumbling wall at the edge of town, through the field beyond and into the woods.

She hiked around alone for some time, itching to move and unwilling to stay in one place for too long, as her name suggested. She held imaginary conversations with people of her past and yelled at the gods and argued with herself, fully aware that she looked and sounded like a madwoman and not caring. 

By the time she judged it was time to head back down—past time, actually—she was thoroughly exhausted. She joined her shift at the bar with a tired apology for her tardiness, one that went shrugged off as it wasn’t very busy yet anyway, and did her best to move past her friend’s words and her own troubled thoughts. They were paid every day in cash, which helped get her mind off things, and when they were finally freed she decided to forgo saving up for new boots for one night and splurge a little.

Elk was out when she arrived back at the stall. Vagabond waved casually at the few stablehands taking their own dinner break, and though two out of the three ducked their heads to look away the last one hesitantly waved back. They’d been staying at the hostel for a few nights with their masters and were understandably wary of riff-raff like her.

When they’d finished up their duties and retired for the night she left her stall and went to let her friend in. He trotted up to the door, eyes bright and ears pricked, and said, “I smell something amazing.”

She grinned, feeling a rush of relief relax the tension headache at the back of her skull. He was acting normally. “I splurged,” she admitted. “Wait till you see what I got.”

He was so ecstatic at the spread she offered that he flung himself down on the hay without preamble and impatiently pulled at the waxed paper hiding their bounty. Vagabond giggled and helped, revealing mixed pickled vegetables, coleslaw, thick lamb stew and rose custard. Elk was salivating at this point and dug in immediately with his regular slurps and grunts and Vagabond, by now used to his atrocious manners, only looked on with fondness as she poured his drink into a bowl.

“Wine?” He mumbled through a mouthful, then hastily swallowed it and licked the juices from his chin. “This is all really expensive, isn’t it?”

“I told you,” she shrugged and held out the bowl; he dipped his muzzle in to take a long gulp. “Not like, the best stuff around, but it’s a nice treat.”

“What about your boots? Don’t you need new ones?”

“I work tomorrow. I should have enough for the pair I’ve been eyeing after my shift, if not then the day after.” She sipped at her own drink and returned to her dinner, hoping he’d drop it; he did, shoving pickled vegetables into his maw. But then she couldn’t help but add, “See, it’s nice to have feet that don’t need to be clad. Eh? Eh?”

He looked up with his eyes only and made a show of rolling them before digging into the lamb with a snort of disgust. Vagabond let out a quiet giggle and felt the earlier nervousness melting away with a few more sips of wine. They ate in silence after that, and, as she cleaned their mess—he’d eaten what she did not, so there were no leftovers—he rolled onto his side with a sigh. She saw the opportunity and took it, slipping in among his legs to rest against him for the first time since they’d arrived.

Elk lifted his head to look at her and she was glad to see the warmth of his gentle smile back on his face. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” She leaned her face into his fur and took a deep inhale.

“...I didn’t mean to scare you. Please forgive me.” There it was, the desperation for her mercy and acceptance edging his voice once more.

“It’s okay.” She inched her way to his upper body and he leaned in when she snuggled his head. “I…” she faltered, unsure. “It’s… I’ve never had anyone be that protective of me. I’m not used to, to,” her voice broke when he brushed his lips over her cheek, and she swallowed hard. “I’m not used to your… intensity, I guess.” Normally, she would have run far away at the very hint of it. It suggested permanence, and she couldn’t have that.

“I meant every word, you know.” He lay back down and she got comfortable, curling up against a belly now taut and satisfied with a good meal.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I know.” And she nuzzled into his fur and closed her eyes, suddenly so very tired of it all. He took the hint and didn’t speak again, his breath deepening into sleep. She lay awake for a while, letting everything that happened that day wash over her. The hands she’d grasped to keep his head above water were slipping, and she was holding on as hard as she could, but she didn’t know how to pull him out and to safety.

The rot she’d smelled earlier lingered just under her resting head. She refused to look lest she see the thread that was choking out all light in her friend. If she did, she might see that it had grown, twisting through him like vines. So, she kept her eyes closed and fell into a restless, broken sleep, and dreamed of sand trickling away through her toes; of the ocean pulling away towards the horizon and into the creeping darkness of night.

~

Their low profile and chosen hiding place paid off. Winter melted away and the smell of spring led Vagabond into restlessness; she spent more and more time away from the little town and darting through the woods with Elk, much to his delight. She taught him about early spring foraging, with its violets and fiddleheads and morels; she gathered wild carrots and yarrow in droves and sold them for some extra cash. The bar she worked at picked up and, mindful of her headaches, Vagabond offered her services instead as a seasonal farmhand. The work suited her better anyway and while she was in the field, Elk could hang out with her.

“You’re losing your winter coat,” she picked tufts of fur off his neck and he shook his head, annoyed.

“I know, it’s so itchy.” He snorted and scratched with one forelimb, twisting it awkwardly to reach. Vagabond wrinkled her nose and went back to weeding. It was up in the air if he could move his limbs like that because he had some centaur still in him, or if he was just ignoring the discomfort. Or both.

“I thought you’d be regrowing your antlers by now,” she went on, inspecting a plant. Oof, hemlock. She’d have to inform the farmer. “But you never lost them.”

“Never did.” He tossed his head to accentuate their span. “Not even in the dungeon. Magic, I guess.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Magic? A little. It’s mostly internal.” He gestured vaguely to himself. “It’s… quieter. Than before. Still there but subdued.” For a minute he was silent as she worked, mulling it over and picking at the weeds. “The… he doesn’t have any, I know. It’s all in me. I don’t think the split was equal.” Another pause. “And then it just sort of…”

Vagabond looked up again when he didn’t pick it back up. “It sorta what?”

“Nothing, nevermind.” He didn’t meet her gaze and yanked up a plant. Or tried. “What is this?”

“Rat’s tail. The roots go down like, two meters. Don’t bother trying, you won’t get it all.” She pointed to the large glass jar she’d lugged out with them. “Farmers usually dig around it and jam a pole in as far as they can go, then fill the hole with vinegar to kill it.”

“Why not just leave it? Sounds like a lot of work for one plant.” He glared at it as if it had personally offended him, and she grinned.

Tossing a clod of dirt at him, she ducked when he kicked one back at her. “Livestock can rip their teeth out trying to eat it.” Wiping the dirt off her shirt (and only adding more), she thought for a bit, frowning. “I never understood why people prefer cattle and stuff to like… raising native animals for food and milk, cuz they can eat stuff like that, but I’m not a farmer.”

“Like reindeer. Or elk.” His voice was flat.

“You’re not an elk, Elk.” Vagabond scratched her chin. “Or maybe Elk is an elk, but not really elk, because he’s Elk, not elk.”

Her friend stared at her for a moment. Then he took a very deep, very exaggerated breath, closed his eyes, and let it out with a groan as he sank dramatically to his knees. Vagabond couldn’t help falling into giggles. “That’s it, you’ve killed me. Robbed of life by your bad, bad jokes.”

“I don’t see you telling any.”

“Why did the chickentaur cross the road.”

“No idea, why did the chickentaur cross the road?”

“To peck Vagabond’s eyes out for telling terrible jokes.”

Vagabond rolled said eyes and stuck out her tongue. She didn’t care; he’d been successfully distracted from whatever line of thought was sending him back down the dark path of hatred. At least for now. “Now that’s a bad joke.”

“It was better than yours. Are you done? I’m done.” He nudged the wheelbarrow they were using to gather the weeds with his nose. “I’ll bring this to the compost.”

“...Aight.” She didn’t mention that he’d need hands, just went back to work. The creaking of wheels surprised her and she looked up: he’d looped a rope that he’d brought with them (she’d wondered why) over both handles, hooked his antlers in it for lift, and was dragging it determinedly across the field. Delighted, she watched him reach the pile just beyond the fence and tip it over, then turn around and start back, this time at a trot.

She made herself busy so it didn’t look like she’d been staring and smiled up at him when he returned. “You’re so clever. Lunch break?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He pranced a little in place at her approval and eagerly awaited the unwrapping of the meal she’d brought, then settled on the ground next to her. “Didn’t they offer to feed you as part of payment?” He mumbled around the sandwich, and Vagabond shrugged.

“Yeah, but we just came off winter. They need all the supplies they have to restart the farm.” She stretched her fingers and used a bit of water to rinse the dirt off before starting in on her own. “You don’t wanna clean your hooves before ya get dirt in your mouth?”

He paused, looked at his hooves, then swallowed his mouthful and shrugged. “Too late.” Still, he clapped them together to dislodge the excess before going back to the sandwich. Vagabond grinned. They fell into their usual food-inspired silence, just enjoying each other’s company, and when Elk finished his meal he waited quietly for her. There was something clearly on his mind and he tapped his front hooves rapidly on the ground the way he did when anxious. Vagabond pretended not to notice. He’d tell her when he was ready.

She wasn’t ready for what he was about to say, though. “You’re pretty awesome, you know that?” He blurted out, then ducked his head down and if he was human she was pretty sure he’d be blushing.

Vagabond blinked rapidly, startled, and stared at him. “Oh, I—really?” She felt her own face heat up. “Um, thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re always telling me how great I am,” he went on, breathlessly, still staring at the dirt, “and… I’m not, really. I’m really not,” he added, his voice deepening and darkening, but only for a moment. “But you are. You’ve done so much and you’re so talented in so many things and I wish I could show you how much I appreciate you but I don’t know how so I guess I’m telling you right now, um, um…”

Vagabond lurched across the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck. He jumped, throwing his head up to avoid goring her, then settled and swung around to nuzzle the back of her neck. “Thanks,” she mumbled again, into his fur. He paused, then chuckled and shifted to be more comfortable.

“I didn’t realize you needed to hear that, dearheart,” he replied, his deep tenor smoothing out as it did when he was in control. “I would have said it long ago.”

She giggled wetly and sniffled.

“Don’t say it.”

“Dear,” she croaked.

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“ Deer heart.”

“Next body of water we find, I’m pushing you in.”

Her giggling expanded into mad little cackles. “Can’t stop won’t stop.”

By the time they’d detangled from each other and gotten back to work, by the time the sun was touching the horizon and they were finishing up, Vagabond had forgotten all about his threat. It was to her detriment, too; she only remembered as they were passing the trough they’d filled for the incoming cattle, and with a single shove he sent her tumbling over the edge with a mighty splash.

She couldn’t be mad, of course. She emerged sopping, laughing and sputtering in fake outrage while he smirked and definitely enjoyed watching her try to pull herself out of the trough.

They’d given up the stall, opting instead to sleep outdoors now that the weather was nicer, but it still wasn’t warm enough for her to sleep soaking wet. Elk sat and kept his forelegs spread wide so she could snuggle between them and into the thick ruff of his neck. 

“This is your fault,” her muffled voice buzzed against his chest.

“I know, I know. All my fault.” She didn’t see it, but she could practically hear him roll his eyes. She could hear his smile, too.

And then he began to hum contentedly, and all she could hear after that was his rotten magic stirring deep inside of him.

It sounded like the distant roar of a tidal wave.

Chapter Text

She was picking wild strawberries and their blossoms from a young bush when the thunder of hooves met her ears; his frantic high-pitched bugle caused her to leap from her crouch and shoot right up a pine tree. “Fucking hell,” she grumbled, sitting on a branch and glaring at the sticky sap now plastered all over her hands, “this better be good—”

“Vagabond!” The tree shuddered as he slammed his two front feet against it, reared up on his hind legs, “we need to go.”

“Okay! Gods!” She swung down, turned to look at him, then froze. A shred of something hung from his uppermost discolored tine, and immediately she knew what it was. He’d been in a fight… and won. “...Oh.”

“Come on.” He danced in place, in nervousness or excitement she couldn’t tell, and reached up with one hoof to shove her shoulder. He wasn’t gentle, and she grimaced and stumbled back. “Let’s go. Right now, let’s go.”

Vagabond tore her gaze from what she knew was decorating his antlers and snatched up her bag, feeling queasy and weak. “Okay. Okay, right, we’ll head around the back of the castle mountain. Do we have a head start?”

“Yes, yes. Enough of one, at least.” He trotted ahead and she followed, willing her hands to stop shaking. “They’ll have to deal with the wounded before coming after us. Me.”

“Fuck, dude, what did you do?” Vagabond hurried alongside, keeping her eyes on the ground ahead of her and generally anywhere other than the fresh blood and viscera he was now using for decoration. Elk was now the pace-setter and moved swiftly, forcing her into a trot to keep up. “Please don’t tell me you picked a fight—”

He snorted, glancing over at her with a darkly amused smile.

Vagabond stopped dead.

“Don’t think too much about it.” He was practically prancing alongside her, picking up his feet with a little flourish, and Vagabond had to shove aside the knowledge that he was excited about whatever pain and suffering he’d doled out to whomever had dared cross him. 

She started walking again, stilted. “Tell me you didn’t hurt that poor farmer.”

“No, no. Stop trying to guess. I’ll wash off when we stop.”

She wanted to ask more questions, but the words died in her throat. She needed to know, but she didn’t want to know. Hopefully it had been a matter of self-defense, not his own bloodthirsty nature coming into play. All she needed to do was focus on the positive: they were on the move again, needing to run; it was the thing she was best at, and frankly she didn’t need a reason to do so. All she had to do was focus on how good it was to be on the move without warning once again.

They traveled till early evening, and only then, when Elk couldn’t hear anyone in the woods around them, they stopped by a stream. He shoved his head under the running water and swished around for a while and then she, swallowing her distaste, scrubbed the rest of the now-mostly-dried blood off his antlers and out of his sleek summer coat. How odd that his fur was seasonal, but his antlers stayed firmly the same. In fact, they seemed thicker and stronger now than ever before.

“Are you all right?”

Vagabond started. She was standing with both hands on one of his antlers, and he was twisting his head to the side in an awkward position so she could get to the entire length of it. “Oh, uh… yeah. Sorry.” She began scrubbing again.

“I didn’t attack someone out of nowhere, if that was what you were worried about.”

She felt the distress melt out of her muscles and release the tension in her shoulders. “Oh,” she said again, and he must have heard the relief, because he chuckled quietly. “You know,” she went on, striving to very obviously change the subject, “this is the same river as up north.”

He let her. “Really? The one we met in?”

“Yeah. It’s old so it’s wrapped around quite a bit, but it’s from the ice of the mountains up there, and eventually makes it to a big ol’ lake. I stayed there for a while before I hit up the city. The… the first time.” She looked down at her red-stained hands and took a breath before dunking them in the water for a rinse. For a moment she stood there, staring down at the river. The water trickling from her hands was still pink.

She was scrubbing someone else’s blood from her best friend, who’d murdered people— again, he’d done it again— and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Head bent, staring at her hands, Vagabond sucked air in through her teeth, and everything began to break apart.

A voice murmured behind her. Perhaps he said her name. She couldn’t hear above the humming she’d begun to drown out the fear.

At least she thought it was her own, but as the magic began to build she realized he’d joined in, his deep thrum overpowering, surpassing, and leading hers. There was darkness oozing out from the song; she could feel it, its corruption choking the light out of what was supposed to be one of the few warm memories left of her past. Vagabond tried to stop, to end the lullaby, but it looped around again, dragging her along with it as if she were attached with invisible hooks.

She yanked back and it continued mercilessly along. Elk was curving his neck over her shoulder and his ear brushed her temple. She couldn’t focus on him, being so close, and everything was fuzzy anyway, but she had the distinct impression he was smiling. Vagabond tried to tell him to stop, but her voice was lost to the tide.

“Elk.”

She was drowning.

There were words buried deep in the tune. Vagabond couldn’t hear them, but they were there, slipping among the notes that poured from her friend’s throat.

“Elk,” louder this time, and the word pierced the song.

He lifted his head and gently rested his lips to her cheek for a moment and murmured, “Hush now, it’s all right.”

She didn’t have an answer to that. His presence up against her was tainted, reeking of a soul slowly wasting away with hatred and malice. She was losing him; the darkness was getting stronger no matter what she did, and all she wanted to do was pretend everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. But it wasn’t working, and she was bound to him whether she liked it or not at this point, and the second she acknowledged the existence of the elephant in the room he brushed it aside as if it didn’t even matter.

What would happen when they finally put him back together? At this point, would it even work? Was the General also rotting the way her friend was, silently denying the destruction of the foundation that was once a functional person?

“I,” she whispered, swallowed, and continued a little stronger, “I think we should keep going.”

“Let me finish cleaning up first.” His presence moved away, and she could breathe again. “Why don’t you go sit down. Rest. I’ll take care of it.”

There was nothing else to do but obey. Vagabond moved to one side of the river and sat on a rock, putting her head between her knees and breathing slowly.

A ridiculous amount of splashing caused her to look up again. Elk was bounding around the water, kicking it up with his legs and causing a ruckus. He charged up and down the bend of the river, turning only just before he left her sight, and galloping back. Each turn he came closer until she could see the dark horizontal slits of his pupils, and then he flicked his gaze to her. With a slight smile, he skidded to a halt in front of her, reared, and spun before crashing down and sending a wave all over her.

It very effectively knocked her out of the funk she was sinking in and she gratefully let it distract her. “Jerk,” she told him, shaking her arms out and wringing her hair. She needed to get it cut again for the warm weather.

“You’re usually the one telling me to lighten up,” he replied, kicking one hoof and flicking her with more water. “Come, now, what’s done is done! You know what we should do? Get something sweet. I know, I know, you don’t like sweets, but I think you could use it.” He continued chatting, dancing around in the river, and Vagabond’s smile slowly faded as unease set back in. Elk’s eyes were so wide she could see the whites of them, and the grin on his face was stretched and vacant.

“Yeah,” she said, “yeah. Let’s.” She got up and, in an attempt to bring him back to reality, added, “And I don’t not like sweets! I just like them in moderation.”

“That’s as good as saying you don’t like them,” he shot back, but thankfully settled down to fall in line shoulder to shoulder once more. Vagabond let out a deep breath, slowly so he wouldn’t notice, and patted his neck. Her fingers rested momentarily on the healed ring of missing fur from his incarceration.

It sang against her fingers like a fresh burn. She removed her hand. The skin there may have healed, but the damage it caused echoed through time.

And for the first time since they met, Vagabond realized—really, truly realized—that she might very well be not enough to save him.

For the rest of their travel around the castle carved into the mighty mountain, Elk seemed to calm down. Vagabond determined that he was much, much better when he wasn’t allowed to wander too far from her, and desperately engaged him in as much activity as possible. Money and housing no longer mattered: she instead stole what they needed; keeping him away from other people was now her top priority. Internally, she struggled. She needed to keep her promise to help him fuse with the General, but she wasn’t sure how. Elk needed her constant emotional support and she couldn’t just ask the General to walk out and meet with her in the middle of the woods.

Or could I…? He’d know there was something up instantly, of course; he was a shrewd tactician and at this point probably knew who she was. Vagabond didn’t regret letting that young soldier go, but even she had to acknowledge it made things much trickier. The General would assume a trap and would probably even set up his own. She was clever, she wasn’t afraid to admit it, and hadn’t yet found a situation she couldn’t get out of—either by smooth talking, or by picking locks and stealing away in the middle of the night. But getting Elk out was a different story. And then there was the matter of getting the damn Key…

Maybe she could find and talk to the Princess herself. It would likely be safer than approaching her husband; she’d helped Elk escape the first time, for gods’ sake. But there was no guarantee she would help again. She may have even been swayed by the General’s words and could potentially turn them in.

And so Vagabond fretted, and procrastinated, and knew that with every passing day she didn’t act he was that much closer to something that hovered on the horizon like the black cloud of an approaching storm.

Summer solstice came and went. Vagabond remembered quite painfully the last time she’d joined in on celebrations and instead only slipped into the nearest town to swipe some traditional foods. They enjoyed their own private little party, feasting on whatever she had been able to stuff in her bag in a short period of time. She’d even been able to snag a bottle of honey mead, and though only one mug of it was enough to get her tipsy, Elk managed to chug the entire rest of the bottle with very little effect.

Shortly after that they had to run. Waves of soldiers swept through the forest, likely tipped off by whatever Elk had done before they’d left their last hideout. Elk’s superior senses meant they were warned far in advance to being discovered, and Vagabond’s lifetime of practice of escape made evasion easy in the thick brush of the forest.

Such a thing wouldn’t last come winter. Their cover would be gone, it would be easier to track them in the snow, and Vagabond would need to seek shelter once temperatures dropped to dangerous levels. They needed to figure things out, and fast.

Autumn. Vagabond struggled to feed Elk what he needed; he no longer displayed the ravenous appetite he did when they first met, but he’d slimmed down and she wasn’t sure if it was due to the time of year or from lack of calories. She nipped into surrounding towns and even farms to steal what they needed. It had been a bountiful summer and she didn’t feel bad about a few burgled items here and there. When she had time she did an errand job or two for extra cash, which she put in her pockets for the inevitable room they’d have to rent later in the year. Elk helped when he could, having learned what to forage from her and sniffing out secret bushes and fungi that would have otherwise been missed.

She kept him as busy as she could, managing to scrape enough to buy a book of blank pages and some thick charcoal sticks he could use to get his thoughts out. Journaling always helped her, after all. His two-clawed toes didn’t make for very good fine-motor skills, which clearly vexed him—not her intention, of course, but it did anyway to her chagrin—but he switched to drawings and diagrams, which got more and more complex the better he got at it. Vagabond stepped in when he asked her to make smaller details he couldn’t handle.

None of the diagrams made any sense to her, but they clearly pleased him, so she chalked it up to a win.

The annual cornucopia festival arrived before they knew it. Given the bounty of the past year, it was a big one, and music and laughter were prevalent almost everywhere they went, even filtering through the trees when they retreated deeper. Vagabond decided she’d try something different this time, and coaxed him to a small clearing close to one of the larger towns.

“What are we doing here,” he growled, flattening his ears against the music. “I told you—”

“Shut up, would you?” Vagabond tossed her bag to the ground and stepped towards him. “You’re always bitching that you can’t dance like a human does, and I’m gonna teach you that’s bullshit.”

He blinked, startled out of his funk. “I… what?”

“C’mere.”

Mystified, he came closer, and she slapped his left shoulder. “So, normally you’d lead, which means you step forward with your left foot and use the pressure to guide me back. Don’t run into me or be afraid of running into me, I’ll get out of the way.”

“But I have two—”

“So step forward with both! You’re way smarter than I’ll ever be, use your brain!”

“That’s not tr—”

“Stop talking unless it’s to ask a question that makes sense. Step forward with both left feet and lead with your shoulder.” For once, Elk just did as he was told, made completely speechless by her attitude. Vagabond stepped back as he did, then gestured to the side. “Now both right feet up and to the right, and I’ll follow.” Again, he obeyed, and she guided him through the rest of the box step. “Again, but this time to the rhythm. You know what rhythm is, don’t you?”

“Come on, I look ridiculous—”

“Shut up. Come on. Left foot and left foot, to the beat.” He complied and they made another pass. “Okay, on this next one, we’re gonna sink down a bit as we step, and come back up when we bring our feet together. I’m gonna come up a bit on my toes but you do whatever’s comfortable.”

He was getting into it now despite his protests, ears pricked and a smile playing on his lips; Vagabond smiled in return as his movements became more sure and smooth. It was safe to come closer now without her feet being crushed by a misstep, so she did so, and was delighted when he became bolder in leading her. He had natural rhythm, obviously, and even began picking his feet up a little more with each pass. In turn, Vagabond became bolder in teaching him the limited number of moves she knew.

They danced up and down the clearing under the glittering starlight, forwards and backwards. Elk lowered one antler to her and, taking the hint, she grasped it and twirled. He reared up and wrapped one forelimb around her back then carefully fell to all fours again, effectively dipping her. Vagabond laughed, and he did too, the sound so light and full of wonder it was easy to forget the cracking of the dam around them.

The waltz ended and a more upbeat song took its place. She taught him the beginnings of the rumba and he took to it eagerly, devouring her knowledge as if it were nourishment, eyes bright and kicking up his legs like a foal. She did the same, even vaulting off his back like a gymnast and rolling in the moss. He joined her and they tussled; Elk was thankfully still very aware of his strength and avoided crushing her, though he definitely knocked her around as she tried to roll away, giggling.

It was past midnight by the time they collapsed on the ground, panting and drained. The party was winding down, the music fading into the night and the darkness encroaching as lanterns were at last extinguished. The air was instead full of their gasping, and despite the cool autumn breeze Vagabond flapped the fabric of her shirt to dry her sweat.

“Vagabond, dearheart,” Elk murmured presently, as exhaustion made way for sleep, and she could hear him shift before he rested his heavy head across her chest. She was too hot for that but didn’t complain, just lazily passed a hand over his face without opening her eyes. “I have never had a friend like you.”

“Me, either,” she replied, quietly.

“Tell me again. You’ll always come back to me.”

“Always,” she agreed, and knew that even if she hadn’t promised, it would still be true.

He clung to her because she was the only person who’d managed to befriend and show him kindness right when he needed it. But she didn’t hold any airs about their relationship; his thoughts and motivations were entirely consumed by the Princess and the General. 

And yet…

Elk was now firmly the most important person Vagabond ever had in her life. He knew more about her than she’d allowed anyone she’d ever known over the years, and as hard as she tried to run from it, she was now tangled in the dark web wrapping around his soul.

She was drowning.

~

“I figured out what I want to do.” The steam of Elk’s breath drifted lazily back towards Vagabond where she snuggled atop his back, hands bunched against his thick winter coat. She blinked sleepily and rubbed her eyes, yawning, and slid off, stumbling a little. Elk stopped abruptly when he felt her sliding. “My next step. No, don’t get off, we’re not far enough yet.”

“Mmng.” She pressed the heels of her palms against her forehead, massaging slowly. Yet another late-night run from the law had them making their way through the frozen night once more. The moon was dark, but the light of the Rift blasting into the sky was all they needed. “Just need t’stretch. What’s the, uh,” she yawned, “the plan?”

“The Rift.”

She blinked and looked up at him. He was staring up at the beam in the sky and didn’t look back. “Uh? Did… what? I thought…?”

“You asked me what my plan was, months ago,” he went on, “and I told you I’d make them see me.”

“That’s a goal, not a plan—”

“And I have one.”

Vagabond rocked back on her heels and waited nervously; Elk still hadn’t moved, his dark body fading into the shadow of a tree. The only part of him that was visible in the light was his front half, and his eyeshine made his presence all the more ominous. He dipped his head slowly, eyes squinting in concentration and antlers casting a twisted shadow upon the ground, and slowly lifted one hoof to study it with strangely detached interest.

“Um,” Vagabond fidgeted, tightening her hold in his fur, “and it is…?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He turned finally and smiled at her, using the raised leg to elbow her gently in the ribs. Vagabond played with a smile in return, but it was weak and failed quickly. Elk leaned towards her and brushed his lips against her forehead. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”

“I’m losing you.”

He blinked and withdrew, cocking his head. Vagabond reached for him, cradling his head in her hands tightly as if he were about to become an intangible shadow himself. “I don’t know what to do,” she continued, numbly, her words coming out without thought. “I’m trying. I’m really fucking trying, and I’m losing you.”

He exhaled, slowly. “Oh, dearheart.” Carefully so as not to knock her hands off his face, he turned slowly around entirely and reached out with a foreleg, pulling her into a hug. Vagabond buried her nose into the thick ruff of his neck and closed her eyes. “You’re trembling.”

She nodded, pressing in further. Threads danced in behind her closed eyelids. When he was near, it got harder and harder to push her second sight aside. When he flexed his magic—even without knowing he was doing it—it forced its way into her mind’s eye and warped reality around it. And it was only getting stronger…

“You’re leaving me,” she mumbled into his fur.

“I’m not.” The rough hairs of his muzzle nuzzled against the smoother skin of her neck. If they hadn’t previously settled the matter of flirtation Vagabond would have been seriously concerned, but she recognized the attempt at soothing her. It wasn’t as if he had hands after all. “I’m still me. I’ll always be me.”

“Promise,” she croaked.

“I promise. I swear it. Listen, you’re exhausted. You’ve been awake all night. Get back on, and I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll take care of you.”

What else could she do, but obey? Vagabond’s shoulders slumped, and taking this as acquiescence, he knelt down to allow her to slip onto his back once more.

As he began to walk again, his voice floated back to her. “I’m hungry.”

He began to hum. Ice whispered against her exposed cheek, and as she hummed along with him, Vagabond realized it had begun to snow.

~

She woke with the distinct buzzing alarm that something was wrong. Elk’s muscles were rock-hard under her and he’d stopped dead, his breath hissing quietly in the frozen silence. She lifted her head and looked around, instantly on alert; her gaze immediately drew to the light of torches in the not-so-far distance. As she adjusted to the light she realized just how close they were; the soldiers were passing within six meters of where she and Elk stood quietly in the shadows. Most were on foot but a couple clopped by on horses, and the low murmur of an occasional order filtered towards them.

They were on the hunt, and Vagabond knew damn well who they were hunting.

A low rumble nearly gave away their position. Vagabond sat up and thumped him on the shoulder warningly; he shifted and she felt him lift a hoof, lashing it through the air as he reigned in his desire to tear up the ground. Or their faces.

The soldiers drifted closer. Vagabond grit her teeth and tugged at his fur, hoping he’d catch her drift and back away, but he remained in place, watching them with murderous intent. Their only saving grace at this moment was the shadows cast by both the Rift and the torches, leaving them in near-total darkness. But that wasn’t going to last much longer. A section broke off from the main group and began to comb up the hill towards them, footsteps crunching on new snow.

A vibration graced the air. Elk was humming. His body cracked open in her mind’s eye and blackened fibers leaked out from his heart, gleaming in their corruption and spreading their fingers around him. Around her. She sucked in a breath as the soldiers reacted to the faint sound, their voices silencing and heads turning. Fear choked her and she joined the magic, her head beginning to throb, and hoped she’d be able to stop whatever was about to happen.

She leaned forward and grabbed his neck, bracing herself and reaching out for her magic. He began to shift and she knew it was useless optimism to pray he’d run away, not towards them. And of course was immediately proven the very next second when her friend leaped forward, head lowered, took two galloped leaps and slammed his tines into the neck of the warhorse closest to them, twisting and slashing the poor animal’s throat to pieces. It died with not much more than a gurgle, collapsing and sending its rider tumbling to the ground. Elk killed the man without a glance, slamming his hooves down on his unarmored neck with a sickening crack.

Everything happened fast enough that no one had yet had time to react. Vagabond clung to him as tightly as possible, eyes squeezed shut against what she knew to be an instant blood bath and trying to close her ears off to the cries of horror. The interruption sent nauseating pain through her head and it was all she could do to hold on despite every nerve screaming to jump off his back and flee the scene.

Elk’s soft humming was steady, unbroken by his violent actions, and its spell wove around the group and dampened their screams.

“Hush now,” he murmured, and snuffed out another life. “Quiet.”

The distant yells of the other groups were coming closer, drawn by the chaos. Elk paused and Vagabond peered past his neck to see him towering over a horrified soldier lying prone on the ground where he’d fallen, hand still on his half-sheathed sword but suddenly unable to move.

“Do you feel it?” he hissed. “My hatred? If you don’t now, you will. They all will.” He leaned his head down to lock eyes with him, who stayed on his back, held in place by the seething contempt staring back at him. Elk snorted and raised his head again, stepping back. “I think I’ll let you live. Go and tell your precious General he’s going to hear from me, over and over and over again. ”

Vagabond tightened her hold but didn’t dare move. Rotten magic writhed under her, around her, sliding over her like oil; she couldn’t breathe. The man scrambled back, whimpering in terror, and the spell broke as he fled. Elk snorted and took a step back, swiveling his head to watch the rest of the troop curving towards them. The one on horseback charged ahead, and Vagabond yelled for him to move, damn it, fucking move, and finally with a growl her friend spun and dashed in the opposite direction.

Snow screamed past her face. He dodged and wove through the trees, once again using them to lose the horses, and Vagabond’s entire being went into hanging on. She had no idea where they were by this point; her only marker was the darkness of the mountain they were passing and the golden flame of the magical doorway in the distance. Behind them, she could hear the thunder of hooves as they were chased via horseback.

They hit a stretch of flat open ground and Vagabond’s heart went in her throat. In short distances, Elk could outrun a horse, but he didn’t have the stamina to keep it up. Especially with her on board. Peeking over his lurching neck she could see the narrow corridor they were currently charging down, flanked by ridges on either side. Young spruce saplings framed the glistening melting stone.

And the rumble of hooves behind them, having grown faint as they danced through the trees, now rose to a dull roar. Flattening herself to his back and trying to remain as small as possible, she tried to think. She had to try her magic. She had to. She had no idea what would happen, but the situation was dire, she had to do something—

The thunder rose to a crescendo, muffled though it was through the snow. Vagabond knew what was going to happen the instant before it did. Elk tried to leap to the side but something tugged at her backpack and then she was unceremoniously yanked onto the frigid earth, tumbling end over end amongst Elk’s brays of alarm. She tucked her body into a ball, protecting her head and neck, thankful for the snow that cushioned her fall.

She lurched to her feet, casting her bag aside in favor of being able to move faster, and felt rather than heard the horse fly by her and the crash of a soldier leaping off its back to wrap his arms around hers and pin them painfully tight against her sides.

Beyond them, the trained warhorse was rearing in front of her friend, keeping him at bay. The panic in his eyes shot through her heart. Oh no. Oh no.

“Vagabond,” Elk panted, winded from their wild ride, above the whinnies of the horse.

“Gotcha.” She knew that voice. The young man she’d convinced Elk to spare held her captive, panting with the euphoric high of someone who’d just achieved something great. No doubt he was thinking about how he’d be rewarded and praised by his beloved General for singlehandedly taking down the magical talking deer and its witch of a companion. Oh, this was her fault. It was all her fault.

Everything was boiling down to this moment. Elk’s earlier power and control was gone; his eyes were so wide she could see the whites of them and he stared into her soul with a terror so intense her heart wrenched for him. She knew what must have been going through his head right now.

“Elk,” she called, “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Just run—”

“Shut up,” the man snapped at her, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I have to. That thing’s a monster, the General—”

“Don’t,” Elk hissed, each word dripping from his mouth as if made of oil, “ever. Speak of him. In my presence. ” He now stood in a staredown with the warhorse, which kept itself firmly in the way of his advance. Vagabond’s heart twisted at his words.

“Everyone calm down.” Things were spiraling out of control. She kept her voice low and steady despite her pounding heart. She was more afraid of Elk’s actions than whatever danger she was in. It didn’t matter if she got hurt. Not in the grand scheme of things. But her friend’s psyche was on the line. The man gripping her began backing up despite his brave front. “Kid, you’re making a huge mistake.”

He didn’t respond. The voices of the troop were getting closer. Vagabond swallowed. Elk lashed out at the horse, and they began to brawl in earnest, screams and roars echoing against glistening rock walls. It had the advantage of strength and armor, but Elk had those long wicked antlers and danced in the snow nimbly around the heavier animal; it was only a matter of time until he found an opening. The horse was trained but Elk had the advantage of superior intellect.

“Let me go,” she said quietly.

“Thank you for sparing me,” he replied, his hold tightening, trying to sound brave. It almost worked. He only had to hold out a few minutes until the others arrived. What a foolish young man, blinded with delusions of grandeur. “I can’t let go. That thing needs to be captured.”

“He’s not a thing.” She didn’t struggle, knowing she’d need to keep her strength for the moment his attention faltered. Magic whispered at her. She was in danger. They were in danger. They had to move. Something was wrong, something was vibrating; it whispered for attention. Melting ice dripped and a breeze stirred tiny flurries into the air. The echoes of the fight bounced off the cliff walls. Tremors hummed in the air. The flailing of hooves and the churning of snow— tremors in the air?

She looked up.

High above them, the snow was shifting. A trickle at first, then larger clumps.

“Stop stop stop!” She screamed out suddenly, fear slamming into her chest and throat, “Dude let go!”

He struggled to keep hold and not hurt her; she would have appreciated that were there not far more pressing matters at hand. Elk faltered and sprang away from the horse to get a better look at her, then followed her gaze up the slope. At first confused and unsure what she was talking about he circled his panting foe and then, as the snow picked up speed and caught his eye, he froze in horror.

She saw his mouth move to form her name, but whether or not he was actually speaking was up in the air as the avalanche plunged down the mountain. He charged for them, but there was no time; the soldier’s arms loosened at last as he realized what was going on. Vagabond didn’t wait to see if he ran or stayed; she threw herself towards the saplings alongside the opposite cliff, knowing there was no way they could fully escape. She wrapped her arms around one of the trunks, ducked her head and held her breath.

The last thing she saw before the roiling mass of snow hit was her best friend leaping backwards, his own survival instinct kicking in and overriding his need to get to her. Good.

What happened to her didn’t matter.

Never has.

The saplings snapped back against the rock wall at the force of the impact. Branches, already weeping with snow, dropped with the added weight and smacked against her face. The ringing in her ears and the frozen prison around her muffled all outside noise.

It happened far too fast, as avalanches did. There even wasn’t much sound, just a reverberating whumph as everything settled. Utter darkness surrounded her, filled with the scent of pine and blood, the only lasting image being the spidering fissures of Elk’s being and soul shattering into a thousand pieces.

Chapter Text

The pocket of air created by the trees and the surrounding branches were the only things keeping her alive.

One leg and both her arms were locked around the trunk, pinning her between trees and stone, and that nearly did her in. As the sun beat down and her trapped body heat warmed the air around her, the tree began to creak, the heavy load slowly lightening. The soft pine began to relax its tightly bent trunk, gradually releasing her numb leg. Vagabond managed to wiggle it free and dropped to the bottom of her frozen prison, the impact shuddering through her ribs. There she lay, head still ringing, the pain of her myriad injuries having not yet reached her shock-induced brain.

She swallowed hard once; twice. The taste on her tongue was blood. Come to think of it, it felt oddly thick and swollen.

The pain crept up on her bit by bit. Vagabond whimpered and scrunched her eyes shut, taking stock of the warning signals as they came in. Badly bitten tongue. Nose was okay. One eye felt weird—bruised, likely, but didn’t seem scratched or punctured. Her neck and throat were raw and aching and hurt when she swallowed. The back of her head throbbed. Her hand—broken. Her ribs—possibly broken. The skin of her back was deeply torn and bruised, and she still couldn’t feel her leg. The other one seemed okay, but she’d have to wait till the feeling came back to determine whether or not she could walk.

Time, though, was not something she had. She knew damn well the air in the little pocket wouldn’t last very long. She was lucky, oh so damn lucky, that she even had it in the first place, or she would have suffocated in ten minutes. As it were she had no idea how long she’d been there.

Vagabond forced herself to move. She clawed at the melting snow above, working her way along the trunk, doubly thankful it was there to tell her which way was up. It was a useless endeavor. There was no way to tell just how much snow was on top of it. It could have been twenty feet or two; snow set like concrete when it settled like this and no light penetrated from above. Despairing, she coughed and spat out blood, then began to hum, seeking that connection deep within her.

It was an action born of pure desperation. How was she supposed to reach anything or anyone like this? How was she supposed to pluck those strings when she couldn’t even focus? But, gradually, she found her cadence and the thread in front of her and pulled .

She wasn’t sure exactly how she found herself out of the snow and ice. Only that she was, suddenly, and it was night, and the abrupt temperature drop sent her body into complete shock. She’d never done—whatever that was, before. To be fair she’d never delved too deeply into what she could do, not since she was a teen. Vagabond forced herself to her feet, a low whine escaping her as bone grated against bone and white-hot daggers cut through her back and chest and arm and legs and head and—

Her body threatened to pass out, and she made her way to a rock and just sat there for a while, willing everything to just take a chill pill. She couldn’t pass out here. The yelping wails of coyotes sounded in the distance, attracted by the smell of blood and death. At least her leg didn’t seem broken, though that wouldn’t have mattered; she would have had to try and walk anyway.

“Elk?” her voice was thick and clumsy, her tongue stiff and swollen. No one responded. Vagabond forced herself to her feet as soon as her vision cleared and tried to get her bearings. There was no way to tell what side of the avalanche she’d ended up on.

The Rift gave her enough light to make her way forward. She kept her eyes on the ground. There, and there, and there were the cloven hoof prints of her friend. He’d made it out alive. Immense relief made her dizzy, but it was followed by compassion and a horrible sinking feeling. Oh, gods. Poor Elk. Everything she’d tried to keep him from the darkness had to have been shattered at this point. It would drive him to even greater rage and hate and violence.

She had to find him. But first, she had to focus on not dying.

She walked. The ray of light of the faraway Rift was her only guide. Around it, the incandescence from the main city lit up the night sky. Her stubborn will to live kept her awake. She’d lost everything in that avalanche; who knew where her bag was and she didn’t have time to go back and dig around for it.

The ravine led back to the trail, which eventually led to the road, and she took it, blank, silent. There was no longer any room for thoughts or emotions. There was only survival.

The sound of hooves clopping far behind her met her ears. She didn’t get excited. She’d been around her friend long enough to know his footsteps. Instead she wandered to the middle of the road, forcing the carriage to stop. In the shine of the lantern she saw the scowling face of its driver, eying her and then their surroundings. She couldn’t blame him for his suspicion. A woman alone in the middle of the road was often just the distraction for an ambush and a mugging. His hands were tight on the reins and the horse stomped and danced in place, feeling that tense hold. Vagabond stood firmly in the way. It was unlikely they would trample her.

“P’hease,” she said thickly, choking a bit on her tongue. “Jus’... a ride… s-somewhere.”

The driver darted another look around, checking his mirrors. When no one came charging out of the woods or sneaking up behind them he said, gruffly, “You got coin?”

“Y… I ‘hink…” she patted her pockets with her good hand. There was a bulge in the inside of her jacket—one of her secret stashes. Fumbling out the small bag, she shook it to make sure there was something inside, then held it out in a trembling hand up to him.

He eyed her for a moment, then jerked his head. “Come on up.”

Getting up there was hell. He ended up grabbing her arm to help her, and she passed him the entirety of the pouch before he clucked the horse onwards.

“The hell happened to you?”

“H…iking. Ava…lansh.” She blinked. Her eyes were getting heavy. No, she told her body, not safe. Stay awake.

“That was stupid of you,” he said shortly. Before she could agree he added, “There’s a station up the road. I can drop you off there. Those’re good men, they’ll take care of you.”

Great. More soldiers. Vagabond didn’t dare complain though; she was too grateful he hadn’t just tried to go around her. The jostling of all her wounds didn’t help her concentration either. She just whispered, “H’kay.”

They rode in silence for a while. The driver kept peering over at her, taking in her battered appearance bit by bit. “You’re really hurt,” he said eventually, and his tone had finally gentled a little. Vagabond tried to respond, but the only thing that came out was a grunt.

True to his word they came up upon an outpost, and the driver jumped down to tie his horse. “I’ll be back,” he promised before disappearing inside. Vagabond just sat there, unable to do anything anyway, and suddenly she was surrounded by people. They took her down off the carriage and carried her inside. She couldn’t understand what they were saying. Her brain had decided she was safe and shut her down. Dimly she was aware of hands on her, peeling off her clothes and gently probing her injuries, and then she surrendered to unconsciousness.

~

They kept her there for several days and eventually moved her to a hospital. Vagabond suffered multiple broken bones, cuts, severe bruising and a concussion, but thankfully no abdominal injuries or permanently debilitating ones. She was unaware of most of everything; they kept her pretty drugged especially when moving her, but fortunately it did seem that they were indeed good people and didn’t do anything untoward. From the country hospital she was sent to a larger one just inside the city walls, where they had far more resources to deal with her issues.

The woman couldn’t argue with them without sounding suspicious, but all she wanted to do was leave as soon as she was in any shape to walk around. She had to go. She had to go.

Another snowstorm hit and all she could think of was her friend out there in it. It didn’t matter that he had a fur coat, or that his form was one that could survive the worst of winters. He was shunned from being a part of society. No human in their right mind would let a wild animal indoors. Hopefully he found a barn or something to huddle in at the very least. She doubted he’d dare talk to anyone and betray himself, not so close to where the General lived. All those soldiers were his men, and would immediately report to him anything out of the ordinary.

The thought made her wonder if her description had made it back to the General himself. She hadn’t seen the body of the soldier—though, granted, she really hadn’t looked—and assumed he’d been buried alive. He was the last person who’d known what she’d looked like, really. The ones they’d come across on the road hadn’t seen her face.

When the snow melted enough to see the streets—honestly she had no idea how long it’d been, having lost all track of time—they sent her to a sort of halfway house to recuperate fully. Citizens of the main city had free healthcare, but those who did not entered a sort of working program to pay off their debts.

This posed a problem. Vagabond had no plans to pay off anything.

It was a good thing she’d been moved to that house; it was far easier to pick a couple locks and walk out the front door than it would have been at the hospital. Vagabond melted into the general populace and simply disappeared. She didn’t have time to find a job or worry about a temporary visa. It was time to brush up on her pickpocketing, petty theft and freerunning skills.

And she did, living off the street, slipping inside of laundry houses and the attics of larger inns to keep warm. She lifted enough money to buy some cheap clothing, and mended them. She stole rope off a cart and walked away with someone’s backpack. She ate out of dumpsters and searched for a way to get out of the city without going through the main gates.

They came for her just as she learned about the sewers that ran under the city. 

Apparently the crown had undercover police. At first she thought she was being surrounded by a gang, and poised to run, but one of them flicked their coat back to show the Royal Crest underneath and she knew immediately she was caught. Damn, they were good. She hadn’t even known she was being watched.

She could have escaped multiple times as they cuffed and marched her through the city to the nearest booking facility. But, that would have just made things worse. Maybe she could talk her way out of this. Tell them she already had a visa, but she’d lost it in the avalanche and didn’t know she had to get a replacement. It wouldn’t be a lie.

She spent a night in a cell—it was better than sleeping on the street, so she wasn’t going to complain—and then was whisked to a much larger and grander building. No one would tell her anything, which was a bad sign. Instead she was brought into a spacious office where a harried-looking man was busy reading a report.

“I’ll be right with you,” he murmured, not looking up.

“No problem,” she replied easily, taking the seat he waved her to.

She looked around idly as he poured over the report. It looked like some sort of accountant’s office. Was this city hall? The myriad of weapons hanging from the wall didn’t bode well for that hypothesis. Nor did the sheer amount of guards and officers around. Vagabond twiddled her fingers and tried to peer past the man through the large glass window behind him. It looked like a fenced-in yard, but there were no gardens or anything. Instead there were even more soldiers. Doing drills.

Uh-oh.

“Okay,” the man said suddenly, tossing the report to the side and rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “You are… Tori, yes?”

She stared at him blankly for a minute. “Tori” had been the name she’d given the town they’d run from. This was bad.

“Uh,” she said.

“Let me guess.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in a slight smile. “Not your real name.”

“No,” she said sheepishly. “I don’t use my real name anymore.”

“Fair enough. What shall I refer to you as, then?”

“Um, well, I guess I go by Vagabond now.” She shrugged, and allowed for her own smile, as charming as she could make it. “Ran outta names.” Might as well use it. Maybe if it reached Elk he’d at least know she was alive.

He laughed, leaning back in his chair, his body language utterly relaxed and unconcerned. “A bit contemptuous of yourself, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied defensively, “it’s what I am. At least I didn’t call myself Drifter .”

“Sure, but there are a lot of other synonyms you could have gone with. Pathfinder comes to mind.” His smile didn’t waver, but it wasn’t mocking. Rather, it seemed genuinely kind. “Wanderer, trailblazer—”

Vagabond huffed. “Those sound too pretentious. I’m a survivor, not some sort of noble…” she flapped her hand, the other following, still attached by the shackles. “...Person,” she finished lamely. The man laughed again, and suddenly Vagabond was struck with an odd feeling that she knew him. Or at least, had met him before. He hadn’t been one of the soldiers who’d chased them down, was he? Or—

“Here,” he said, standing suddenly and walking around the desk. “You don’t need those. I don’t think you’re going to try anything, are you?” The closer he came the more she recognized the oddness that emanated from him. This man vibrated with wrong-wrong-wrong .

Oh. Oh no.

“Are you the General?” She kept her voice light, curious, as he unlocked the chains around her wrists. “Thanks.”

“That’s me. You’re welcome.” The General took a step back and half-sat on the front of his desk. “And you, miss, are in a bit of trouble, aren’t you?”

She twiddled her thumbs. Or tried. The brace on the one made it difficult. “I assume you’re not talking about my lack of papers, or the fact that I ran away from the halfway house, or…?”

“Nice try. I’m referring to the creature you were seen with,” he replied, amused, and folded his arms casually. “The one that could talk.”

“Oh,” she squeaked.

“Yes, oh. You want to tell me about that?” His eyes were so kind, so soft, so opposite of Elk’s. It was easy to see why people loved him. It was hard not to at least like him. Vagabond forcibly reminded herself of what he’d done to Elk. Or at least, what Elk claimed he’d done to him. It was hard to imagine the General doing something like that, even though she’d only just met him.

Concentrate. He’s the general of an entire army that conquered nations . She had to get herself back on track, here. There had to be a degree of hardness in someone who controlled the Royal Army. And cunning. She had to be very careful. “Well,” she drawled as she scrambled to get her thoughts together. “Okay, guilty. But to be fair! I did try to lead him away when he freaked out like that. I didn’t know he’d start… charging around.”

The General waited patiently.

“And… well…” She had a feeling he’d know if she tried to withhold information. She was very skilled at dancing around subjects, but this guy would know. “I really didn’t know what I was getting into when I found him in the woods,” she finished with a sigh, truthfully. “He was so skinny and in pain. I gave him food, and he followed me. He didn’t talk for weeks, actually.” Slowly, haltingly, she told him everything. Well, almost everything. She had a terrible feeling she knew what would happen if she confessed she knew about the Key, and the elktaur, and the General’s origins. Instead she spoke of the hatred behind the Elk’s eyes, his demands that she never leave him, and very very carefully weaved a picture of Elk as a captor of sorts. It wasn’t too far from the truth; in all honesty Vagabond wouldn’t have been able to leave him if she’d wanted to.

The General listened. When she hesitated, he prompted her gently. When her throat got dry, he allowed for a break and offered her water and let her sit there to collect her thoughts as he stared vacantly out the window. The sun peeked through the clouds and outlined the bags under his eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

“I’m guessing everything just kept getting more and more out of control,” he said finally. “I can tell you tried your best. The young man you spared, he said the same thing. From what he told me, I’m starting to think you were under that thing’s influence. There’s no other reason for you to think it’s anything more than a monster.”

She averted her gaze and stared at the cup in her hands.

“Vagabond. Gabby, can I call you Gabby?”

No. Don’t call me Gabby . She didn’t respond.

“Tell me if I’m wrong. It preyed on your kindness and made you think it was your friend. It used you for food, and shelter, so it could gain strength again. Were you there when it told one of my men to bring a warning to me?”

She swallowed hard.

“Gabby.”

Don’t call me that!

She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “Um. Yeah.”

His gaze was steady on her. His gentle tone hadn’t changed, though his eyes spoke another story as he repeated, “Were you there?”

“I-I… yeah. I was… on his back.” She faltered, avoiding looking at his face. “He told me he’d take care of it all, a-and not to worry. But I did. I was so worried. He’s been… he was getting worse. I was trying to distract him. I taught him how to dance during the cornucopia.” A soft sigh met her ears but she didn’t look up, letting the words slide out unheeded. She knew she needed to be careful, but it felt so good to be able to just talk about what happened that she couldn’t stop. “The soldiers were so close and I was trying to get him to run away, I swear I did, but he wasn’t listening, and… I d-don’t know if he even realized I was there anymore.”

“I believe you,” the General said softly when she couldn’t continue. “Our young friend told me about how you came in between him and the monster multiple times. He wanted to rescue you, you know.”

Vagabond shuddered. Was that why he’d joined the search group? What kind of sick joke were the gods playing to let him be the one to catch up to them?

She was silent for enough time for the General to prompt her, “And after the avalanche…?”

“I… walked.” She definitely wasn’t going to tell him about how she got out of said avalanche. “I assume he thought I was dead. I… to be honest, I thought I was dead.”

The General steepled his fingers and peered over them at her. She fought to keep herself from fidgeting. He clearly hurt from the loss of his men in such a brutal manner. It seemed rather strange, coming from a warrior, but she figured he just despaired the fact that they didn’t die in a noble battle, instead in a fight for their lives against a cursed being and bad luck.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Gabby, I want to explain to you what that creature is. Did it say anything about that?”

“He… said…” The truth, the truth. “He said he’d been held in a castle cell for ten years. I believed him. He looked like he’d been tortured.”

The General ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s a reason it was in the dungeon.”

“Oh?” she said weakly.

“It’s a mistake. It shouldn’t exist. The centaurs asked me to help contain it. They don’t really have an army of their own.” He sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You see, the artifact that holds the doors open, it malfunctions sometimes. Usually it’s innocuous. A vegetable becomes a baby then back again, that sort of thing. Silly stuff, like the rest of Centaurworld. The Rift workers usually fix it pretty quick.”

You’d know about that, wouldn’t you.

“But sometimes the malfunctions are dangerous.” Vagabond looked up at him again. His eyes were lost and distant. “It’s been doing that lately. My wife, the Princess… I’m sure you haven’t heard the rumors, if you only just got here. I’m going to let you in on a secret, all right? And I’m only doing that because you had such a close brush with all this. You can’t tell anyone.” There was the stern look she’d expect out of the general of an army, hardened and weary. “Understand?”

“Yessir.”

“My beloved wife is stuck in Centaurworld somewhere, because of this thing. I’m keeping it hush-hush because who knows what would happen if the people found out. I haven’t been coronated King yet, nor she Queen. There could be an uproar. Other nobles may try to usurp the throne.”

Vagabond opened her mouth, then closed it again. That sounded… pretty serious, actually. Her memory suddenly took her back to the young man’s outburst, “What do you know about the Princess!” Of course he’d responded to them talking about her, if she was missing.

On the heels of that thought: Elk will never look for her in Centaurworld. He’d said he didn’t want to go there to begin with. And if the Princess was stuck over there, that meant he was stranded on this side anyway. “Okay,” she said, slowly, mind racing. “But… what does that have to do with the… creature?”

“I’m telling you this because I want you to trust me the same way I’m trusting you with this information,” he said quietly, eyes boring into hers. It made her uncomfortable. Elk never made her feel like this. Nervous, maybe; worried, upset… not like this. These two may have been linked but they were so, so different. “And I need you to trust me when I say that you have no idea what you got yourself into. You mess with things you don’t understand, and it has unexpected consequences.”

Her head swam with all this new information. She needed time to think. “I… think I got a glimpse when he went ham on your soldiers,” she said finally. “But I didn’t know what to do. What could I do?”

The General sighed and turned back to her, coming back to the present. He definitely looked exhausted. Worried. He was probably thinking about his wife. If he loved her as passionately as Elk did, if he had been married to her for over a decade now, he was probably beside himself. “Nothing, I suppose,” he said after a minute. “You couldn’t have stopped that thing.” He pushed away from the desk and looked down at her, the light mischievous gleam back in his eye. “But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You have a debt to be paid.”

Vagabond groaned and slumped in her chair. “I know, I know.”

He chuckled. The sound was eerily similar to Elk’s. “We have these programs in place for a reason, you know.”

“I know …”

“Tell you what.” She looked back up at him hopefully. “I have an opening for a cleaner here in this building. You sign yourself up for a year of work here, faithfully, so I can keep an eye on you, and in return you get a place to sleep, a temp visa, and your debt wiped out. Deal?”

A year? How the hell was she supposed to search for Elk? She didn’t know what to think of what he just told her but she still wanted to find her friend. She cared about that stupid, selfish man, despite his problems and what the General was telling her. “Oh. Um. Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you do. You can either do this, or you go to prison for life.”

Vagabond considered that for longer than he apparently thought she would. As the silence continued, he raised an eyebrow slowly at her. She didn’t respond for a while, deep in thought—a prison might be better. She could escape a cell. There was no cage that could hold her for long. But here, she would have more freedom to—well, she’d have more freedom, period. And maybe she’d be able to pry more information out of this dude. Carefully.

Maybe—just maybe—she’d be able to play the long con. Befriend this man, figure out how to get him and Elk together. This was an opportunity she couldn’t let go. “Okay,” she said finally.

“I was wondering what was going on in that head of yours,” he said dryly.

She shrugged. “Sometimes three hots and a cot is better than forced labor.”

“Fair enough.” He turned to go back behind his desk. She kicked her legs idly, studying a scar poking out from under her hand brace. Shuffling through the papers, he came back around and presented her with a visa with a bit of a flourish. Mystified, she took it, and looked up at him in askance. He smiled. “I need you to trust me, and I need to trust you not to leave the city.”

“Oh.” He was gonna guilt her. Great. “...Got it.”

“Give me your word.”

Dammit. “Like, never?”

“For one year, starting today.” A half-smile played on his lips as she struggled with that. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. And, no, you can’t change your mind now and take the jail cell.”

“Uuuuugh,” she groaned, putting her head down. “Fine. Okay. I promise.”

He made her repeat herself, look him in the eyes and shake on it.

“Great! You’re free to go. Ask around for the Quartermaster. He’ll find you a place to put your head, where to eat and so on.” He swiped his helmet off the desk and headed out, shooing her in front of him. “I’m going to the Rift to deal with this mess.”

“Right…” they got out to the hall, he briefly updated the guards who had brought her there, and with a little wave strode off, leaving her there staring after him. “...Bye.”

What the hell just happened.

She was carted off to the Quartermaster, an older man with a heavy limp and a stern countenance, who promptly took her on a tour of the building. And then put her straight to work. She wasn’t given a single moment to herself, which she assumed was the point of it all, scrubbing and sweeping and polishing until her body ached and her recovering head throbbed. Only then was she brought to a small room with a cot crowding most of the space and told it was now hers. It wasn’t very different from most jail cells.

Her bag was delivered to her. Relieved, she ruffled through the things she’d stolen. Everything was there. Not that she had much.

She’d told herself she would try and formulate some sort of plan when she had alone time. Instead, she crashed, sleeping clear through the night without even eating.

The next morning she was at least given some time to eat and wash up, though her new boss warned her it was better to clean herself after she was done for the day, to avoid going to bed filthy. And then it started all over again. Day after day. By the time she was given a day off Vagabond had totally lost track of time; she had no idea how long it’d been since she was brought before the General. In truth she wanted to do absolutely nothing on her one day off but rest and recuperate, but obviously she couldn’t do that—guilt at not being able to think of a single plan drove her on.

She practiced her abilities for a while—she hesitated to call them “spells”—though she wasn’t very successful. She hadn’t really tried to do anything except in extreme emergencies ever since she left home, and for very good reason—they were unpredictable at best and downright dangerous at worst. The most she was purposely able to do was teleport a pencil from one side of the room to the other.

In the end she was left tired, defeated, and frustrated. She dared not try anything big like what had happened on the mountain pass; people were bound to notice and she could seriously hurt someone. She was trapped. Trapped, useless, and helpless. She should have taken the General up on the damn jail cell. At least then she could have escaped this monotonous hell. Finally, in frustration, she went out to get something to eat at a restaurant she’d been meaning to try out, and had to stop herself from ordering two of everything. She’d gotten so used to bringing food to Elk.

She missed him. It had been the first time in a long, long time she’d actually enjoyed the company of someone who could keep up with her and not bat an eye at her flighty weirdness. He knew things about her no one else did. He’d found his way into her chest to nestle against her heart and she honestly couldn’t imagine going the rest of her life without him at this point.

She ate some of her dinner at the restaurant but in the end took the leftovers to find somewhere quiet and alone. It was easy scaling a building up to the roof so that’s where she went, finding a little niche between the scaled tiles of a roof and the rough brick of its chimney. The fireplace was in use, so it was warm, and the smoke of the inhabitants’ fire released away from her. She finished her meal there and just sat, staring out across the vast manmade canopy of the city.

Normally there wouldn’t be a problem staying here. This was where she’d wanted to be when she left the reindeer farm months ago, after all. But her friend was out there, alone, angry, hateful, and ready to enact a plan she knew nothing about other than it had to be horrible.

A year. A year!

I should have taken the fucking jail cell!

With a groan Vagabond got up, brushed her pants off, and slipped back to the street. Evening was deepening the sky and though it was tempting to stay out all night she really didn’t want to have to answer any damn questions about it. So she trudged back to the barracks, waving disinterestedly at those who greeted her, and only came back to herself when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

The General was just as warm and friendly as she’d first met him. “Hey, I’ve been calling you! Head in the clouds much?”

“Oh.” Vagabond rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, yeah, was daydreaming.”

He gave her a compassionate look. She was too distracted to try to decipher what was going on inside his head, instead began to turn away again before he spoke up once more. “How are you settling in? The Quartermaster says you’re a quick study.”

Vagabond shrugged indifferently. “Have to be. Gotta survive somehow, right?” She turned back to him grumpily, forcing herself to interact—she had to befriend this man. Studying him in earnest now, she noted the tired lines under his deep gray eyes and the messiness of his hair. Whatever he was dealing with—the Rift, probably, as well as his missing wife and gods knew how many other things the General of the entire army had to take care of—was wearing him down. “How are you doing?”

He blinked, as if surprised, then let out a low chuckle of consternation and leaned against the wall. “I’m… doing.”

“Any luck with… uh.” Mindful of the milling people she added carefully, “...Things?”

He let out a breath. “Well, I don’t want to give out too much of the goings-on. Classified, you know.” He winked at her, but his heart wasn’t in it.

No luck, then. Which meant Elk was still free. At least, she hoped so. Maybe he was trying to see if she was in contact with him. “Well, I hope things work out.” She meant that sincerely. Maybe not work out for him, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Thanks.” He smiled again, and she was paying enough attention this time to tell that it was genuine. “But I came here to see how you were. You’re good at distraction, huh?”

“Distraction…?” Well, sure, she was used to deflecting talk about herself. “I guess. I’m okay. Work isn’t hard. Wish I had more days off, but it is what it is.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” She blinked at him, taken aback. “But I was wondering where you went today.”

“Where I…?” Vagabond stared, her shock deepening into insult. “What do you mean? Like, just now? Are you—are you kidding me ?”

He cracked a lopsided grin, not unlike her own, and deigned to look a bit sheepish. “I know, I know. I just gotta make sure you’re not—”

“I went to have dinner.”

“Okay!” He held up his hands. “I was just—”

“I didn’t leave the city.” Her hands bunched into fists. “I keep my promises.” Unlike you. No, that was unfair. She really didn’t have any idea if he’d broken promises, just that she was tired and pissed and backed into a corner. “And I haven’t seen Elk. Have you?”

He took a step back. For a moment, the friendly smile was gone, replaced by a look she would have expected out of a veteran: hard; unfriendly; calculating. It vanished in a split second but Vagabond felt a jolt of fear shoot up her spine, and began turning away from him in an effort to escape and to pretend she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary.

Of course, he didn’t let her. “Hey.” She felt a hand on her shoulder. The General was back to his affable self, and he was so good at hiding what lay underneath even she had a hard time discerning whether it was genuine or not. It was deeply uncomfortable. Elk wore all his emotions on his sleeve. His other half was an expert at hiding everything. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re right, I realized you were gone for the day and just assumed.”

Get off of me. Vagabond took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “It’s fine. I don’t have the best track record. I helped that… I helped him. I get it.” She turned her head slightly, staring at his fingers out of the corner of her eye. He’d let go if she pulled away, she sensed, but didn’t dare.

He patted her shoulder and the hand withdrew. “I haven’t seen it. I don’t know where it is. But do you really want to know if I do? What would you do, if I did?”

She didn’t turn around, considering her next words carefully. “I’d try to help,” she said finally. “I said, I keep my promises. All of them.”

“And that’s why you need to stay in the city,” he said, and she hated the gentleness in his voice because she knew she was stuck, trapped, unable to escape and fulfill what she’d sworn to do. She was bound by her word and it hurt more the longer she went without doing anything to help. And she couldn’t mention to the General that she knew their background—especially not after that look he’d given her.

“Mmh,” she replied noncommittally, and he finally left her alone after that, heading off to deal with something or another; she fended off curious coworkers wondering what she’d done to warrant the General’s attention and slipped away.

She slept on the roof that night, nevermind the cold, and cried.

Chapter Text

The General made good on his word. She had two days off a month now, and though it was paltry compared to what she was used to she was grateful despite herself. At least she had something to look forward to while working. Even so, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was growing like a festering sore under the surface of reality. The atmosphere was getting thicker, the air heavy as if from an oncoming storm. No one else seemed to notice. She couldn’t tell if it was because of what she knew or if it was something real about to explode.

Time ticked by. Slowly, painfully. The weather got warmer. Sticks turned into budding trees turned into flowers. The soldiers learned to call her “Gabby.” She hated it. No matter what she did though, her attempts to correct them failed. They just laughed her off. Over and over again, she was reminded of why she preferred to keep the majority of people at arm’s length.

She felt like she were going mad. Everyone kept acting normal, but there was something looming over them and not a single person had any idea what she was talking about. Vagabond retreated into herself and to keep her sanity bought a journal from a lovely lady who did fantastic designs on the cover and used it to keep her thoughts straight. It had been a long time since she’d written—or spoken—French and Arabic, but remembered enough to cobble together a Frankensteinian language no one else would be able to decipher.

Being able to write things down helped her plan her next steps. Vagabond decided that she could either sit there and panic day after day, never able to escape this hell, or she could start making connections.

The scruffy woman fit in well with those who chose to live on the street and under the radar. Homelessness and abject poverty weren’t things that existed en masse here; that was just another thing the General was beloved for. But there were always people who didn’t feel at home cooped up in buildings and who wanted to feel the wind in their hair, like her. Vagabond made swift friends with as many as she could, helping them here and there, exchanging the low stipend she got from her work for information and access to locations under lock and key.

The sewers were a weak point of the city and the crown knew it; getting into them was easier said than done. But even the General didn’t know of the true extent of their reach. At least, that was what Vagabond’s contact told her. There were places that hadn’t been opened in so long rust and debris sealed them shut. And not many people went to those places anyway; rumor had it that was how the monster kept in the castle had escaped.

Which meant, of course, that’s exactly where Vagabond went. Utterly uncaring as to the repercussions as per usual she convinced her contact to lead her to a long-forgotten entry point to the sewers and descended without hesitation.

Most people just used them as a convenient escape from the police. Vagabond had a different idea in mind.

It took several days to walk the length of a single tunnel. She learned to pack a few meals and brought her journal to chronicle each twist and turn, taking to the job with feverish need. And when the dizzyingly intoxicating scent of the wilds met her nostrils and her heart pulled her to the wide opening at the end of one of said tunnels she nearly wept. She just sat there on the wet stone, both exhausted and exhilarated, and let the sights and sounds of the woods wash over her.

No matter how much her mind screamed to fly, to run, to escape the hell she’d found herself in, find her friend and flee, her feet would not carry her across that threshold.

Vagabond had made a promise, and she kept her promises.

She stayed there that night, calling quietly for Elk every once and a while, before giving up and making her way back sometime just before dawn.

And that was how Vagabond spent her days off and the nights when she could afford to not sleep. She searched for an exit point, any exit point, as close to the Rift as possible. She hummed softly at each opening, straining to hear any response from Elk. Her head pounded and bile rose to her throat; magic tugged at her, but refused to pull her from the city. She couldn’t leave.

Urgency turned into low-key, constant panic. The atmosphere was getting worse, so thick she felt like she were moving in glue.

She visited the city walls, standing on one of the many battlements and gazing longingly at the open doorway of the Rift beyond. She hoped she’d see a centaur at least, get a glimpse of something beyond the ordinary, but nothing doing. It looked like the General had been telling a bit of the truth at least. More and more soldiers were stationed there. She watched the General leave and come back, over and over, and saw the stress and anger of his body language. Soon enough no one was allowed in or out of the temple. Whispers began. A rumor began to circle about people being dragged off at night; of animal-like beings that weren’t centaurs.

She knew. It was him. She knew.

Something wasn’t right. The Rift, once a beacon of light not only in the eyes but in her growing senses, began to falter. It was wrong, something was wrong. She tried talking to the Quartermaster about it. Then a few of the soldiers she liked. The Quartermaster shrugged her off, saying that was for those in charge to deal with. The soldiers told her not to worry about it.

She tried to track down the General. The feeling something was wrong grew and sent her into a near panic. It wasn’t just wrong, there was a volcano about to explode; a storm about to break. The pressure of the oncoming turmoil hovered behind her eyes. The General’s aides said he had no time to talk to her now. He’d long since stopped checking up on her. She begged them to send a message. It went unheeded.

The whispers and rumors grew. Villages gone dark, then larger towns. Pretty soon everyone personally knew of someone who’d vanished. Vagabond sat with many a soldier to comfort them as they cried, afraid of what may have happened to their friends or family. And each time she wondered if this was a part of Elk’s plan, or if it was because the Rift was malfunctioning like the General said. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

Vagabond heard the stories survivors told when they were brought into the city. Horrible creatures slipping into town during the night; people gone by day. Some towns were razed and others were left alone. Caravans ambushed along the road. More and more units were sent to aid in defense and evacuation, straining their resources.

Months after she’d made the damned agreement with him, she woke just after midnight to the warning toll of bells across the city and the roaring orders of army sergeants. She flew out of bed and shoved her feet into her shoes, ready as always to escape. The hallway outside her room was chaos. Vagabond clambered up to one of the large windows carved into rock and surveyed the scrambling recruits, then looked outside. From here one could just see the temple resting on the hill beyond the walls, mountainous carved stone thrusting into the sky and the light of its Rift arcing straight into the heavens. But the light, now, was no longer a bright gold; it was a sickly green, and illuminated by the glow there was a mass of movement surging out of the opening.

She couldn’t tell what it was until someone running by yelled out as he buckled his belt, and then it became painfully clear what was going on.

Invasion. It was an invasion.

Vagabond rolled right out of that window and down to the roof below, skidding across and leaping the gap to the next building and hurtling away from that piercing green light. She didn’t make it very far when her senses came crashing into her, sending her sliding into a halt. 

The Rift was outside the city walls. The gates would hold. That’s what happened when the prince-consort was also a military man. The soldiers were likely responding to the distress of the outside settlements.

Then why did this feel like the end of the world? Why did it feel like she had to leave the city and take everyone with her?

Turning around and heading towards the source of danger went against everything she stood for. It took her several minutes of struggling against her own nature before she swore viciously and ran back the way she came. A survivor she was, a coward she was not.

She found the Quartermaster in the armory, barking orders to his subordinates. He saw her and beckoned; she approached, not knowing what else to do. He pressed a bow and a quiver of arrows into her hand. “Oil this up and check the arrows,” he said simply, and she nodded, unable to speak. There was a horrible twisting in her gut and she didn’t trust herself not to babble. Still, she didn’t move, staring at the weapons in her hands.

He’d turned around to deal with something else but soon saw she hadn’t moved, face white, blank-eyed. She started at the hand on her shoulder and looked up to the Quartermaster’s face, his gruff countenance gentling.

“The battle is outside the walls,” he soothed. “The gates will hold."

Vagabond stared at him a moment. “I know.” But there was something terrible going on, related yet unrelated; something was eluding her grasp and the uncertainty was eating her alive. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Hush, now.

She didn’t see the Quartermaster glance back at her, lost in her own thoughts, and started when he spoke again. This time his voice had softened a little. “Take the bow with you. We’ll need a lookout to make sure the battle doesn’t reach us. Oil it up in the window and keep watch.” He smiled a little when she looked at him, surprised. “I won’t let us all just die sitting here. If it gets into the city we’ll have to evacuate. I’m not suicidal .”

Mutely, she obeyed, grabbing the supplies and heading out of the room, clambering up to perch on a window that looked out over the roofs of the city among the sickly green glow of the Rift. Just looking at it made her ill, but she worked on the bow anyway, polishing oil into its shaft until it was pliable and watching the rush of movement along the streets. People were waking up now and, secure in their knowledge that the Crown and the General would keep them safe, were beginning to go about their day.

It didn't help her growing unease that she was missing something.

Hush, now.

She fetched another bow. And then sat up in that window and sharpened knives, handing them down to whoever needed them as they came to and fro. The battle seemed stable, unmoving. She hummed to herself without realizing it, the quiet tune she’d once used to calm Elk, but it made the glow sharper and lines crisscross in front of her vision, so she stopped. The pressure in the air was reaching a crescendo now, muffling her ears and mind. Everyone was nervous that there was a fight so close to them when their empire was, in fact, the greatest power around, but there was no way for those monsters to get inside.

At least, that's what someone said. Monsters. The same inhuman creatures people had been whispering about now given physical form. Were they coming from Centaurworld? They had to be; otherwise they'd be coming from nowhere.

Nowhere. Nowhere. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Vagabond ceased her useless ministrations to the weapon she was currently holding. Honestly, she didn't even know what it was.

What was she missing…?

The walls would hold. The walls would hold. There was no way for them to get inside. Their fortified city was the stronghold for the revered General himself, tactical mastermind. It was useless for them to try. Why were they even trying? 

Vagabond jumped down from the sill, unable to handle the glow of the Rift anymore. Dimly she heard the clatter of the weapon she'd been holding fall to the floor. She didn't care.

She heard the firm, steady voice of the General bellowing down the hall. He must have popped back in for something. For some reason, the sound of him made her pause, a memory stirring. The General… Elk, she had to find Elk and make sure he was okay… she hoped to the gods he wasn’t at fault for all this, and was staying away from the fight and—

The sewers.

There was a direct passageway into the city via the sewers. No, not just one, there were many . Some of them went directly into the castle.

Vagabond gripped the nearest wall to steady herself. It was probably fine. Barely anyone even knew about them. Why would an invading force have that information?

Her body was moving before her mind caught up. There was no reason for the fear to be eating at her, no reason for her to be so panicked, but she knew deep in her bones this was something that was overlooked.

"General!" Dodging around soldiers without breaking stride with the ease of long practice, she slid to his side even as he power-walked away. "General!"

"No time, sorry," he grunted, absently patting her shoulder. Those surrounding him gave her irritated looks and brushed her aside, leaving her behind as they swept through the building, no doubt heading back to the fight.

Fuck.

Vagabond looked up at the ceiling, counted to ten, then spun on her heel and bolted for where she'd left her coworkers. The Quartermaster was still there, thank the gods, and she made a beeline for him. He looked at her ashen face and sighed. "Listen," he began in a forced gentle tone, but she interrupted. The General was right; there was no time.

"The sewers," she said shortly. "The tunnels."

"What tunnels—"

"There's a network of them under the city, that's what I've been doing—" she explained in rushed, stumbling words, not caring what the information said about her. She was a vagabond, an outcast of society extended a mercy by the General himself despite misgivings. It was only fitting she was the one to raise this concern. Let them think she had been prodding the city's weaknesses. It didn't matter in the end because she was absolutely certain with no proof whatsoever that they were in serious, immediate danger.

A myriad of emotions pass over the Quartermaster's face, unable to settle on one, and he began to say something along the lines of "there's no way the enemy would know any of this." Vagabond cut him off with a short chopping motion and a hiss through clenched teeth as her sinuses popped. They'd reached the end of the line.

"Too late," she said softly, pressing the palm of one hand to her forehead. A roar of sudden commotion swelled beyond the doors. His eyes widened. Her other coworkers were muttering now, their work stalling.

Hush, now.

"They're already here."

The Quartermaster froze. Silence descended upon the room, then everything happened all at once. People grabbing weapons, the clash of steel outside, sudden screams of surprise and hurt and the bang of a door being torn off its hinges from somewhere in the hall. He lurched past her to slam the door and bolt it, then spun around. For a moment he just watched the chaos descend on his employees, then Vagabond staggered as he grabbed her shoulder. "Get up to that window and scout the area."

"That window doesn't open," she replied, dazed.

With a strength that belied his near-elderly frame, the Quartermaster grabbed the head of a broken mace and bodily threw it the two vertical and almost three horizontal meters directly through the middle of the glass pane. The explosion of glass woke her out of her stupor. Vagabond staggered back in shock, as did everyone else, gaping at the older man, who scowled and rubbed his shoulder. “Now get up there!”

“Y-Yessir,” she squeaked, and did exactly as she was told, easily scaling the wall along shelves and rock, picking her way around the shards that now lay everywhere. They were on the first floor, which made it easier to get everyone out, but Vagabond realized their problem immediately: they were in one of the few buildings that would be held as high prizes. As such, the monsters now dragging themselves out of manholes (almost comically, being far too big to fit in there even remotely easily) were making a beeline for the barracks. “Good news and bad news. They’re mostly heading for the front door,” she called down.

“We don’t have time for these games, what’s the bad—”

“The bad news is it doesn’t matter,” Vagabond snapped, glaring at him. “They’re outside the walls. They’re inside the walls. They’re in the aqueducts. We’re fucking surrounded and there’s nowhere to go.”

“There is if we fight,” the Quartermaster growled, and there was a whirlwind of activity as he began barking orders and everyone else hopped to, clinging to the one bastion of imagined safety they knew. Vagabond’s mouth tightened. The urge to just jump out the window and leave them was almost strong enough to obey. There was no question on if she could escape; she had enough faith in her abilities to evade and hide long enough to get through the fighting. Hopefully no one would pay attention to a small, helpless woman winding her way to the gate.

But, no. She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t leave her coworkers high and dry, and besides, she also couldn’t leave the damn city.

Fire was beginning to lick at buildings. As she watched, a massive creature roared and threw a wagon through a storefront, sending people screaming for the streets. They wore such armor that she couldn’t tell what they were exactly; one had the huge horns of some sort of cow but stood on two feet and wielded an ax like it was the most natural thing in the world. Had these things been training? Where? When? Why hadn’t the General snuffed this out when it had become a concern? There weren’t many places for something like this to hide in the Rift.

“Vagabond!”

She looked down. The Quartermaster was holding up a bow and a quiver. “Take these!”

“Oh, uh, no thanks—”

“I don’t have time to argue with you, girl,” he growled, “we need all the hands we can get.”

“No,” she replied, firmly. This was one of the few things she refused to budge on. Before he could argue further she added, “And thanks for calling me that. I hate Gabby.” She hauled herself out of the window and scaled the wall to the roof, turned and surveyed the rising destruction with a sinking heart.

There really wasn’t anywhere to go. Whoever was directing this attack had familiarity with the layout. Vagabond wasn’t a military mind but she at least knew there was no way this could have happened without some sort of inside knowledge.

They were fucked.

Scanning, she noted a few pockets of resistance: groups of soldiers who had been no doubt on their way to the gates to defend their city, now fighting for their lives within. She scrambled back down to the window, perching on the sill and by the skin of her teeth avoiding a thrown dagger. “Hey!”

A knight’s page stared guiltily up at her. “I thought you were an enemy!”

Vagabond opened her mouth to argue, then shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“Verify next time,” the Quartermaster said, scuffing him over the head as he ran to pick up the dagger, which had clattered to the floor. He winced but nodded, mumbling “sorry” again under the steady terrified chatter of his coworkers.

Vagabond brushed glass off the sill and sat on it, for the moment unconcerned with the possibility of being struck by a stray arrow or something. She frankly didn’t know what to do other than run, and she couldn’t do that, and it was infuriating, and—

“How is it out there?” Someone asked.

“Bad,” she replied matter-of-factly. “They’re like, two blocks away. And coming fast.”

Terrified chatter became panicked, and the Quartermaster shot an unamused glare up at her. She mouthed “sorry” and looked over at her coworkers, gritting her teeth. Everyone was so scared. And they should be. The sky was essentially falling, the kingdom that had stood for decades—maybe even centuries, she didn’t know the history of the place— abruptly crumbling around them. Pressing her palms to her eyes, she let out a slow breath to steady her own nerves. Their fear was infectious. It was hard to separate her own emotions from those swirling around her. Maybe she should go back up to the roof, it was easier to think up there.

“Vagabond,” the Quartermaster barked suddenly, and she snapped to, compelled by the force of his voice. He had been military himself, once upon a time, she remembered. He jabbed a finger towards the wall, to the sounds outside. “Get back out there. There are bound to be soldiers—”

A howl right outside the walls interrupted him. He waited for it to end, then continued grimly. “Find them, lead them here. We’ll give these monsters a last stand.” His voice swelled, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. “We won’t go peacefully.”

Someone raised his weapon in response, and others followed, first timidly and unsure, then with more vigor. Vagabond studied him a moment, then nodded simply and swung back outside up the wall. She wanted to believe him—give in to that lie, that they stood a chance—but her own pragmatic self took over. If—when—the monsters got inside, it would only be a short matter of time before they fell.

When it came to that, as much as she didn’t care about her own safety, and as much as she wanted to help, she wouldn’t let herself get cut down. She had promises to keep.

Once outside in the fresh air again, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the warm spring air and let the open skies above soothe her nerves. For a moment the sounds of battle faded away, the smell of smoke was smothered by the faint scent of distant mountains and pollen, and the breaking dawn was peaceful enough to let her forget for just a moment.

Then a stray arrow whizzed by her and she opened her eyes, looked down at the madness that surrounded her, and grinned.

Without a second’s hesitation she slid down the other side of the massive building’s roof and launched herself into open air, landing with a clatter on the roof next door. And then she was running free, bounding from tile to balcony and back up and laughing giddily to no one. A heavily armored head swung towards her and the creature threw a shop’s sign at her. She dodged easily and stuck her tongue out at it. It roared and she waved and was off again, skipping over clay shingles and tossing loose ones down to distract the invaders and give people a chance to escape.

Down the street she caught a glimpse of Crown colors. Two children fled through the streets, the elder clinging to the hand of their sibling, to where she didn’t know. There was nowhere safe to go. She swung down to the cobblestone and held out her arms. “Hey there kiddos!” she said brightly, “C’mon, let’s go.”

The smaller child instantly held out his arms. His sister looked up at her in relief and fear. Vagabond lifted one to her chest and held the hand of the other, and together they bolted.

Behind them a monster crashed through a storefront and bellowed at them. They ran with them hot on their tail, and Vagabond directed them through the winding streets until the clatter of hooves exploded around the corner and a contingent of soldiers spotted them. They reacted immediately, pounding past them and hitting the creatures with everything they had.

“Gabby!”

She looked up. A pair of very familiar eyes stared down at her through a helm. The General reached out a hand and she lifted the child in her arms; he pulled the girl up effortlessly to sit in front of him and bellowed for someone to take the boy. Vagabond shot back up a drain spout and only paused when he yelled her nickname again.

“Vagabond,” she corrected cheerfully.

“Now is not the time—”

“The Quartermaster said we’re making a stand at the barracks!” she interrupted from the balcony. “They’re holed up!”

He looked at her, bewildered, for a moment, before realization dawned. He nodded. “Lead the way.”

She bolted off again, directing their meager force through the streets and pausing only to look for pockets of invaders and point them through a safer direction. The main barracks was not far, but avoiding conflict took them in a roundabout way, and it became only slower when she saw a group of people cornered not far out of the way.

“Uh,” she called, “there’s—some soldiers—”

“How many?”

“Four, I think? Some civilians too!”

“Bring us there!”

She obeyed, darting swiftly along houses and leaping over gaps. Adrenaline sang in her veins and chased away creeping exhaustion; she hadn’t worked out this hard since before the avalanche. Well, it was time to get back into shape!

Two of the soldiers had been cut down and the other two were disarmed by the time she got there. She saw a father trying to shield his children even as he was dragged away from them, the survivors gripped in massive armored hands. Did she spy a lizard person? Grabbing a loose shingle from under her feet, Vagabond chucked it as hard as she could past its head. It whipped around at the sudden movement, and so did its comrades, just as the General and his posse barreled around the opposite corner and took them completely by surprise.

One hand shielding the child in front of him, the other swinging his massive mace, they made short work of the group. Vagabond grimaced and made herself scarce till it was over—monsters or not, she didn’t like seeing things be cut to pieces—and popped up to the roof to see a woman trying to find a way down from a balcony as the creatures busted their way into her house. She whistled piercingly to get the General’s attention and, when his head whipped up at her, pointed. 

He didn’t even ask why. Kicking his horse into as fast of a pace as it could go given the sharp corners, he and a few others galloped in the direction she indicated while the rest finished mopping up the enemy and taking care of the wounded. Vagabond watched as the General gave the child on his horse to another soldier and beckoned to the woman while those accompanying him made short work of the creatures. The woman didn’t hesitate; she threw herself off the balcony and he caught her effortlessly in his big, strong arms while she gazed up at him, doe-eyed and starstruck. He smiled at her, then settled her sidesaddle in front of him and wheeled his horse around.

Vagabond rolled her eyes. She knew he was considered a heartthrob but had never seen it in action. That woman would tell that story for years to come. Well, she couldn’t blame her. The General could be pretty cool, she had to admit, but he definitely wasn’t her type.

“To the barracks!” he called, and off she went again, scrambling over tile and around chimneys; the now much larger group followed as best they could. The tight corridors made for terrible fighting and even worse maneuvering, and Vagabond kept them on the clearest path she could, but she was well aware of the ticking of the clock. The Quartermaster had sent her to get reinforcements. What if they were already dead?

Exhaustion was beginning to win against her adrenaline by the time they reached the barracks; Vagabond halted on the steeple of a monastery and pressed against the wall in what little shade was left. It was now close to noon, and the blazing sun reflected its heat against the tile. It was only spring, yet the heat was dragging her down. Gods, what she wouldn’t do for a nice cool forest…

She didn’t try to get down to the ground and see if her coworkers had made it, yet. There was too much chaos. Along the way they had picked up a good few contingents of soldiers, and with their combined effort on the outside as well as those still holding out behind the doors they were able to make fairly short work of the invaders.

There were yet more to come, however. As the General arranged the civilians to get inside and the soldiers in rings around the building, Vagabond gazed up at the looming castle. She couldn’t imagine what was going on inside. There had been guards, to be sure, but in no way would they know they were in any danger before it struck. It was likely every single noble was now dead, the entire castle taken. The city, this kingdom, had fallen. Vagabond was well aware that she was witnessing the end of an era.

From her vantage point she could see the wave of monsters that had broken through the gates making their way through the city. No, they hadn’t broken through; those on the other side had simply opened it for them.

Her head was pounding. She made her way down to the ground wearily; it was safe enough for now. Someone handed her a water skin and she took it gratefully. Trying to ignore the dead bodies (and failing utterly, considering she had to basically crawl over them), she made her way to the General.

He looked at her. “Hey there.”

“Hey.”

She was almost glad for the sounds of fighting and fire. Otherwise, the silence would be oppressive. Soldiers were taking turns resting, preparing for their last stand, and she felt her chest clench. These poor people…

His voice dragged her back to the present. “Thanks,” he said simply. “You helped us out a lot.”

“Welcome.” She rubbed her head. “I guess I should… go bring more people here?”

He shook his head sadly. “I don’t think there’s time. But if you can maybe help people escape the city…?”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat. Her headache sharpened and tinnitus began to keen in her ears. “Can’t leave the city. Remember? I promised.”

“General!”

He started forwards. “I don’t think you have to worry about that anymore.”

“Yeah, well…” She blinked rapidly. Her eyes were beginning to water.

“They’re coming! Brace yourselves!” He glanced back at her, steely gray eyes warm. “You did good. You’re released from your promise, okay? Try and make it out alive.”

She hissed out a breath as the chains of verbal contract disintegrated, freeing her at last. Oh thank the gods.

She would have thanked him directly, but he was marching towards the front of his troops, lifting his mace. The half-beast creatures were emerging along the streets, surrounding them. This close, she could see their threads begin to wind through her vision. It hurt.

Hush, now.

Black threads.

The keening in her ears reached a crescendo. The invaders encircled the building and stood still, making no move to approach. They sat there, waiting. What were they waiting for?

“General?” someone’s wavering voice whispered.

“Stand firm,” he called back. “I know how to deal with this thing.”

Something wicked this way comes, flitted through her mind, a single line to a play she’d once read. It seemed strangely fitting.

Black threads.

She heard her own voice speak out. “No.”

“Gabby,” the General’s voice cut through the fog. He hadn’t turned around, but he knew how to pitch his voice to pierce the air. She didn’t try to correct him this time. “Gabby, I want you to remember something.”

The crowd of monsters parted. It was sunny out, but the air seemed to darken. Something guttural was breathing, and that something was nearing. Amidst the wet inhales, under the snarls, she heard humming.

“He’s not your friend. He was never your friend.”

“No,” she repeated, but her voice barely left her lips. She felt the ground drop away from her and the sounds of everything else fade away. All she could hear was the General’s voice, and that eerie humming.

“I told you the elk was a monster.”

Chapter Text

There was no mistaking the thing that dragged itself into the open. There was no possible way it was anyone else. Stretched, elongated, dripping black ichor and chunks of flesh, a soft crooning sound floated from her friend’s jaws through the air. The rack of what used to be wickedly curved antlers had grown, twisted and knobby like fungus and scraped here and there on buildings when he turned his head. Instead of the soft brown eyes she was so used to, empty sockets glowed a sickening green, echoing the arc of light in the distance. As she watched a chunk of furred skin fell from his neck onto the cobblestone with a faint plop.

Vagabond couldn’t breathe. She watched the creature that was once a stately elk approach their meager forces on spindly limbs, leaning towards the General. What was left of his lips curled up in a sneer.

She knew. She’d begged the gods for it not to be true, but she’d known it was him. And the General had known, too. Vagabond’s eyes shifted to his metal-clad back. He knew. He’d known. This whole time, he’d known, and he’d lied about not seeing Elk. Of course he did. He didn’t want them to get back together; he’d as much as told her that. But why lie?

Maybe—maybe he hadn’t lied. Maybe Elk had gotten caught in the malfunctions, too. Maybe he was innocent in all this. Please, let him be innocent.

She knew he wasn’t.

Elk’s destroyed jaws gaped open, and his deep voice rumbled out. The whisper behind his words, halfway between ears and mind, sent an ice pick behind Vagabond’s eyes. His rotten magic spilled from him, connecting him to the creatures standing guard around him. Their eyes gleamed green; not as fiercely as his, but enough for her to make the connection. He was controlling them. “Look at you, pretending to care about these people,” he murmured, calm and amused. “Standing in front of the last little resistance like a big hero.”

“I do care about these people,” the General responded, shifting his legs to take a better stance against his enemy. “Why else would I stand in your way?”

“Oh, but you aren’t,” Elk replied mildly, tilting his head as if genuinely surprised. Vagabond recognized it as a mocking gesture. He was in control here, and he knew it. “You and I both know you won’t stop me. I could slaughter everyone here and you wouldn’t dare touch me.”

“You lying—”

“No, that’s your job.” He rose, those spindly limbs elongating even further in a grotesque display. Another piece of himself fell off at the movement, a clump of fur Vagabond once loved to bury her face within. Corruption wept from the place it used to be. She could only watch in silent horror and denial. The ground was becoming covered in the stuff, and what was worse, it was moving, rippling in ways she knew was purposeful. “All I ever wanted was to be happy, and you denied me that, over and over. Well… reap the consequences.”

“Do not dare,” his opponent hissed, “lay the blame of this on me, you disgusting thing. This is all your doing. You caused this. All of this destruction; it’s your fault, and it ends here.”

“Does it?” Elk tilted his head the other way. “Go on, then. Strike me down. I’m here. I have nothing left to lose.”

“As if you’d let me.”

He laughed. It hammered their senses and as one the rings of soldiers took a step back. Vagabond shuddered. She’d only ever heard that laugh in genuine enjoyment or humor; this could only be described as malicious and downright cruel. There was an echo in there though, one she knew others wouldn’t hear; desperation and pain. “I’d praise you on your acting skills, but we both know your entire life has been one big play. Tell me, have you ever told the truth? Even once? What about to her?”

The tar was spreading, she realized. Feeding off his dripping body, liquid rot reached for them, ever so gradually, but quick enough that it could encompass them all in a matter of minutes. She needed to say something, needed to draw their attention to it, but it was all she could do to just stand there and watch the defiled creature that she’d once cuddled and soothed.

“You’re so quick to accuse me of lies,” the General replied. “When were you going to tell your little friend about all this? Did you even stop to think about her?”

Silence. Those glowing emerald eyes blinked.

“What do you think?” he continued, now raising his voice to pitch his words just so she knew he was talking to her. “Vagabond?”

At her name Elk twitched backward a step, then began slowly lifting his head, first to full height, then his neck began to extend. Longer and longer, with absolutely horrifying popping sounds of separating vertebrae that pierced the air and made everyone in the vicinity shudder. He swung his head left and right, scanning the crowd—and then his eyes settled on her.

All else faded away. White bone, black tar, tufts of fur, an oily black web that encompassed her vision, connecting him to each and every half-animal monster in the vicinity. For a long moment Elk just stared, and Vagabond just stared, and he let out a low, soft breath of an exclamation.

“You died,” he said, for the first time uncertain in his tone, and from his neck two more legs sprouted to push him even further into the air. His too-long neck began arching through the air towards her. “In the avalanche.”

Slowly, she shook her head. She still couldn’t speak.

“C’mere, Gabby,” the General said. “Come look at him. This is your friend.”

She didn’t want to.

“Gabby?” Elk cocked his head. “Your name isn’t Gabby.”

“And your name isn’t the Nowhere King, but here we are.”

The twisted creature snarled, but didn’t spare him a glance. Vagabond forced her feet to move. One step, two, a series of them, and she stood a few feet from the General. This close to the both of them, something stuck out like a sore thumb: one single silver cord anchored them together, a visual confirmation of their link. If anything solidified Elk’s story, that was it. She could see it plain as day.

Elk ignored his counterpart and lowered his head, contracting that grotesquely long neck until it hovered in front of her. Vagabond struggled to focus. Her eyes kept wanting to blur, to refuse the monstrosity that used to be someone she cared deeply for, and to also avoid fixating on the rotten, putrid magic that seeped from his very being. Sharpening her gaze took great effort, but she eventually managed to lock eyes with him.

Pale bone peeked out from gaps in his flesh. Traces of the fur on his nose, once patchy and rough, now smooth and soft from the care she’d given him, bristled from skin that still draped uselessly over his bare skull. His brown eyes were well and truly gone; the only things left were the deep pits of his sockets that burned with a feral flame that somehow didn’t hold a candle to the darkness within. His antlers were gnarled roots instead of deadly hooks and branched far beyond his head, casting shadows on her and the ground. What was once his thick ruff was now oily poison. It was partially see-through, she realized distantly.

“You really are alive,” he said softly.

Vagabond nodded, and on an impulse reached out to touch him. She had to confirm this was real. He curved his neck around to avoid the General and met her hand with what used to be his nose.

She had only a moment to think, He’s burning up, before there was sudden movement and a gauntleted limb knocked them apart. “Are you crazy!” the General cried, “You don’t know what that stuff’ll do to you!”

Elk—no, the Nowhere King, jerked back, then seemed to remember where they were and threw back his head. His ruined jaws parted and he screamed, the bugle of what was once an elk deepening into a furious draconic roar as flecks of ink flew from his mouth. As if they had been waiting for that signal, his forces leaped forward. Vagabond gasped and tried to pull away, but quickly realized she couldn’t: her feet tugged at the ground but refused to move. A quick glance downwards revealed his ichor wrapping around her legs.

Several of the soldiers found themselves similarly frozen in place. They were cut down almost immediately. She heard swearing and glanced over to see the General slicing himself free with a knife, then leaping into the fray.

“Vagabond,” that echoing voice called; a black mass landed in front of her—how’d he get there; had he jumped, had he flown —and she jerked back with a cry. “No, don’t be afraid,” he said, drawing up close. The heated scent of decay on his breath sent nausea racing through her gut. She saw pieces of himself uncurl from his bulbous neck, splitting into hands, touching her cheeks, wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her against his goopy chest. “Don’t ever fear me.”

He nuzzled her cheek. Bare bone scraped lightly across skin. She heard a whimper escape her throat as the sounds of death raged around them. He twisted his neck around her with the snapping of breaking bone and held her there, blocking her sight and muffling most sound. “You’re alive,” he murmured. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.” Vagabond swallowed, unable to respond. He was burning up. He was feverishly hot, and she wondered if whatever he had done had made him physically as well as magically ill.

She was immediately proven right as he pulled away momentarily to retch. The splatter of his black bile flecked against her legs and he settled around her again.

“What did you do,” she croaked.

“I made a family,” he replied. “I was so alone. I thought you’d be there for me. I thought you were dead.”

“You—you hurt yourself,” the words began to tumble from her mouth. “You hurt y-yourself again, and you hurt other people and—oh, gods, stop, stop, what are you doing!” She tried to pull away, to look at their chaotic surroundings, but he tightened his hold on her shoulders. “These people don’t deserve this!”

“They came, and they tried to take my family away. I had no choice but to defend them. You understand, don’t you?”

“Stop, stop,” she cried, and he began to hum, nestling her close, the vibrations in his empty throat drowning out the noise. Oh, she knew that tune, it was the same one she’d use to calm herself—calm him. And then he began to sing, and the words she’d heard muffled behind what used to be her lullaby came out to play.

“Hush, now…”

Someone very close screamed in agony. He responded to her shudder by lightly covering her ears.

“All of you little ones; rush, now…”

He uncurled a little, keeping her firmly in his hold, and raised his head, twitching this way and that. Watching the battle unfold around them. She tried to look too, but everywhere she turned was only an inky wall.

“Into the middle of nowhere…”

Her mother’s lullaby, his bastardized lyrics. Vagabond didn’t remember the words from long ago, but she knew damn well they weren’t that.

“Singing and laughter will die.”

“Elk,” she begged.

“Dreamless sleep, follows the Nowhere King…”

“Please.”

He lowered his head again to her. “When my kingdom comes, darkness is nigh.”

She couldn’t stop her trembling. “I can’t let you do this.”

A rumbling chuckle rippled around her. “Let me?” he interrupted his own song to respond. “ Let me? My sweet friend. You won’t fight me.” He was so calm, so casual. He knew her far too well. “But don’t worry. You’ll be all right. I’ll keep you safe. The castle is mine now, and it can be your home too.”

“No,” she whispered, but he rubbed her hair with his melted muzzle and began to sing again, soothingly. “Quiet…”

There was nothing else she could do. Vagabond felt herself begin to hum along, and for once, reaching into that well of fickle power didn’t hurt.

“Crawl through the in-between.”

Her magic would only obey what she truly desired, whether she realized it or not. It didn’t matter if she didn’t even know what her wants were, because it did. Yes, that was right. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten that. 

“Silent,” Elk murmured, his voice soft and gentle, juxtaposing his vicious lyrics, “secretive feeling, of fearsome hatred reaching the skies…”

Vagabond had seen that black thread take over his half of the elktaur’s soul, choking out any light left within. She’d tried to stop this, to no avail. It was her fault. This was all her fault.

Deep in the thick of the battle, directing his forces, he didn’t seem to notice her humming along. Or, if he did, he didn’t remember the significance. Vagabond didn’t try to stop him, no; all her energy went to warping space and time around them, reaching for survivors now fighting for their lives.

“They will bring, joy to the Nowhere King,” his deep voice rumbled in her bones. He stroked her hair gently even as he watched the carnage. “When I see the light leaving their eyes.”

Her chest seized. It was impossible to breathe. Something writhed in the air and finally he noticed, raising his head once more to look. Then, he tilted downward to stare at her as she in turn lifted her own head to gaze at him. For a moment, tears blinded her, and she blinked rapidly, trying to dispel them. Around them, the sounds of fighting began to cease. Strange, confused sounds came from the throats of their attackers. Human and eldritch horror stared at one another.

“I told you,” she forced her throat to croak out, “I can’t let you do this.”

There was sudden fear in his glowing eyes, somehow just as expressive as he’d always been. “Vagabond.” He lowered his head, brushing the remains of his cheek to hers. “Don’t leave.”

He knew. Somehow, he knew. “I’ll be back,” she replied softly. I can’t do this, she wanted to continue, but her energy was draining rapidly. Her lungs struggled to work. I can’t handle this.

“Don’t leave me again.”

Pain blindsided her as she became sidetracked. Despite his lack of a proper face anymore the look he was giving her was the same as when he silently pleaded for her forgiveness, laying by her bedside after she’d collapsed. He had been pathetic then and was pathetic now, trembling and gripping her like a child with its newly found long-lost doll. Vagabond gasped and shuddered, her concentration breaking, and for the umpteenth time she cursed herself for being the biggest damned sap in the world.

The air was empty of the sounds of fighting. She didn’t know what she’d done, her vision and much of her hearing blocked by his all-encompassing body, twisted into shapes that should have been impossible. Vagabond grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the piercing light of his own as agony speared her brain.

He held her up when her knees buckled. She felt the stench of his breath on her face again. “Thank you, Vagabond,” he whispered to her. She could do nothing but heave in air.

She could feel him study her for another moment or two before he shifted, and his deep tenor rumbled out to his forces. Nausea was setting in now, so she didn’t process what he was saying, but after a minute he spoke directly into her ear again. “Come along, my friend.”

Come along where? He helped her walk, a tendril of goo covering her eyes. To keep her from knowing where they were going, or to shield her from what was doubtless a bloody battleground. Something underfoot squelched; she twitched away from it and lifted her hands to claw at the hot tar sticking to her face.

“No, no,” he pulled her hands away to her sides. “No need to look.”

“Elk,” she croaked. “This is wrong. It’s wrong and you know it—”

“Quiet. We’ll talk when we’re inside.”

“Let me go.”

“I will. In a moment.” He lifted her over something, then had a change of heart as he was putting her back down and simply decided to carry her fully the rest of the way. Her stomach lurched and she sensed the ground fall away—gods, was he really flying? He could fly now?

“Since when was this a thing,” she mumbled.

“Hm?” The air became cooler. Her feet grazed something hard, and then she was put down, tendrils pulling away. Vagabond dashed a hand across her eyes to rid herself of any residue and looked around, her mouth falling open. They were in what she could only describe as the throne room of the castle. Bass reliefs, paintings and tapestries adorned the walls, a thick crimson rug stretched before them, and across the gigantic room was a raised dais and a single throne. It was dead silent.

“N-Never mind,” she whispered, breathless, but he’d moved on, his body popping and cracking here and there as he traversed the room, studying the various artwork and humming quietly to himself. Vagabond sat down hard, feeling dizzy on top of everything, and just watched him. His body was unnaturally thin and his head hung low on his thick neck. She was reminded of when they first met, how his ribs had shown under patchy fur and hip bones stuck out in the autumn light. This was reminiscent of back then, just more… just more. He was top-heavy, for one; his thick ruff being overcome with oozing slime, and his front legs were far longer than his back ones. They seemed weaker; as he walked he pulled more with his front end.

He looked over at her. She met his gaze blankly. He trotted to her again and sank down in front of her—when did he get so big—reaching down to nuzzle against her temple. “I’m so glad you’re here,” his front bottom teeth clicked against his upper jaw as he groomed uselessly at her hair. “I thought for sure you died. How did you survive?”

“I,” she closed her eyes, letting him snuggle her and pretending for a moment he was normal, “I don’t r-really know. M-Magic, I guess.” She swallowed. “I saw your footprints, b-but… I was so…” she gestured vaguely. “I was hurt. Really bad.”

He rumbled. “You poor thing. And I left you for dead.”

“S’not your fault. I thought I was dead too.” She pressed her hands against his chest, hoping to feel fur, but only felt hot sticky tar. It squelched between her fingers. Gods, what had he done to himself…? “And you?”

He reached out with his front legs and carefully folded them around her, tucked her closer to him. She strove not to shudder. “I may have had a psychotic break,” he said mildly. “Hm. No, that’s definitely what happened.” He laughed as if it was a huge joke, and Vagabond’s heart sank at the mocking sound, so devoid of genuine humor.

“Stop it. Stop laughing.”

The Nowhere King wrapped ropes of ichor around her as he trembled with suppressed amusement. “Oh, but it is funny, isn’t it? You spent months trying to put my mind back together, but one stupid little soldier undid all your hard work, and for nothing! You didn’t die!”

“Stop it!” She shoved away from him. Her hands sunk partially inside the translucent tar and did nothing to propel her backwards. They made a terrible squelching sound when she yanked them away. Elk lowered his grinning skull of a head and stared at her, mouth gaping open in a gruesome pantomime of a smile. “It’s not funny! I was so worried about you, and you—you were doing this! How could you? These people don’t deserve this!” Words spilled out and she scrambled to her feet. He followed in suit and hunched in front of her. More tar reached out and grabbed at her hands, her legs, her shoulders, keeping her from backing away further. “What have you done to yourself? Whatever it is, stop it!”

Her cry wasn’t just to him, it was to the threads spinning their fate together, to the pain behind her eyes, to the storm writhing around them. And the worst thing was, this disaster wasn’t even going to be the worst. There was still something hovering in the horizon, a spiral into even more darkness that was just out of sight.

“I made myself stronger,” the Nowhere King replied. “I made myself a family.” His voice rose. “I did say I had a plan, didn’t I? Yes, I remember. Yes.” The word hissed between his jaws. “Well, this is it. I had to experiment before I tried it on him and I. So I did. Animals, people. It worked. It worked and it worked and it worked, and I tried so hard to bring him there, but he kept killing, so I kept making, and now… well. Can you blame me for protecting my family?”

“You—” She passed sweaty palms over even sweatier hair and dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to will the pain away. “I’ve heard the rumors. You’ve been—y-you’ve been kidnapping people.” She dropped her hands and looked around wildly for his forces, but there were none in the room. “Is that—you made them. The Key, that’s wh-what you were talking about. The General said the Key was malfunctioning, and…”

“The bastard lied. Are you surprised?” His hold tightened and he jerked her forward and grabbed her face to keep her gaze on him. He didn’t have to do that. She hissed through her teeth but didn’t pull away. “All he does is lie. He knew you were alive and you know what he did when I mentioned you? He said nothing. He said nothing!”

He was roaring now, heavy droplets of his essence hitting her in the face. Vagabond was frozen, pliant in his grip, the putrid heat of his breath drowning out the heat of her tears. If her friend had been in the Rift all this time, and the General had been coming in and out of it… she’d seen him do it, had watched the frustration on his frame and how he walked each time; he’d done that and looked at her in the face and refused to tell her what he’d seen. Even if he didn’t let her go to the Rift to see him, he could have at least told her where he was.

But why would he do that, when he was clearly willing to torture the other half of his tormented soul?

He’d caused this. Oh, Elk was clearly at fault, it was true; there was no reasonable explanation he could give for stealing people and twisting them into monsters to fit his vision of some sort of “family.” But Vagabond remembered a time when she’d been almost as trapped and alone as he must have felt, and she’d almost lashed out in her isolated paranoia. He’d been driven. And who had done the driving? It was becoming harder and harder to look at this from the General’s point of view.

She stared blankly at her friend, hollow, words failing her. He was trembling in rage and hurt, and she couldn’t blame him.

“Elk,” she said finally, dully, and lifted her hands to rest on his ruined face. He pulled her to him, shoving his head against her chest, snarling and dripping and desperate for the affection he’d thought he’d never have again.

There was a pregnant silence as Vagabond gathered her thoughts. Finally she spoke, the sound echoing flatly in the relative silence of the enormous throne room. “What would the Princess think?”

“No,” he replied, tensing.

“This is her home.”

“I tried,” he snapped. “I tried to find her. I thought she’d be here. I sent my minotaurs through the tunnels. She’s not here.”

Vagabond blinked. “Well, no, she’s in Centaurworld.”

He pulled back, flaming eyes narrowing. For a moment he just stared at her, and in juxtaposition her own eyes widened. Oh. Oh, he hadn’t known. Oh, no, she’d said the wrong thing. “Wait—”

“Centaurworld,” he murmured, lifting his head and staring at the door.

“No, wait!” She tried to fling herself forward to grab at him, do something, but she was held in place, left to struggle against his goopy hold. He rose into the air, stretching; cracking. “Elk!”

“Centaurworld.”

“Oh gods, no, you’ve done enough, don’t—!”

“Shh.” He wrapped around her again. “Don’t worry. You can stay here.” Wet flesh and dry bone scraped her skin as he nuzzled her. “You don’t have to see any of it.”

“That doesn’t make it right!” But he wasn’t listening, tapping the carpeted floor eagerly with inky black hooves, gears churning in his brain. “Listen to me!” She pleaded, tugging at what fur was left, only to watch in horror as it pulled effortlessly off his body. She dropped the chunk of loose flesh and shuddered. Little by little, what made him him was falling away. “You need to stop this!”

“I CAN’T!”

Vagabond jerked and clapped her hands over her ears at the bellow. It didn’t stop her from crying out, “Why not!”

“BECAUSE HE—WON’T—LET ME!” Elk reared up with a high-pitched bugle, legs and black tendrils flailing, and came back down with a crash, splattering everywhere. Heavy, viscous ink drooled from his maw in thick ropes as he screamed his pain to echo the empty chamber. Vagabond would have stumbled back and fallen if he wasn’t wound tightly around her, and a sob cracked from her throat as she realized exactly what he was saying.

The General would never stop trying to imprison the Elk again. Neither would know peace as long as they were split in two—one living the life of a prince-consort, loving the woman they’d done this for, the other his shadow and made to live a life of misery.

“We join or we die,” her maddened friend was ranting. His loose form was writhing in the air, solid muscle having been replaced with partly-translucent corruption. She watched with horrified fascination. “If neither happens, there is only suffering.” He panted, gasping, hissing, growling; “I have to find her. I have to find her, she is the only one who can help, should she strike us down—only her. Only her. Only she can end us. If we die, so be it, if she will grant us peace… if only I could see her again, talk to her—Centaurworld."

His attention snapped back to her. He froze midair, one hoof lightly brushing the ground. She couldn’t even see his back legs anymore; he’d stretched into even more monstrous proportions that shouldn’t have been anatomically possible. “You have given me the greatest gift, my friend. Telling me where she is. I’ll find her. I will. I’ll make this right.”

“I’ll go!” she blurted out, desperate; he tilted his head curiously. “I’ll go. I’ll find her. You don’t gotta,” she fought to catch her breath, “y-you don’t gotta hurt anyone else. Please, I’ll go.”

“No, no,” he murmured, rising up and staring past her again. Time was up. He wouldn’t hesitate again for her. “Centaurworld hurts you, doesn’t it. You stay here, in the human world, where you belong,” the word was spat out without much thought, and she cringed. He didn’t notice.

“No—wait!”

“Stay here.”

“I promised I’d help you, I’ll help you! I’ll get him to the Rift. I’ll find him.” She grabbed onto his bony leg. He tugged it free effortlessly, sparing her one final glance before leaping lightly through the air straight over her. One hand curled from his body and patted her cheek as he passed. “You begged me not—wait, stop, not to leave you! Don’t leave me!”

He was gone, whipping through the throne room doors like a flying snake, leaving her with her thoughts and puddles of sticky goo. The doors slammed behind him and ink oozed between the hinges, sealing it shut. His bass of a voice rumbled beyond the doors, speaking to his minotaurs, but Vagabond didn’t try to listen in. Then, silence.

Her adrenaline, the only thing keeping her going, released from her body with a woosh and she nearly collapsed. Too late. It was too late. Forcing her feet to move, she pulled out of the now limp tar and stumbled towards the door. It was sealed; probably his way of making sure she’d stay put. Vagabond would have been indignant but all emotion had been sapped by what she had been forced to face. 

He was never your friend.

There were servant entrances in the back of the room, near the dais and throne. She trudged through them, out of the room, down a hallway and out of the castle, following the flow of fresh air to the outside. The minotaurs made no move to stop her. Most didn’t even glance her way.

The thick scent of blood and carnage choked the air. Vagabond shuddered and kept her gaze firmly in front of her. She limped through the streets towards the gates and somewhere along the way a child grabbed her leg, small hands holding onto her ichor-, sweat-, and dirt-soaked pants. She held his hand and kept going. Another person saw that she wasn’t being attacked and gripped her other arm. At some point she realized she had amassed quite a following, and the minotaurs were doing nothing about it, but she was so tired it didn’t seem very important. She had to get to Elk. Wait, no, she had to find the General. No, she had to stop him from hurting more people. But she could stop him by finding the General…

The gates were open. She and the small group simply walked out of the city. She paused at the crossroads, turning towards the Rift, but hands gripped at her with whispers of Are you crazy before pulling her down the road into the woods beyond. Eventually the sky darkened and Vagabond’s legs simply folded under her. She was picked up and set on a patch of moss, where her eyes closed and slam dunked her into sleep. Dreams of fresh incisions across her chest and a warm hand on her shoulder swam through her unconsciousness.

Hush, now.

What did you do?

I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.

I was looking at your scars…

Chapter Text

When she woke they informed her she’d been sleeping for almost a full day. They had been able to rouse her enough to give her water every once and a while, but the first thing she noticed was she still ached with dehydration. Vagabond managed to swallow some rations and drank enough water to float her kidneys before falling into a more fitful rest as her body processed what it had been given. Eventually she woke again, fully this time, if only because she had to pee.

Every joint and breath ached. Vagabond shoved herself onto shaking forearms and suddenly someone was kneeling next to her. The boy couldn’t have been more than sixteen. ‘Bout th’same age as me when everything went upside-down, she thought, blearily; welcome to the world, kiddo.

“Hey,” she said, or tried to say; her mouth felt like cotton. The kid fumbled a little, then handed her a water skin. She took a few sips, cleared her throat, and started again. “Hey. Gotta pee. Help me up?”

He did so, and led her to a tree, which she used as both cover and a back support to do her business. Only when she emerged did she realize the boy wasn’t alone; there was a group of them. Oh. Oh, right. 

“Hey,” she said, once again, fidgeting a little. Everyone’s eyes were on her. “Um. So. That sure happened.”

Still, they waited, and with dawning horror Vagabond realized they were looking at her for direction. “Ah—no no, no, ha,” she waved her hands frantically, “I’m not… I’m no leader, hey? Don’t—don’t look at me like that.”

It was the boy who helped her who spoke first. “They d-d-d-didn’t,” he swallowed, took a breath, and tried again. “Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t attack you.”

“Well, um.” She fidgeted. Fuck. “Yeah, okay, listen.”

They listened.

“...Okay I don’t have an explanation that’ll make sense but. But. Let’s just—” She dragged her hands in front of her face, swallowing the manic little laugh that wanted to bubble out of her throat. What even was her life. None of her past adventures, as wild and crazy and just plain weird as they were, reached the insanity of the past few days. “The General,” she finished. “The General escaped with a buncha army people, let’s just try and see if we can find ‘em. Best option we have.”

Whatever spell was keeping the group quiet imploded, and everyone started speaking at once. Vagabond backed up, overwhelmed with all the attention, and bumped against the tree she’d peed under. Every nerve itched to bolt, and she darted a look around, holding up her hands in surrender. “Okay!” she squeaked, waving them in the air, “Okay! We’ll uh, we’ll go find him, I’ll… everyone please stop talking…”

It took some time, but everyone calmed down—as much as they could given the circumstances. First things first, she learned, was that everyone was starving. It hadn’t occurred to her that city people might not know how to forage. After cursing herself for her stupidity, she found fiddlehead ferns, wild violets and oyster mushrooms to start. And then she rested her aching body and head, lay on the ground and shoved her nose into the moss to breathe in the deep natural perfume of the earth, one she hadn’t been able to smell or just be in for so long.

“Hi there,” she whispered to the ground, to the ant marching past and the dead leaves fluttering in the minute breeze. “Nice to see you again.”

She was allowed to stay there for a little while longer before being pulled back into the fray. Most people knew how to set traps for the mice and rats that plagued any sort of human settlement, so she showed them how to get the supplies from nature and they set out to catch some birds and squirrels. This allowed her a bit more respite for her to just lay there and munch what she’d found for herself and clear her head. Being in the woods again did wonders to unravel the stress of being trapped in a city and for a little while, Vagabond was even able to forget the looming war and what she’d witnessed.

Eventually though she had to face the memory of Elk’s elongated, twisted, broken body. Her mind tried to remove the image of his undead face and glowing eyes but the moment it was there, it was stuck. Vagabond pressed her face into her hands and breathed in slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose…

Oh, Elk.

Maybe she could just… leave. For a brief minute she considered her options, lifting her head to gaze unseeing through the trees. She didn’t have to stay. She could leave, head back to where she’d come before she’d even heard of the Rift. She could travel north, back towards the reindeer farm, and settle there. Or—her head swung southeast—a trip that way would take months, to a vast empire that had existed for thousands of years. Vagabond had learned Arabic there; had met a man who’d once proposed to her and who she’d remained friends with. He’d be delighted to see her again. Or she could head directly south where the world was wild and untamed; she’d heard whispers of jungles and savannahs and desert along the same dangerous road.

And then the daydream faded and she knew she couldn’t leave. She’d promised once to help a friend undo what had been done, and if there was anything she held onto, it was her word.

She had nothing else.

It wasn’t the first time.

Don’t leave me again.

She had to find the General.

So saying, she found herself in charge of a small group of people who depended entirely on her for survival. She could have left them to defend themselves with what she’d already taught them, but that would have been cruel and thus against her nature. These were city folk; they were not used to constant foraging and needed nonstop supervision. And with each passing day, the company grew; behind them plumes of smoke rose into the air as settlements burned and people fled.

She saw him once. It was from afar; he was not much more than a dark blotch on the sky and the feeling of wrongness thick in the air, but it was undoubtedly him, though it seemed his transformation was complete. There was nothing recognizable about his body anymore. He hung silently in the air, gazing down at whatever his troops were doing on the ground, cold and imposing, and she swore she could hear the faint sound of humming.

Then her people begged to leave, breathless with terror, and she was dragged back to those who needed her and the helplessness of the weakest members. Reluctantly she turned away. Elk hadn’t listened to her then and wouldn’t now, though she did wonder what he was doing over here. Last time they were together he was leaving to head to Centaurworld. 

The smoke became thicker, and closer; urgency pushed them on, and Vagabond made them sleep in trees and keep watch in shifts. The irony of teaching people the same things she taught the very being who pursued them to survive was not lost on her.

Monsters hid in the shadows. They were everywhere, creatures ripped apart and put back together by magic in all sorts of unholy ways. They got closer. Near-misses became commonplace. The smoke and ash became thicker. And then one day, just as she knew would happen, someone made a mistake, and caught the attention of a minotaur, and her little group learned the most important lesson she could teach them.

There was a split second of absolutely frozen terror. Every living being stopped breathing. Vagabond turned and calmly said, her voice piercing the silence and cutting into the smog-choked air, “Run.”

They ran.

The howls and roars of their inhuman pursuers trailed behind them. Vagabond started out in front, less leading the pack and more saving her own skin, before coming to her senses and skidding to a halt, letting them bolt past her. “Head for the trees!” She called, all too aware of the time she'd told the very monster the same thing as they fled from would-be captors.

A huge, armored creature caught up to one of the laggers. Vagabond fought every muscle in her body screaming to leave them and skidded on the damp earth to dart between them. The minotaur faltered, staring down at her; she stared back and for a split second she was frozen, wide-eyed, unsure of what to do next.

It made the decision for her. With a snarl, it reached out again, and nothing but hatred burned in its gaze. Vagabond dodged, skipping over the ground and flouncing out of reach, wondering if her former friend could see her through those raging eyes. Did he hate her for leaving? Did he trust her to come back? Was he hunting the Vagabond down as fervently as he hunted the Princess; the General?

She darted around the creature and there were more, suddenly; digging her heels into the earth, the scruffy woman charged into the underbrush, inviting them to follow.

Being chased and remaining just out of reach would have normally been fit for her amusement, but she found none in this situation. She flitted through the trees like a forest nymph and mocking their bulkier bodies with her own smaller lithe one, getting them more and more lost with every twist and turn. If they paused, confused, there she was again to lure them deeper and further away.

She found out just why there was no enjoyment in her little game when a clearing opened up to show what was once a little town.

It had been ransacked and was eerily silent. Not a single soul graced the huts; the streets. It hadn’t been burned to the ground but that was almost worse—the silence gave it an uncanny, liminal feeling, of what should have been but wasn’t. Clothes swayed quietly on lines where they were hung up to dry. A child’s toy lay next to a house, abandoned among shards of brick that had been punched out of the building.

The crashing behind her triggered her automatic flight response and she darted forward, just as a hand missed with a whoosh of air. Vagabond zigzagged down the dirt road, searching for a hiding place.

It was difficult to get out of sight; they were once again faster and stronger than her, but she was small and easily slipped into a hiding spot the moment she’d gone around a corner. From that vantage point she watched them charge after her, then skid to a halt with confused noises, growling and bellowing at one another. For a few hair-raising moments they began to spread out, kicking around things they thought she might be behind. And then, to the shock that bolted through her spine, one of them spoke.

“Head back. Not worth it.”

Wait what?

Vagabond had to resist the urge to jump out and start the chase all over again, but clamped her lips together and remained where she was, perfectly concealed among a pile of junk. The fluttering cloth of what must have been once a curtain of some kind hid her minute movements. The creatures had devolved back into grunting, which seemed to convey just as much information as actual words, before heading back towards the treeline.

The small woman remained there quietly a few minutes in case their abrupt disinterest in her was a ruse, then crept in the opposite direction. The little bit of information she’d gleaned from Elk meant those minotaurs, as he’d called them, were people once upon a time; he’d made them into something else. Did they remember who they once were? Did they just not care?

No time to think about it. She had to get back to her group.

Vagabond hesitated, darting a glance in the direction that beckoned, then heaved a sigh and headed back in the direction she’d come. The people she fostered still needed her.

Responsibilities were so annoying.

With one last glance to the quiet, sad village that doubtless had once held laughter and life, she fled through the trees once more, away from the desolation Elk’s armies had left behind. It only instilled more determination deep in her gut. She had to help him find his way back to himself. This had to end before it got even more out of control.

Elk. What are you doing?

The answer came immediately: he was lashing out. She’d fought to get through the pain and rage and hatred their entire time together, to no avail. Why had he given her a chance when he refused to give anyone else one? Had she been lucky enough to slide into his affections before his maddened mind refocused, or had it been just because she was the first person who’d shown him kindness? Or had fate simply made its decision?

Either way, Vagabond was in a unique position with him, and she would have to use it to fix this mess.

Tracking down her little clan in the making was easier than she thought it would be. She simply returned to the place they’d been attacked and followed the direction they’d run, moving in a casual but swift trot until someone called out and people began emerging from the trees. She surprised herself by grinning at their appearance, proud of the way they effortlessly (for the most part) leaped down from branches and slipped out of the brush.

“We, we, we, we thought you were d-d-dead!” Vagabond stepped back, startled, as the young man threw his arms around her, then hugged him back warmly. “We d-d-d-d-d-didn’t know what to, what to do!”

“I’d say you did, though,” she replied, patting his back. “You did exactly right. You ran and hid.”

He squeezed her tighter. Vagabond’s eyes crinkled and she took stock of the people coming towards her, counting. “We missing any?”

“Two,” someone replied dully, though he looked relieved to see her. “I saw the minotaurs take them.” He faltered. “...I knew em. Siblings. Always together.” His knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists.

“Oh.” Damn… “I’m sorry.” She bit her lip and let go of the lad, who stepped back, gazing at her in adoration. It was a little uncomfortable, so she moved among them, making sure they weren’t severely injured. Not much more than cuts and scrapes, which they’d already treated. She’d taught them the potential seriousness of even the smallest of wounds; out here in the wilderness, something as small as a splinter could end one’s life if not treated immediately. “Good job, everyone. C’mon, let’s keep going.”

They made camp in the trees that night, and with a renewed sense of purpose, started out again that morning.

And they learned that they’d better keep running.

Waves of desolation swept from its epicenter. The burning of villages and forests spread until the ground was blackened and smog choked the air. With each silent settlement they came upon, they found the elderly and children fleeing. Those who were able-bodied, they realized, had been taken. Those left behind were of no use to the Nowhere King. Vagabond found faint solace in the fact that he hadn’t simply had them murdered. Maybe he still had a sliver of conscience in that broken mind of his.

They were hunted mercilessly across the landscape. The light of the Rift was distant now, almost as distant as when she’d first left the reindeer farm, and Vagabond sometimes let herself drift back to that moment when she’d hoisted her pack off her sore shoulder and started her journey on a bright, cool autumn day. Fate had spoken that afternoon, whispered to her when she hesitated to follow the piercing wail that led her to a river and a starving, fractured soul. Now that same soul, fully shattered and pursuing a vendetta no one really understood, sent his warriors out to find and claim what he’d decided was now his to destroy—a world that had not only left him behind, but tortured him to the brink of madness before shunning his very existence.

Vagabond swung back and forth between compassion and brokenhearted fury, and did her best to push the image of Elk’s rotting face out of her mind. She didn’t want to think about how the General may have been right, that Elk had only ever been using her. She didn’t want to think about those pleading glowing eyes and the smile on the General’s face when he’d pretended he didn’t know where his other half was. Nothing made sense and she didn’t want to think about any of it, about the wrongness of it all, about how one stupid little mistake by one young soldier striving to prove himself brought along the downfall of the entire kingdom. But who was to say Elk wouldn’t have done exactly what he was doing now if they hadn’t been separated? 

It was easier to lose herself in what she did best, which was surviving in the wilderness, so that’s what she did. Vagabond taught her growing clan hand signals to communicate, which especially helped the stuttering young man’s ability to speak to his comrades swiftly without need to clarify. She taught them how to hide, fashioning camouflage out of leaves and mud and bark. They learned how to dodge and weave, darting around attackers and disappearing when their backs were turned. The children and elderly continued to be ignored, much to their relief.

And they drew ever nearer to her goal.

Perhaps they’d figured she’d given up trying to find him as they traversed the land, following a path only she could see. Perhaps they simply had no idea She was grateful.

It was a particularly windy day that she hopped over a rock, scanning the open area around her nervously as she scouted ahead for her followers, and promptly leaped right back over when an arrow buried itself inches from her foot. Poised to flee right back into the woods, she paused in confusion when a very human voice floated through the air.

“Damn it! Are you okay?”

“What the hell!” she yelled back. “Do I look like a minotaur?”

“Sorry! Sorry!” She peered out around the rock to see a very familiar face as a young man scrambled out of his hiding spot. 

He halted abruptly, mouth opening in a comical o. “V—Gabby?”

“Vagabond,” she corrected, wrinkling her nose. “Long time no see. Didn’t the Quartermaster tell ya to verify first?”

“Sorry,” he repeated, still in shock. “I—you—we thought you were dead!”

Vagabond made a show of looking over her arms, patting herself on the face, and checking out the rest of her body. “What? You mean I’m not? This isn’t hell?”

He blinked, sputtered, then let a faint grin flicker over his face. “Uh, you know what, fair. Let’s, um, let’s get outta the open.”

“What a great idea. Lead the way.”

It seemed he’d learned too; he dodged and wove over the rocky grassland, using the shifting of long grass and blowing dirt to mask his movements. Clearly, he was now a scout, and his lean body darted as swiftly and expertly as hers did. He led her to a dense grove of trees sprouting along a cliff and let out the crown’s call, which was answered. Vagabond had heard that call plenty of times but this context triggered the memory of hiding in the woods as a young soldier cried out for his comrades, making her cringe.

Couldn’t be helped now. As people emerged from makeshift shelters and looked around in confusion, she realized she’d found exactly who’d she was looking for. The General strode from where he was apparently meeting with his fellow soldiers, eyes widening in shock at who now stood in their midst. Vagabond, busy fending off old coworkers’ questions, waved quickly before being beset upon once more.

They made way for him and he walked right up to her. Grateful for the respite, she scooted around him to avoid another hand pounding her on the back. “Okay, okay,” he called, waving his hands; the throngs of people finally quieted. He stared down at her, obviously unsure what to say.

“Hi,” she offered.

That finally broke the ice and he smiled, wearily. “Hi,” he replied. “Glad to see you alive.”

“You too.” Well, it wasn’t a lie. Him being alive meant Elk was alive. Not that there was any question about that . “So, uh, how ya been?”

His cheeks puffed out in a deep sigh. “Not amazing, I have to admit.” He eyed her, a faint lopsided smile playing at his lips. “I’m surprised you took the long way around.” A short silence. “...Magic, huh?”

Gods damn it, really dude? She squinted at him, her own mouth thinning. “Yeah. Well. Not really something I talk about, yeah? I’m as surprised as you are, promise.” She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ignore the murmurs of those around her. It had been about five seconds and he’d already blown her secrecy. “But I really don’t wanna—”

“No wonder he wanted you so badly.” He clapped a hand to her shoulder, abruptly; she squeaked and jumped. “That monster stopped you from getting away, didn’t it? How’d you escape?”

“He left. I walked,” she replied shortly, already irritated. This was not how she’d imagined their first meeting would go. “Listen—”

“I’m really glad you found us.” His voice rose. “With your magic and my military knowledge, we’ll have even more of an advantage on taking back our home!”

The crowd cheered and Vagabond felt sick.

Magic. It had plagued her for her entire life; unstable, dangerous, as wild as a tempest and forever in the back of her head, threatening to speak when she herself fell silent. It only obeyed her deep, hidden desires and rarely did things in halves. Every once and a while when she could wrestle it into submission and her conscience agreed on its actions did it not cause pain, either physically in her mind or emotionally upon those around her.

I was looking at your scars.

Her attention snapped back to the General. He was still speaking to a newly-energized crowd, and with a deep breath, she refocused on her own goal. What was done was done. She’d have to be very careful from now on, but it also meant she had an opportunity here. Steeling her nerves, she cleared her throat just loud enough for the General to hear. He glanced at her and she indicated she also wanted to speak. Smiling, he gestured.

The smile fell off his face the instant the words left her mouth. “The good General has in-depth knowledge of the Rift, and of the Key that keeps it open,” she said, loudly, quickly, so that she couldn’t be stopped. “And many of us have seen how the monster respects him.” Sorry, she apologized silently to Elk.

“Ah, Gabby—”

She raised her voice again to speak over him. “So it only, um, only makes sense that he’s the one to lead the charge to take the Key from him and rob him of his power.” Throw me under the cart and I do the same to you.

The cheers grew louder. Everyone was there now, as far as she could tell, and everyone had heard their little speech. She smiled slightly and backed away, and this time the General didn’t stop her. As she moved away she couldn’t resist a parting shot: “Isn’t that right, General?”

He was looking at her, but she refused to return his gaze, afraid she’d see that same hard cold glare she’d once gotten a glimpse of the day she’d asked if he knew where Elk was. His voice was tight, but still affable, even if it was forced. “Ah, that’s right. With its power, we’ll turn the tides on that monster and show it who it’s dealing with. This is our land, not some crazy freak from Centaurworld’s. Am I right?”

Another cheer. Vagabond took a few steps back to let him keep speaking, backing away out of the spotlight while everyone’s eyes were on the General. “We’ll need every man and woman to fight. These things that are hunting us, they don’t know what they’re dealing with!”

Newly invigorated, people broke up into groups, murmuring excitedly to themselves, and the General was called by another soldier. His attention divided, Vagabond safely slipped through the trees back where she’d come and sat on a rock at the edge of the grove, staring off into the distance. She’d have to go tell her own group what was going on.

After a time she gathered the energy to head off and do just that. Most of them were worried about leaving their current hiding place and striking out across open ground, which she couldn’t blame them for. Her little friend with a stutter immediately volunteered to come with her, though, and once one person offered, others felt brave enough to join. Despite her insistence that she preferred traveling alone, Vagabond found herself grateful for their company, a knot she didn’t even know she had dissipating in her gut. It was similar to the feeling she’d had when she and Elk had fled the soldiers the first time.

These people didn’t know her as well as Elk did. But they were her friends. It gave her the strength she needed.

So she brought them back to the camp and introduced them to the General, who was delighted to gain more people and another possibility of fighting back against his nemesis. Vagabond didn’t protest this; if they wanted to fight, that was their prerogative. But she did have to stifle a simultaneously proud and shy smile when the young man told him, stutter and all, that they were only there for her; they were survivors, not fighters.

She’d taught them well.

The General smiled warmly at him and clapped him on the shoulder, but she saw the look in his eyes and excused herself to the edges of camp to sit in a tree and stare across the landscape. She’d done it. She’d found him. Now what?

I’ll get him to the Rift. I’ll help you.

Gods, Elk, just… just hold on. Please.

Someone called to her. She blinked, and realized she’d been sitting there for some time. Her young friend stood at the base of the tree, politely not scaling it up to her, but she saw the way his hands wrung in front of him that he was worried for her. She slid down and saw that maybe that wasn’t the case; he looked anxious and kept glancing back towards the camp. Social jitters, then. He opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind and signed, “He wants to talk to you.”

Vagabond sighed, nodded, patted his arm and replied, “Why don’t’cha go back to everyone and tell em what’s going on. I’m sure some of ‘em wanna join the fight.”

He nodded and with a quick, thankful smile, fled.

The General was sitting down with a few of his lieutenants over a meal. Vagabond knew the smell of venison when it hit her nostrils and was surprised when a bowl of stew was placed in front of her. No, it wasn’t a bowl. A helmet. They were eating out of helmets. Which was weird, considering there was a proper spoon in it.

Well, then. Vagabond shrugged and dug in, the delicious steam finally awakening her appetite. She didn’t know why she was invited to dinner but she wasn’t about to turn down free food. She ate in silence, only vaguely listening to whatever they were talking about—military stuff, no doubt. The meat was very chewy, but palatable; no doubt cooked by people who didn’t actually know how to cook out on the run.

That’s not deer meat, is it?

The spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.

Not that I am a deer, it would just be…

She put the spoon down and pushed the helmet away, appetite ruined.

“...Right, Gabby?”

She stared into middle space for a moment before snapping out of it, shaking her head and looking at the General in irritation. What was with this man? Even so, it never did her any good to get mad, so she let it go with a sigh and responded. “No idea, wasn’t listening.”

He sighed back at her. “Why do you think I invited you to dinner? With my lieutenants?” He gestured at the men now staring at her.

Vagabond squinted at him, ignoring them. “I… don’t… know? I figured y’were gonna get to me when you were done or something.” She shrugged and propped her chin on her hand. “I don’t know anything about this. Y’know. Stuff.”

“Well, you’d best learn,” he instructed with a small half-smile, “because we’re gonna need you if we’re to take back our home.”

Waving a hand, she leaned back and twisted a bit to pop her spine. “Find more people and grow your forces, yeah yeah, got it, I’ll do my best.”

“Now, hold on,” the General replied, firmly enough that she paused. It was difficult to forget he was the General, but even she was compelled to obey that command in his voice. He was a veteran of hundreds of successful battles; she couldn’t forget that. “I never said that. We were discussing your magic and how it could be useful, which you’d know, if you were listening.”

A cold hand clutched her heart and Vagabond took a deep, steadying breath. Her fingers gripped the wood so hard her knuckles turned white. “Dunno what you’re talking about. I don’t fight.”

“You displayed some very powerful magic,” he reminded her with exaggerated patience. “We can capitalize on that.”

“I don’t—”

“Gabby —”

She slammed the heels of her palms against the makeshift table they’d made out of logs and a blanket, shoved herself up, and stormed off, slipping on damp leaves in her haste. She heard the General call out to her, but ignored him, re-entering the thick of the forest and ducking through underbrush.

The crunch of footsteps alerted her to a follower and she ducked before the questing hand could grab her shoulder, spinning around to glare up at the bearded face of the man who’d caused all this. He was a lot faster than she’d given him credit for, slipping around trees and maneuvering the unsteady ground with alarming agility for someone still in heavy armor. Vagabond took another step back and folded her arms tightly around herself, setting her jaw. The General stared back at her, clearly just as agitated as she was, and made a visible effort to calm himself. “Look,” he said, finally, “I get that you got pulled into something you didn’t wanna be.”

She stared sullenly at him, feeling like a scolded child.

“But you did,” he continued. “You’re involved, however it happened. Which means you have to help fix it. These people,” he waved a hand behind him, “depend on me. And now on you, too.”

Fix it? Fix it? Oh, did she want to scream at him that she knew everything; want to run back to camp and tell everyone what he’d done to himself, to Elk. Vagabond clenched her jaw so tight her teeth hurt and stared at that silver thread that linked the two, so bright and obvious it was impossible to imagine she hadn’t seen it before.

He was still talking. She forced her attention back to him. “Don’t you think you owe them your help?” Okay, that was true. She was partially to blame for all of this, wasn’t she? If she’d done things just a little differently… “They need you. And you have something they don’t. You have magic. Do you get how important that is? We’re up against a crazy magical monster from Centaurworld—how else are we gonna get an edge?”

Vagabond filled her lungs with as much forest air before allowing herself to speak. Still, her voice was a little more shaky than intended. “Okay, listen.”

He held up his hands. “Listening.”

“I don’t know how my magic works,” she told him. “And I’ve only ever gotten in trouble because of it.” She’d be damned before she’d let him see her cry, so she cast her eyes about for an escape route. 

“Gabby,” he said quietly.

“I don’t know how to help,” she snapped. “I don’t know how I managed to get you guys away from him. Using magic hurts. Usually. I get such bad headaches.” Except that one time. She rubbed the suspicious dampness off her cheeks. “And I don’t fight. I mean it. I won’t.”

He studied her for a minute. “And what do you think that thing will make you do?”

She shook her head. Elk would never make her fight. He at least accepted her for who she was. But she couldn’t say that to him.

“You understand you can’t go back to the castle, right?”

Silence. Vagabond searched for and found her water.

“Look, maybe we can work around your whole not-fighting…” he waved a hand, “...thing. But you know I can’t let you anywhere near the Nowhere King. You saw what it’s capable of. What it’s willing to do. That thing is insane. It’s bent on destruction and domination and it won’t stop.”

Vagabond clenched her fists around her water skin and studied a fluttering leaf on the nearest tree. “I keep trying to tell you this,” the General finished, “it’s not your friend. It will never be. And I can’t let you anywhere near it because it’ll use you.”

She didn’t know what to say to any of that. Instead she studiously avoided his eyes, trembling minutely with so many emotions she wasn’t sure which to feel the most. The worst part was, the General was right in a sense. If—when—she returned, she’d be drawn into her friend’s pain and want to help ease it. Elk had lost all sense of right and wrong. He just wanted the torment to end in any way possible, even if it meant the destruction and desolation of everything around him. No, he wouldn’t hurt her—she held onto that thought mulishly—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt anyone else . And she did owe these people at least some loyalty and assistance.

“I need you to promise you won’t go back,” the man in front of her spoke up again into the tense, awkward silence stretching between them. “I need you to promise you won’t try to help the Nowhere King.”

Promises. Her damned promises.

She couldn’t do that, because she’d already promised Elk she would. “What makes you think I’d do that,” she snorted. “After what I’ve been through getting people away from him?”

He ignored that. “Because if you do, you’re turning your back on the human race.”

Vagabond choked to a halt and snapped her eyes back to him, startled. The human race. What, all of us? The thought was so ridiculous she just stared at him incredulously, cocking her head. Did he—he was a learned man. He had to know just how big the world was. There were empires out there that had been in place for thousands of years, vast swathes of land that had yet to be touched by human hand. Or, perhaps he did know. Perhaps Elk—the Nowhere King—would keep going and going and going until forcibly stopped by something, anything. He didn’t have self-preservation anymore.

She didn’t know what to say, so she turned her back and began to walk away.

“Gabby,” the General warned. “You didn’t promise.”

“No,” she agreed. “I didn’t.”

As she slipped through the trees and underbrush dense enough he couldn’t easily follow, she knew that had been the wrong thing to say. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Somehow, she got the feeling that it wouldn't be long before she found out just how bad of a decision that was.

Chapter Text

Her group split into two, ultimately; many of them joined the General’s forces and the remainder stayed in the forest, having found safety in their new life. Vagabond bounced between the two, torn in her desire to help both. Thankfully her job morphed from leader to liaison because of this and they seemed to be able to now govern themselves and survive on their own, sinking deeper into the forest and avoiding the encroaching armies. The General mentioned a few times using them as scouts and spies, but they didn’t seem interested. Vagabond was thankful. She didn’t want to have to worry about them more than she was worried about the ones who were already his scouts and spies.

In the wake of the Nowhere King’s ever-widening reign, only ruin lingered. The land left behind was torn to shreds, grass pounded into dust, trees burned to cinders and villages abandoned. The sky was almost always either a dull angry red from constant fire or a sickly green from the Rift. No matter how many times they moved, the minotaurs found them, and no matter how many were killed, there was always more. Perhaps most people didn’t know, but Vagabond and certainly the General did: they were likely fighting their own captured comrades, somehow fused with animals to make the opposing forces. The General said once in a moment of true humanity that he couldn’t bear to tell his soldiers what had become of their friends. Vagabond agreed.

The now-eldritch being’s lullaby pervaded their senses and the air was silent with its oppression. Everyone knew the words; everyone knew the tune. It haunted them during wake and sleep and drove Vagabond mad with the injustice of it all. If there was anything Elk had done—the death and destruction being first and foremost, of course—that she couldn’t stand, it was this. That was her mother’s lullaby he’d twisted. Her self-soothing comfort, gone. It was hers. It was hers, and he’d bastardized it to his own use.

Sometimes she’d catch herself humming and the air picked up on it, and people would shush her, assuming it had silenced all other noise in her head like it had everyone else. Sometimes Vagabond saw the vibrations in the air, threads of reality thrumming with the song. Did he realize what he was doing, weaving his corrupted magic into the very fabric of the world? Was he doing the same to his own homeland?

They saw him sometimes, floating silently across the landscape. He was completely unrecognizable. Had Vagabond not known she would have never guessed what he once was, antlers aside. Other times he was gone, and she knew he was in Centaurworld, seeking out what he believed to be his one true love.

She didn’t think he even knew the difference between love, obsession and hatred, anymore. Perhaps he never had.

Do you hate me?

What? No! I would never.

What about now, she thought, watching that inky black smear slide across the sky. Do you hate me now? Were you lying?

She contemplated calling for his attention. Forcing him to answer her questions. She didn’t know if he’d answer, or if he’d try and kill her for abandoning him—on occasion she thought about doing it anyway, just to see his response and her life be damned, but then she’d realize that would mean breaking her promise. She couldn’t do that. So, she swallowed the urge and returned to the General’s side, where she was expected to remain. That was okay. Vagabond would play the part of his ally, warning him when the dreaded King was near and finding people fleeing the destruction to bring them into the fold.

But the General’s desires didn’t stop there. He kept her as close as he could, relentlessly calling for her to return as soon as she could and sending a scout after her if she didn’t do so. This rubbed her patience to threadbare; she didn’t like to be kept at strict heel like a dog. It wasn’t a matter of pride so much as against her nature; the only respite she got was when she slipped away to guide others to safety.

It was… difficult, to say the least. The General didn’t let up on using her magic to assist in the war. Every day she fended off his queries. Every day her arguments became weaker.

“Look at these people, Gabby,” he said, spreading one arm to encompass the hastily-formed camp. “Look at them! They rely on us. On you. Don’t you think you owe them?”

Again with the owing. She knew she owed them, did he have to keep bringing it up? Vagabond struggled to come up with a witty response, but fell short and just stared at him until he added, “The next time it comes to battle, I want you on the front lines.”

She had no choice but to obey, she knew; there was no reason for her to refuse further. What she’d been doing since this had started wasn’t working, so she had to change it up a bit, right? Right.

She slipped into the forest and made her way to a quiet clearing, where she could almost forget what was going on, and closed her eyes. Summoning her past exercises in the tunnels while living in the city, she focused on those woven threads of reality and took a deep breath.

It was okay that she was in pain, she reasoned as her head began to throb. It was all for the people she wanted to help. The General was right; she needed to cast aside her fear and give more. All she had to do was hold onto the thought that she was trying to save Elk.

~

“Vagabond?”

The interruption screeched behind her eyes and Vagabond practically fell over, clenching her eyes shut. “What,” she hissed through gritted teeth, keeping through sheer force of will from vomiting.

“S-S-Sorry.” Oh, it was him. She took a few deep calming breaths. “I um, um, was-was just wondering if you were, you were okay.”

“Yeah. Give me a minute.” Vagabond waited until the searing pain and nausea began to subside before turning back to him, studying him with a frown. The young man looked less like a young man nowadays. His eyes had sunken a little and there were shadows on his face where there should have been smooth rounded skin. The marks of stress and fear were all too familiar. She remembered thinking the same thing about herself months after she’d left home and had caught a glimpse of herself in a still pond. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long.” He shrugged. “Followed you.”

She grunted. “The General tell you to?”

“N-No.” He sat next to her. “He knows wh-wh-wh-wh-where you are though.” He hesitated. “S-Some people tell h-h-him. I…”

She waited. He stared into the forest, nervously fiddling with the edge of his shirt, eyes distant and troubled. After a few moments he tried again. “I… He told me y-y-you have magic?”

Gods damn that man. Gods damn her magic. Gods damn everything. What she wouldn’t give to be with the one damn person who didn’t look at her twice because of the innate vision and power she had—the one person who’d accepted her entirely without question. Curiosity, certainly, but never suspicion. Go figure that one person had gone entirely fucking insane. Vagabond grit her teeth again, vaguely aware that she was ruining all the work she’d once put in to making sure they were straight, clean and healthy. “Yeah,” she said shortly.

“Th-th-th-th—” He sighed in irritation, paused to gather himself, then started again. “ That . Is. Pretty cool. Um.” He was staring at her now, she could see in the corner of her eye; she kept her face averted to avoid the discomfort. “So—”

“If something happens to me,” Vagabond interrupted, “it won’t be a minotaur.” Her hands felt cold. She clenched them. “It won’t be the Nowhere King. It’ll be the General.”

“What? But—”

“Don’t tell him I said that. And don’t trust him.” She rose. “‘Scuse me.” Blinking spots from her eyes, she left him there, stumbling further into the forest. So the General was spying on her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She had been friends with his nemesis. Still was. At least, she hoped Elk continued to think of her as a friend.

Four days later word came that the Nowhere King’s forces were amassing, and Vagabond was awoken from her slumber by torches in the early morning. It was autumn again—where had the time gone—and her breath steamed the air as she stretched as much as she could in the cradle of branches she’d found in a tulip tree. The blanket she used was damp and cold with dew, but at least it protected her from the worst of it, and she hung it over a branch, watching the shadows of people scurrying to and fro forty feet below her. She didn’t think anyone had seen her climb it, but someone stopped beneath her and called out, peering into the darkness right at her. There had been no hesitation. Vagabond definitely didn’t like that, but there was nothing she could do; she swung down easily, leaping the last few feet to the ground and twisted to pop her back with a groan.

“The General wants—”

“Yeah, yeah. Where is he.”

The other woman pointed and Vagabond set off, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and grumbling mostly nonsense to herself. People were rushing past her, hastily throwing on armor and saddling their horses. Vagabond couldn’t think of anything much past wanting coffee, but she reluctantly made her way towards where she could hear the General barking orders. “There you are! Grab some breakfast, you’re gonna need it,” he said grimly, tightening the girth of a powerful white stallion prancing in place in its excitement. Of course he rode a big white stallion. What else would he ride. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed before.

She did as she was told, snagging soup made of dehydrated vegetables from those in charge of tending the fire and food, and chugged it down with some tea—coffee had long since run out and was now a valuable commodity. That was fine. A splash of cold water had the same effect. Vagabond stepped into the bushes to relieve herself before heading to the nearby creek and did just that, wiped her face, and just stood there, staring into the darkness of the early morning forest.

Her mind returned to the thought of simply walking away, never to return. Wouldn’t that be the life, to just… forget all of this was even happening.

Of course, she didn’t. Turning, Vagabond trudged dejectedly back to the chaos of camp.

The small army was assembled in no time flat. The General’s lieutenants pranced their horses in front of them, doing one last checkover, and she waited until he himself spotted her and spurred his own horse to her. “There you are—up you come,” he held out a hand, and she raised an eyebrow, blinking up at him. “Come on, don’t be shy! He’s a great ride,” he grinned at her, putting on all the charm, and she sighed and rolled her eyes before reluctantly obeying.

She settled in front him just behind the large pommel and stared listlessly at the gleaming armor adorning the stallion’s arched neck, listening idly to the goings-on around her, then they were on the move, winding their way through the trees at a swift trot. He was right; the ride was incredibly smooth despite the uneven terrain and the steed was obviously extremely well-trained. The General didn’t even need to use the reins; his horse responded to each slight shift and squeeze of his legs.

“What’s his name?” she asked finally, quietly.

“What’s that?”

“Nevermind.” Come to think of it, she really didn’t want to know the name of this magnificent beast, aware it might not even live to hear it again after all this. His arms, encircling her to lightly grip his horse’s mane, tightened slightly.

“It’ll be okay,” he lowered his head and murmured, quiet enough so others couldn’t hear, “I’ll tell you exactly what to do. Just listen to me, all right?”

“I,” his unexpected gentleness made her voice crack as the fear of the upcoming battle reared its ugly head. She gripped the pommel tightly. “I don’t want him to see me.”

“I won’t let that thing see you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

Vagabond twitched. “What do you even want me to do?” Or try to do.

“The Nowhere King’s army keeps growing,” he replied grimly. They both knew why. “We have to resort to guerilla tactics. I want you to move my troops from place to place, the way you saved us in the city.”

She bit her lip. “I’ll try.”

“You’ll do fine.”

“I told you, I don’t know if I can. It’s finicky, remember. I’m not the Princess.” She’d heard stories by now of his wife’s power; the crackling of red lightning; her ability to teleport at will. Honestly, it was an enviable ability. She could just snap her fingers and poof, be in another location. If only she could do that. Or, well, make her magic do things at all.

“I know. Have faith in yourself, okay?” He let go of his horse’s mane for a moment to pat her arm. “You can do it, I know you can.”

That didn’t really fix things, but she knew she couldn’t change his mind, so she didn’t argue. She changed the subject. “Is this like… a big battle?”

“You could say that. Reports indicate the minotaurs are gathering at the Rift. I don’t know what he’s doing, but if we can attack them before they can carry it out, it’ll throw a wrench in his plan.”

Vagabond leaned forward a bit, resting her forearms on the pommel and lifting her butt off the saddle a bit. The metal and leather was starting to chafe her thighs. It was going to be a long ride if that kept up. The General shifted to let her move. “Why attack them when they’re all together? Isn’t that more dangerous?”

He chuckled. “Because what we’ve been doing isn’t working. Because if the majority are at the Rift, they won’t be strongholding the castle. Because if they’re gathering to attack Centaurworld, we might be able to get them from behind. And you’d know all this,” his voice lightened in amusement, “if you joined our daily meetings.”

She wrinkled her nose, realized he couldn’t see that, and snorted instead. He chuckled again and this time the sound reminded her of Elk when he indulged her dumb jokes.

There was really nothing else to talk about, so the line of soldiers wound through the forest then over open ground, the silence only broken by murmurs every now and again. No one dared call attention to themselves. Vagabond would have slept on the way, but her buzzing nerves kept her awake. The magic laced with everything around her and she could see it, choking the threads of the world with his rotting presence.

“Gabby,” the General whispered. “Stop.”

Belatedly, she realized she was humming the lullaby. She swallowed hard and forced herself to stop. It didn’t help that it repeated in her head, over and over, a constant drone hovering in the atmosphere around them, deadly and comforting. Hush, now…

The silhouette of the mountains that held the castle drew closer, backlit by the unhealthy gleam of the Rift’s green light beyond. The General lifted a hand, picking up the reins of his horse to guide it to a halt. Behind them, the rumble of hooves stalled. He swung his leg over and dismounted, then held a hand out for her; she took it and let him help her to the ground, then leaned on him briefly when her tired muscles threatened to give out. He gave her the reins of the horse to hold and turned to confer with his lieutenants. It was a useless gesture; the stallion would not move until its master said so.

She stroked its muzzle as she waited, fishing in her pockets for the dried apple slices she had stored away. It lipped them up greedily and she wiped her palm on her pants.

“Okay, Gabby,” a hand descended on her shoulder. “Time for you to shine. We need to take them by surprise.”

Vagabond closed her eyes, let out a slow steadying breath in an attempt to calm her pounding heart, and stepped forward.

This was her chance.

She only had one shot.

~

Centaurworld magic was chaotic and ever-prevalent across the Rift; it saturated the land and its inhabitants. Time wasn’t as linear as it was on Earth, but for those who lived there it made perfect sense. Their whims shaped the world, time itself, and even their own bodies. It was no wonder anyone who stayed there for long enough was affected and began to change.

The same could not be said about whatever passed as magic in the world of humans. Whatever had affected Vagabond was somehow less predictable than the silly, bouncy hocus-pocus of centaurs. Perhaps it was because magic was less prevalent here and it took more effort to make it work. Perhaps it was only because she was human, and magic needed a different kind of being not yet known to wield it. Whatever the reason, she fought with it, wrestling her desires into a desperate sort of submission and begging it to just do as it was told.

The army split up and Vagabond promptly lost track of where everyone was. The General ordered her to send a troop to a certain location and she tried to obey. She didn’t want to send people to their death and that made it near-impossible; the magic tried to send them far away and she had to drag them back. Soon everything fell into complete pandemonium as the opposing forces realized what was happening and the battle began in earnest. Vagabond shied away from the fighting uselessly; she was in the middle of a contingent and they wouldn’t let her leave or see what was going on. She couldn’t see; the pain behind her eyes took over and she responded only to the General’s barked orders.

“They’ll keep the tunnels guarded. Send them into the throne room while the monster’s distracted, they can hole up in there.”

Gods, no.

“Up on the battlements! Gabby, we need people up there to take out archers.”

Vagabond.

“Steady there, Gabs!”

Vagabond.

“You four, keep her safe and out of sight!”

She staggered and pressed her hands to her head, wanting nothing more than to flee this hellish landscape and leave the screams of the dying and damned behind. A hand wrapped around her arm and hauled her to feet. “I can’t do this. I can’t—General, please—”

“Sorry, can’t hear you!” he called back over the din of animalistic roars and the clash of steel. “Get her hidden,” he spoke to someone else and she was grabbed again, dragged to the side and thrown behind a rock as the dark oily mass writhed over the castle and slid across the sky towards them.

“There you are, little worm,” he purred, and for a terrifying moment Vagabond thought he was talking to her. His voice effortlessly rose above the chaos of the fight. “Haven’t tired of gifting me fuel for my army, I see.”

“This ends today,” the General snarled, his own voice almost swallowed by the noise.

“Does it? Are you finally going to strike me down? Come now, we both know you’re only making a scene for your pets. Don’t you want to settle our differences like adults?”

“And we both know,” his counterpart panted, “that you’re full of beans.”

Vagabond’s mouth twitched despite herself. He almost sounded like his species of origin.

“Mm, perhaps. Perhaps I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself. But you’ve squandered every chance I’ve given you, so probably not.” His tone was casual and distracted, as if the General was beneath his attention. Vagabond pressed her face into the cool stone and closed her eyes, considering showing herself despite her earlier preference. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if her old friend would react with delight at seeing her, or murderous rage. She had run off on him, after all. “Kill all you want,” he continued, his voice and presence moving away. “It only entertains me.”

The soldiers, she realized, were distracted; they were fending off minotaurs and no one was looking at her. In a moment, before she could remember she didn’t want to be seen, Vagabond leaped to her feet and scrambled to the top of the rock, just as the Nowhere King’s mighty antlers swung around as he took one last glance back.

He saw her immediately. Despite all the chaos unfolding around them, he froze, eyes locking on the one person standing stock still and staring right at him. She felt ice seize her limbs, her heart skip a beat; what was she doing? His jaws began to open, wider and wider and wider , and Vagabond’s breath choked to a halt and she forced herself to move, jabbing a finger towards the light of the Rift while holding his gaze. Go! She mouthed.

She hoped to the gods above that he would understand, and, impossibly, he seemed to. He paused. His mouth shut. He shifted his attention back to the General and spoke again, oh-so-mockingly. “You are after the Key, aren’t you? Going to try to steal my prize? Come and get it, then.”

“No way in hell am I going in there,” the General bellowed back.

Oh, yes you are. Vagabond leaped back down the rock and pressed herself into the ground, pleading to whatever deities existed that he really did understand, that he wouldn’t come closer and out her. But the thick, heavy presence of his vicinity slipped away. She closed her eyes and delved into the magic with a renewed sense of purpose.

This time, they were in accord. All she wanted was for this all to end. Elk had said it himself: they were to join, or they were to die. She didn’t want him to die and she sure as hell didn’t want anymore suffering, so there was only one way out of this. Vagabond joined in on the deadly lullaby pervading the environment at last, and let both her and the Nowhere King’s true wishes become known.

We join or we die.

Then, she thought, gripping those threads in a careless frenzy and throwing caution to the wind, join with him, damn you!

The vibrations shuddered in the air and traveled down their lengths towards the General, and in an instant, she both felt him be thrown through time and space and heard the sudden distressed cries of his troops at his disappearance. She curled herself into a fetal position and prayed to the gods of her homeland, ignoring that they likely wouldn’t bother reaching out to her so far away.

“Get up!”

Blinking stars from her eyes, she lifted her head and focused on a blood-spattered knight, helmet gone, breastplate dented and hanging from broken straps. The man’s eyes were wide and red-rimmed and strained and he heaved in air. “We’re retreating, get up, get up!”

She scrambled back to her feet and darted through the battleground around them, followed closely by the rest of the survivors. Those who still had horses galloped by, slicing a path through enemies for their comrades. Vagabond couldn’t see anything past those around her. The thunder of feet, hooves and cries from allies and enemies both clogged her ears. She stumbled, nearly fell, was hauled back to her feet and kept running. Then there was even more chaos as fighting erupted once more; a wave of minotaurs crashed into the line of soldiers. Vagabond ducked under someone’s arm and wove through the battle, curving back around towards the castle and the Rift beyond.

A minotaur spun to look at her. She faltered, looking up past the dark helm into the creature’s eyes; it snorted and turned away. Oh, good.

A horse flailed its hooves and screamed at a reptilian minotaur and she recognized the General’s white stallion. She’d snatched him right off the back of his horse and the animal, terrified at the sudden change, had immediately reverted to its basic training and instinct as a large, powerful prey animal. The minotaur glanced over at her, and she waved as she danced around the rearing animal. Its ears pricked towards her and its nostrils flared as it took in her scent. Throwing caution to the wind, Vagabond leaped into the saddle—and nearly fell off the other side. The stallion shifted under her and she realized it was trying to keep her under it; taking this as a good sign, she grabbed the reins and jammed her heels into its sides.

The speed of which it took off nearly knocked her right back onto the ground. How was she so good at riding Elk yet so terrible at riding a horse?! Righting herself, she pulled the reins in a desperate attempt to control the galloping animal. It responded reluctantly, then with more gusto as she continued to give it more orders, and soon they were thundering across the landscape alongside the mountain towards the Rift on the other side.

She was glad the wall of the city still remained intact. She didn’t think she could lay eyes upon the ruin that was once the booming economic center for miles, the home of thousands.

The Rift was within view and growing larger by the second. She was racing against the clock; there was an urgency that drove her to kick the horse faster, heart pounding, gasping for air, eyes watering from the wind and knuckles bruising against the stallion’s neck armor—she wasn’t used to the metal that lined its crest. The magic pouring from the Rift burned into her brain. The horse’s hooves splashed against black ichor. It got thicker the closer they raced, and it was forced to slow to yank its hooves out of the sticky tar, huffing with exertion. Time seemed to slow. The Rift was right there, right there—

The explosion sent waves of both magical and seismic origin rolling through sky and ground. Her steed reared and stumbled, sending her flying despite her desperate scramble to stay a-saddle. The sheer intensity of it all blanked out her vision and the force of which she hit the ground knocked all air out of her lungs.

For a while—she wasn’t sure how long—she lay there, and thought she must have been unconscious. But, eventually, her eyes could see shadows again, and then shapes, and she could breathe, so she rolled over on her side and pushed herself shakily to her hands and knees. The ringing in her ears slowly faded. The snorts and whinnies of the warhorse finally reached her, and, casting her gaze around, she saw a figure lying a ways from her crumpled on the ground.

It was the General, she realized immediately, and, knowing that, his horse was nudging and huffing at him. She saw him raise a shaky hand and pat its muzzle. 

And then she realized that while she could see shadows, she couldn’t see light. And after that powerful magic wave, the magic had cut off.

She couldn’t feel Elk’s presence anymore. The air was empty.

Slowly, Vagabond rose on trembling legs, unable to process what had happened. Elk was gone. The General was here. Elk was gone. The General was here, and Elk was—

The connection between them trailed from the figure on the ground, who was now also pulling himself upright and leaning on his horse. It stretched and disappeared into infinity toward the darkness where there was once light. Vagabond stared, uncomprehending, as the General swung up onto the stallion and turned it towards her.

She didn’t acknowledge his existence until the large white animal blocked her vision and he spoke, his voice cold and tense. “Didn’t work the way you wanted it to, did it.”

Slowly, Vagabond’s gaze traveled from the silent door up to his face. There was a deep cut over the bridge of his nose and blood smeared his face. Her lips moved before her brain could catch up. “I thought you were gonna get the Key.” Bless her instinctive ability of avoiding direct confrontation.

He studied her, the warmth gone from his eyes, and then turned to look behind him. “Well, I didn’t.”

Fatigue was beginning to weigh on her limbs. Her eyelids threatened to droop. In the back of her head, a dull pounding began. “The door…?”

“Closed. Forever.” A short silence. “The Nowhere King is trapped.”

She struggled to respond. “Oh,” she said simply.

Her gaze returned to the darkness of the cave. She could feel him staring at her, and with a jolt realized they were totally alone. It would be easy, so easy, for him to do away with her, and claim the minotaurs had done so; it would stop that thorn in his side from digging any further. He’d be free of someone he might not be able to truly trust.

“I suppose it’s for the best,” she said quietly, in a last-ditch effort to save her own life, and turned away from the cave and the oppressive darkness beyond. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

A deep release of air whooshed behind her. The hooves clopped after her and drew alongside, and she grabbed the saddle as a dizzy spell threatened to knock her over. “True. He can’t make any more minotaurs. We can mop up.” A pause. “Come on, you look like you’re about to pass out. We can’t stay here.”

Blearily she took his proffered hand and struggled to assist him in bringing her up to sit in front of him again. She was so, so tired.

“Are you okay?” she asked wearily when settled and he’d urged the horse into a canter.

“I’m all right. He tried to use that thing on me, but he failed.” Oh, “it” was “he” now. She wondered what had really transpired between them. “And then…” he hesitated. “And then, I guess the Key was overused. It exploded.”

“An’ you were knocked back here.” Vagabond leaned backward against him heavily, eyes closing. “How… How d’you know he’s trapped?”

“It was the last thing I saw. He couldn’t get to either door in time.” Another pause, longer this time. Vagabond didn’t ask him how he knew where to go and he didn’t seem to care to try and explain. His horse had the smoothest canter she’d ever known, and the rocking was sending her to sleep. “We’ll regroup, and then you’re gonna help fix this mess.”

She’d barely avoided death, she realized hazily. Though uncomfortable, the little speech she’d given when they’d first found each other again had tied into her current actions. She wasn’t a soldier and he knew it; she could claim she thought she was only doing what they’d previously agreed upon. “Okay.”

He could still kill her, do away with an unknown, but her magic made her indispensable. Maybe he’d kill her once they’d secured the castle. Or maybe he’d continue to use her during his own reign, once he got his wife back.

“The Princess?” she murmured.

“Still in Centaurworld.” His voice tightened. Oh, the Princess was well and truly stuck now.

“The Key?”

“Stop worrying about it. He can’t get out.”

Vagabond allowed her eyes to close. That wasn’t what she was worrying about, and he probably knew that. There was nothing she could do about it right now, though; she couldn’t even keep awake, much less try to think of a plan. “I need you to promise something, though.”

Oh no.

“Gabby. Wake up.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled.

“You need to promise you’re going to try and fix all this. That means following my commands to the letter, understand?”

“I…”

“This isn’t time for your free-spirit thing.”

Fuck it. She’d failed to help Elk rejoin his other half and find peace, so she couldn’t go anywhere, anyway. She’d just have to be extra sneaky. But that was for when she was awake; for now, she just needed to keep herself alive. And that meant bending to the General’s will. No one would disbelieve him if he said she’d turned out to be a traitor and he’d had to put her down. It wouldn’t even really be a lie.

“Yeah,” she said again, blankly. “I promise.”

“Promise what?”

“Promise to help fix things.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that.”

You don’t need to, she thought to herself, as she finally gave in to a tumultuous half-sleep, slumping between his arms. I’ll stay. I promised him.

I’m such a fucking sap.

Chapter Text

If he didn’t let her go far before, it was nothing to what he was like now. The first thing he did when they arrived was assign her a pair of guards—for her own protection, he said, but she knew better. They were there when she woke and stayed with her all day, switching shifts midday and midnight. Climbing trees didn’t help; they stayed at the base. Sneaking away didn’t work; they always knew where she was.

Being tied even further down led to more and more futile attempts of escape. “I just want some space to breathe,” she pleaded with him, when he had a moment to spare. “I’m not going anywhere, I just want some space!”

“The guards aren’t bothering you, are they?”

“No, but—”

“Are they interrupting anything you’re doing?”

“No, they’ve been quiet—”

He patted her arm. “Stop fretting. Just pretend they’re not there.” And he left her to attend to something else, probably far more important than she. Vagabond dragged her fingers through her hair and pressed her palms to her face, taking a deep breath. The man in charge of her remained silent, but she could feel his eyes, and glanced over. “I’m not mad at you,” she assured him, “I know you’re just doing your job.”

He relaxed minutely. The expression on his face though was stressed, wary; she studied him a moment before realizing what was going on.

Fear. He was afraid of her.

That couldn’t be right. She wasn’t someone to be afraid of. Did they all know of her ties to the Nowhere King? Were they just afraid of her magic? Vagabond turned away, feeling an uncomfortable churn in her belly. Their own princess was a magical prodigy apparently, why would they be afraid of some raggedy woman just trying to survive?

She was twelve again and people whispered. Her parents told her the threads were of her imagination, that there was no such thing as magic. Her grandfather snarled at them when he thought she was asleep and likened them to his own father.

The General called to arms the next day, and, hating herself, she heeled on command and tried hard to do as she was told. That day the waters of a nearby river, swollen with rain, heeded her call and flooded the plain, turning dust into mud and slowing their attackers while archers rained flaming arrows down upon them. At some point after that—she’d long lost track of time—a plea for help came, and they rode out to a rocky outcrop. Eager winds writhed and kicked up sand to blind the minotaurs. It hurt, and she was sick for days afterwards, but the General clapped her on the back and praised her. The soldiers came forward and swallowed their fear and thanked her, and it was almost worth it just for a moment of belonging.

She managed to slip away and her legs returned her to the forest before her mind caught up, the one place she could be that welcomed her. Except now there were people in the trees—people she had saved, who she had trained, who now looked at her with suspicion. Leaning back against the ragged stump behind her, she closed her eyes and hummed softly that lullaby she could no longer remember the words to, trying to remember at least the smell of her mother’s wool sweater.

She was thirteen, and her grandfather followed her into the woods and held her close and told her of her great-uncle, a man who never spoke, who saw things like she did and who was ostracized by their father. He’d loved her so much, he said, but died years ago before she could even form memories. Grandfather would talk to her parents. They were just afraid, he explained, and hugged her tight.

The magic caught in her throat and rippled behind her closed eyelids.

Do you hate me?

What? No!

What I just did doesn’t scare you?

…I’ve seen some crazy shit too.

Hush. Hush now.

Her skin prickled. Her head buzzed. And someone called out to her, grabbing her arm, shaking her back into the present. Vagabond tried to lunge to her feet, her brain automatically sending her into flight mode, but stumbled on legs that were on their way to falling asleep. She fell to her knees with a squeak and rolled over.

“Whoa, hey now!”

Glaring up at the guard now hovering over her, Vagabond struggled to pull her tingling feet out from the awkward position they’d fallen in, trying to slow her breathing. “What?” Shoving herself up, she sat back on the rock and rubbed her shins, scowling up at him. The guard took a step forward from where he’d backed up, holding out his hands carefully. Vagabond raised an eyebrow, then rolled her eyes. “Gods damn it all… what am I, a startled horse? What d’you want?”

“You,” he started quietly, then seemed to remember himself and straightened. “I’ve been looking for you, you… let’s go, the General needs you.”

“We just got back. He doesn’t need me,” she replied irritably. Man, she was hungry though.

The guard was staring at her and she squinted at him in the gathering dusk. “You’re not gonna leave till I go back to camp, are y—” and then she realized what she should have before and choked to a halt. Dusk. It was dusk, even though they’d gotten back just before noon. She blinked up at him for a moment before continuing, injecting as much cheer in her voice as possible, “Did I fall asleep? It’s late, damn, okay, I’m coming.”

Of course she was tattled on as soon as she arrived. The General found her and stood in front of her after she’d sat down for dinner, folding his arms and glowering like a disappointed father. “Where did you go?”

Vagabond slurped up the spoonful of soup she was holding up to her face and squinted at him. “The woods. Think I fell asleep out there.” She took another bite. “I didn’t nap at all on the ride back.”

He glanced at her guard, who said quietly, “I found you in a spot I searched a hundred times.”

“Then you’re really bad at finding people, huh.” Unconcerned, she tipped the bowl to gulp down the last of the broth. Too bad Elk wasn’t here to share, he would have liked the mushrooms. “And now I’m gonna continue that nap. G’night.”

“Gabby,” the General warned. She waved him off and got up to wash her bowl. “Sleep in a tent tonight.”

“Prefer trees,” she grunted, brushing by him. His insistence was making her skin itch.

“I don’t care.” The steel in his voice made her pause. “Tent, tonight.”

She only allowed for a slight hesitance in her stride as she went to wash up, considering the possible ramifications of refusing before giving in with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t worth the argument, or whatever he had planned for her disobedience.

So she slept in a tent that night, and then realized very quickly she was expected to sleep in a tent every night after that. She swallowed her indignation and obeyed; he was watching and she knew damn well she was still on thin ice. Before she could make another move, before she could plan at all, he needed to relax his guard a bit.

She was fourteen, and her mom brushed her hair away from her eyes and encouraged her to be patient. They loved her very much. Give them time. She was held close and the lullaby whispered in her mind.

Time ticked by. The weather grew colder again and, given the amount of cleared land and lack of foliage the wind was doubly frigid, the ice sunk deep into the earth so it was completely impossible to dig into for latrines or fires. Tensions ran as rampant as the minotaurs. Food became scarce. There was only so much Vagabond could do to help; almost everything was burned down and whatever was left had long been frozen.

She, herself, knew how to survive, and did the best she could to teach them: hornbeam still existed, dropping their seeds constantly, and both they and the scattered maple trees provided sap for desperately needed calories. Along with the scattered seeds and sap, she resorted to stripping one side of trees for their bark. Boiling snow to make water, she managed to scrape up some dirt and create a paste to help the stripped side keep from freezing the tree to death. It was a long shot, but one that was worthwhile. Pine needles helped ward off scurvy and served as makeshift herbs for hot tea. It made people feel more human.

They were grateful, of course. It helped ease the suspicious glances she received here and there. But it wasn’t enough.

She heard the whispers. Saw the glances. Stripped of their civilization, people were falling upon old superstitions. Magic was becoming the mark of the beast; no one seemed to even remember—or maybe they were purposely ignoring the fact—that their queen-to-be was a being of magical properties. Either that, or they also partially blamed her for their downfall. Vagabond was all too familiar with how this particular cookie had a habit of crumbling, so she remained out of the way, quietly assisting when needed and responding to the General’s every beck and call.

At first, the General rallied his troops, ready to make another full-frontal push on the castle, but that soon petered out and he switched tactics to long-term survival. No matter how many minotaurs died there were always more, and they had the advantage of a fortress. So many villages had been torn apart and so many people had fled the region entirely, hoping to find greener pastures far away, that it was nigh impossible to gather enough forces for another all-out attack. The creatures were well and truly entrenched and loath to give up their stronghold.

It was as if the gods had decided to punish the humans for their sins. That first winter was the worst Vagabond had experienced in a long time. Each time the sky opened up and blasted them with even more ice and snow, chances for frostbite and hyperthermia skyrocketed. It was difficult to keep fires lit and the constant movement to keep warm led to sleepless nights, which brought only deeper resentment and shorter tempers.

Vagabond of course remained on the outskirts as she was used to, away from silent stares and hidden mutterings. She felt fifteen again, ghosting around the forest and making footprints in the sand near the shore, flitting in and out of childhood games. Adults and peers drifted in her radar, all friendly, but none coming close enough.

She had adapted quickly to the change in weather as she was wont to do; she was a survivor, and didn’t need as much as those used to city life. So once again she hovered just beyond the light of fire, just close enough to feel the heat but not enough to be noticed. Her guards had all but abandoned their posts. She’d told them gently that there was no way she’d leave with the weather the way it was; it would be a death wish, and neither of them needed any further convincing to stay near the bonfires.

No one seemed to care. Vagabond pulled her arms into her shirt and hummed softly to herself. The magic in the air had faded with the Nowhere King’s absence, so it didn’t catch on as immediately as it used to; it was safe enough for now. If she were to be honest she could swear the fire dimmed every time she paused, and she was too tired to check her second sight to tell if that was true or not, so she kept it up just in case.

The whispers grew sharper and someone glanced towards her. Vagabond swallowed, the icy chill in the air a slice to the back of her throat, and stopped humming, unsure if it was the culprit of their suspicion. The fire faded. After a few moments they turned back to feed it and she decided now was the best time to turn in, heading for one of the tents that already held a few slumbering folks. Nowadays she preferred tents to trees anyway, especially since body heat was a welcome change to the open air.

She sat up for a while, staring into the dark and turning her carving in her hands over and over. Her throat buzzed with a low hum and she forced herself to stop, took a deep breath and lay down. It was pitch black and she felt like the tent was spinning above her. She turned on her side, then to her stomach, then to a fetal position tight against the tent wall. The cold at her back anchored her to the world.

Trapped. She was trapped, just like in the city. She was trying so hard to obey, and obey, and obey, and stay by the General’s side, even joining a few of those meetings he’d have with his lieutenants. Nothing could disinterest her more, but she did it anyway just so he’d grace her with a smile and think she was finally accepting her role. In return he’d been defending her honor, scolding those who muttered behind her back.

But there was no escape. The walls were slowly shrinking around her. The only saving grace, the only thing keeping her migraines at bay, was the fact that they were outside and society was by now a distant memory. And soon, even that wouldn’t be enough.

Let me out.

All she could think about was that night in the cabin in the mountains, and his tortured screams as he slammed his head against the door in hopeless terror at being trapped again. His babbling when he’d returned and the way he huddled against her and begged her forgiveness for hurting her. It was probably just as bad, if not worse, than that now. Vagabond knew what it was like in that blank silent white void and couldn’t imagine being trapped between worlds, suspended in time itself, festering in rage and hatred and alone in his thoughts. She had to get him out, and as soon as possible.

She was fifteen, and ran to the shore to escape, gazing longingly out at the horizon.

“See, Gabby,” the other half told her gaily one day, patting her gently on the shoulder; she’d lost stress weight and didn’t care for the rougher attention he showed his fellow soldiers. “You can be someone people look up to!”

Vagabond tightened her arms around her body and pressed her eyes closed. The General wanted to meet with her tomorrow. She needed her rest for his next demand. They’d been slowly ramping up, becoming more and more difficult each day, and his rein only tightened with each success, so much so she was beginning to consider failing on purpose so he’d leave her alone.

Let me out!

It’s for Elk, she told herself, pressing her face into her arms. Just remember, you’re playing the long con. It’s for Elk.

I promised I’d never leave him.

~

They lost people in the next big ice storm. Vagabond did what she could, lighting fires and driving away the snow from their camp with her magic, but she couldn’t be everywhere and it was inevitable that those who previously struggled eventually gave into the cold. Despite the pain that speared behind her eyes and the nausea that kept her up when she finally collapsed to rest, Vagabond nevertheless responded to every cry for help and every call for any sort of magical assistance. The General seemed pleased with her dedication, but pushed her further, demanding a magical bubble of sorts to protect them all from harm.

“I can’t do that,” she replied tightly.

“Sure you can,” he replied.

It was an inevitable failure, much to her relief, but that relief was short-lived—instead of backing off, the hammer came down.

“Don’t you want them to live?” he gripped her shoulders and stared at her in the eyes. Vagabond shrunk back against his grasp, trembling.

“I’m doing my best,” she whispered.

“People are dying, Gabby,” he tightened his hands. She supposed she could understand his frustration. Those were his people, and it was partially her fault they were in this predicament. She blinked back tears. “People who trust you.”

That wasn’t true. Despite her help their looks were those of wary suspicion. She didn’t know what else to do. She was drowning, and there wasn’t a hand to hold her above the raging sea of her decidedly dis trustful comrades. It seemed so very long ago that they looked up to her and praised her ability to survive.

“I’m trying,” was all her numb lips could utter.

“Try harder,” he replied, then gentled a little and sighed, releasing her shoulders. “Listen, I trust you. I’m sorry things are like this. I know you’re trying. I just don’t think you’re really tapping into the power you have.”

It wasn’t like that, she wanted to argue, but listlessly nodded instead; there was no use in protesting. She’d said it all before. He wouldn’t listen.

He wouldn’t listen.

Let me out!

“I only want what’s best for everyone.”

She was fifteen.

“It feels like you don’t really want people to live. Are you still helping him?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t you want people to live?” He repeated, and she nodded finally. She did. She did. She just wanted him to stop. Finally satisfied, the General gave her a cup of tea and let her sleep by his fire that night, wrapped in a blanket. It didn’t stop the whispers she knew were about her.

There weren’t that many attacks that winter, and none that caused any casualties. The minotaurs seemed to have also recognized the dangers of the icy tundra and remained in the safety of the castle. This unfortunately meant they also had an edge on those surviving the elements. Come spring the creatures would be ready to go, while the humans scraped and struggled to endure. So the General set them upon digging into cliffs and crevasses, shoring themselves amidst the landscape and sending the most vulnerable members into the few tiny villages that could support an extra mouth to feed. Vagabond did what she could, hiding their tracks and creating false leads. She didn’t need to use magic for that, to her eternal relief.

By the time the air lost its frigid chill Vagabond felt like a shell of her former self. She recognized this warning sign, this blast from the past, but there was nothing to be done. There was some respite in early spring, at least. Buds of new growth pushed through snow and icicles disappeared little by little with each drip in the next few weeks. Weeds like chickweed and clover grew where others could not, and they set about picking the tender shoots, digging up fresh dandelions and carefully watching out for emerging hibernating animals.

And then, once again, came the minotaurs.

“Rally yourself, Gabby,” the General told her, “we need you now more than ever.”

She was drowning. Her head hurt.

The first ambush, the earth cracked for her, boulders and gravel tumbling down the slope towards the minotaurs. The air whipped and roiled around them, confusing their senses, and they were cut down. Afterwards, she vomited, the image of the minotaur under a trunk gasping for air burning into her mind. She wasn’t meant to hurt people. She didn’t fight.

The next time he needed her the melting snow came to her aid, collapsing in melting droves and sinking heavy armored warriors into mud once again. One of them looked up towards her and she couldn’t help but think the expression was one of betrayal.

It’s for Elk. I’m sorry. It’s for Elk.

The walls were closing in. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe .

No one came near her now except the guards, and even they stood back as she went about whatever camp she was at. Trees weren’t even around anymore; they’d moved into hidden alcoves and caves, and she wondered if those who’d opted to disappear into the forest were even alive. Did they hate her, too?

Her head hurt.

Every day she hoped she’d see the glow of the Rift light up the sky, and every day she knew it wouldn’t happen. The world was dull and gray, and she almost wished she’d gone through to see the happy carefree land of the centaurs one last time before everything. Of course there was no guarantee that they’d fared any better; last she knew, the Nowhere King had focused his terrible gaze on his homeland to find what he believed was his one true love.

That fucking idiot.

Maybe she could reignite the Rift somehow. She knew magic, and the thing was magic, right? Was it in any way compatible? Maybe the Key wasn’t necessary. Maybe she could just… trigger the thing.

“General?” she asked timidly one day, when he’d sat and took off his helmet to eat. He was somehow just as cheerful as he’d always been, despite the circles around his eyes and the shadows under his cheekbones. “Um, about the… artifact… thing.”

He glanced at her sharply. “It’s lost, Gabby.”

“Yeah I know, but… I was just curious.” She stared at a lone ant crawling across the rocks and mud. “Like how… how did the Rift even happen if it needed something to open it? Did it just… was it just there, or did the centaurs open it, or…?”

He glanced at her sidelong. “Why do you think I know?”

She looked up from the ant, heart suddenly pounding, and tried to calm herself. “Um, because you’re the prince-consort and you’d know about that stuff? Right?”

He stared at her a moment before relaxing and allowing for a small smile, which helped her relax in turn. “True. There are a lot of stories about how the Rift opened, though, so no one really knows. Some guy claims he did it, some accounts say the centaurs did on accident because of their…” he fluttered his fingers, “...crazy… magic stuff… and some accounts say it was a magical explosion, or a naturally occurring phenomenon that was triggered by someone stumbling on the right ingredients.” He looked down at his helmet and rolled it around his palms, scraping at a spot with a fingernail.

She waited a few minutes so as not to seem so eager, idly looking for the ant for a bit before giving up. “So the thingie just kinda kept it stable, then.”

“Mhm.”

“Then,” she drew the word out, nervously, “why did it close?”

It was his turn to be quiet for a while. “I don’t know,” he replied finally, and she couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, so she decided not to push her luck.

She said “Huh,” and dropped the subject, but her mind was racing. She’d found out pretty fast that her magic wasn’t compatible with Centaurworld if the pain in her head was any indication. But the doorways were connected on both ends; maybe this side just needed a nudge. If only she could get to the Rift to find out…

Screw it. If any of this had taught her anything it was how to move a person from one location to another. Time to just do it to herself. She couldn’t stand much more of this anyway.

In order not to seem suspicious she had to wait a while after that conversation; she needed to regain the energy and weight she’d lost, anyway. As the weather grew warmer and food became more plentiful she focused on foraging, trying to remain as out of the way as possible. This of course was easier said than done. The General called her for every minotaur attack imaginable, and every time she used her magic she stripped away a little bit of the strength she gained. She was fighting a losing battle.

And then one night she woke and realized she had to go. Now.

She was drowning.

In a haze she swung her legs out from the cot she now used. Shoved her feet into the boots lying there and laced them up, tightening the wraps that were being used to hold the shoes together. Stood up.

The only light was from the flickering torches in the middle of camp. Vagabond headed away from them, stumbling over uneven ground. She heard the shuffle of movement, the whispered name—no, that wasn’t her name—calling out to her as her nighttime guard tried to intervene. It didn’t matter. What they wanted didn’t matter.

Her head hurt. That didn’t matter, either.

Belatedly she realized she was humming. The vibration in her throat buzzed in her mind and she threw her thoughts upon the wind. She needed to get away. Away. Away. Like it or not the song connected them now and it pointed her in his direction; she railed against it bitterly. It wasn’t his. It was hers. It was her mother’s.

“Gabby!”

She wanted to go—

“General!”

No. Not the General. Anyone but the General.

I wanna go home.

Everything folded around her, squeezing the air out of her lungs. And then it expanded, and she was somewhere else.

It took a few moments for her vision to clear. Vagabond sat hard upon the ground and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly in preparation for the pain that never came. A comfortable quiet, broken only by the quiet sound of the distant murmur of people and the lapping of waves, met her ears. Slowly she stood again, looking around in confusion. It was early night here, it seemed, wherever “here” was, and the buildings here were not of the same architectural origin as where she was previously.

Comprehension hit her like a bag full of stones. Vagabond rocked backward in horror, darting a wild look around at the gentle flickering glow of lanterns on houses made of adobe and brick, protected by the sea’s breeze by glass orbs. A word not English meaning Welcome was painted on the nearest door. She knew that language.

It was as if nothing had ever happened here and she knew that wasn’t true; these people were a resilient and stubborn lot and had simply rebuilt exactly what they’d lost. She would have expected nothing else.

But she couldn’t be here.

Vagabond’s chest contracted and she wheezed, silently screaming to the void that this was wrong, this was wrong, take her back, and just as the group of people she’d heard out for a nightly walk came closer she threw herself into her magic and yanked as hard as she could. This time, the pain was abrupt and jarring, but it didn’t matter; she couldn’t be here.

Run!

The scent of salt was replaced with soot and ash. Vagabond slid on dust-covered rock and flailed, barely managing to break her fall with her forearms instead of bones. Agony speared behind her eyes and she sobbed suddenly, utterly unable to handle what she’d just done. Nausea roiled in her throat and gut and she curled in a tight ball, covering her head with her hands, and drew in loud ragged breaths. Just as she thought she was calming down a scream ripped through her throat, muffled though it was through her forearms, and she finally lost the battle and heaved last night’s dinner onto her shirt and the ground.

It was anyone’s guess how long she lay there, panting and sobbing into the night. The world tipped and spun around her and it was hard to tell whether it was worse or better to keep her eyes shut. The sounds she made were the only ones around, echoing flatly in the silence. She wasn’t in the forest, but in the empty plains of the rocky battleground, the only trees now black sooty spiders waiting to disintegrate. The woman managed to pull herself to a sitting position and experimentally opened her eyes. It was a failure the first and second times, but on the third she kept them open albeit by slits, staring at the darkness in front of her and letting her vision adjust.

It was still night, that much was a relief; she hadn’t lain there for too long. Or done something weird with her magic. All the commotion though was bound to attract something; she had to get up.

She found her way to a rock and sat against it, breathing slowly and carefully. There was no moon out and the stars were few and far between; choked with dust and smoke, the atmosphere allowed very little light through to the ground. In the distance there was a slight gradient where the sun would poke its head out at some point and paint everything angrily red.

Vagabond’s head pounded, but she got up anyway on legs that shook threateningly to collapse. She was alone, and it was the first time in a long, long time. If she had any sort of plan now was the time to enact it.

Her head was pounding, but she was no longer drowning. The tide was receding. But if she knew anything about water, she knew that it tended to come back with a vengeance. A sense of urgency drove her to get up. Staggering to her feet once more, Vagabond began to walk, letting her second sight and the long-dispersed echo of the lullaby guide her way. Stars danced on the horizon and dried twigs crunched underfoot. Except those weren’t stars; they were torches, and presently the growls of minotaurs attracted to the magic and noise she’d made came into focus.

She didn’t even pause. They drew up to her aggressively, but she just waved, striving to slow her pounding heart and croaking out from a throat burning with stomach acid, “Just me;” and they paused.

“Vagabond,” rumbled an absolute mountain of a creature, and the others hissed her name like a chorus. Vaguely pleased and not knowing why, she nodded wearily and kept trudging. “I, uh,” she mumbled, wiping dried vomit off her face, “uh, just… I wanted to see… I need to get t’the Rift.” Gods, she was a mess. If she were any more lucid she’d be utterly disgusted, but it wasn’t as if she’d never been in a similar situation, and something urgent was directing her movements; she stumbled forward as fast as she could as if being chased.

Run.

It was because she hadn’t heard that name in so long, she realized as they fell into formation around her. She’d been called Gabby for so long she’d given up trying to correct anyone, but it felt so nice to be addressed as the name she’d chosen, and not the General.

Run. Run. Run.

She quickened her pace.

She was fifteen, and stood on the shore, watching rivulets of sand trickle through her toes. Eyes watched from all around, silent and invisible. Her father’s words rang in her ears.

Leave me alone.

The thought hit her just before the minotaurs began to snarl and turn; she stumbled along faster, panting and darting a look around as the crown’s call pierced the relative silence. Then that silence was gone as the sounds of battle took over. They were coming for her. He was coming for her.

Run!

She scrambled over rocks and slipped on loose dirt and cried out as her knee hit the ground and the skin on her hands split when she reached out to break her fall. Pain throbbed behind her eyes and she pressed bloodied hands to her ears, desperately trying to block out the noise and the throbbing of her pulse and the faint call of her name in a familiar voice.

Leave me alone!

The waters were receding far too quickly. There were invisible eyes on her. She began to hum her lullaby, her mother’s lullaby, his lullaby, tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes and her breath piercing the back of her raw throat.

Hush, now…

It was deep into spring and the chill of winter was just a memory, yet there was ice when she inhaled.

She was fifteen. She was fifteen. She was fifteen. She was fifteen. She was—

Hush now all of you little ones leave me alone hush now singing and laughter go away I’ll never hate you dreamless sleep hush now hush now hush now don’t you want them to live you will bring joy to the Nowhere King you owe them leave me alone just leave. Me. ALONE!

Her ears popped. Someone touched her shoulder and it was as if a firecracker had been set off; she screamed, jerking away from the touch and grabbing onto any threads she could find out of desperation. The sands stopped shifting underfoot. The waters dwindled. Those invisible eyes blinked.

When the ocean disappears…

Run.

Chapter Text

Everything shuddered. Something distant and nearly unnoticeable plinked like a single key on a piano, sending a wave of reaction through space and time. Threads snapped. The temperature plummeted. Vagabond opened her eyes to see white flecks decorating her hands and melting swiftly on the ground. Her eyes watered and she blinked rapidly, uncomprehending.

She lifted her head slowly, sucked in a breath and then realized with a swift sinking of her gut what she’d done. Snow and hail whirled and pounded around her and she scrambled to her feet, gasping and casting around for the source. Her eyes were dragged up to the sky, red as usual, then to the real reason the sky was glowing red in the dead of night. The snow reflected the crimson light from a slash in the sky, ripping wider and wider to let more and more of the storm through. It was wrong. It was wrong .

Ice hit her in the face and she stumbled back. Hail peppered the rocks, her body and she tripped again, landing on her butt and staring blankly up at the sky in expressionless, silent horror. The temperature continued to drop. The snow spun slowly at first, then faster and faster, until a column of white blocked out the red from the tear in the sky.

She’d asked, her magic had responded, and she had received.

The Nowhere King’s—no, it was hers, it was hers —lullaby vibrated in the sky. The storm spread wider, creeping its icy fingers across a land unprepared for the frozen song. It wasn’t red anymore, the light suffocated with dull gray and white, dumping subzero wind on human and minotaur alike. It happened so fast Vagabond had barely enough time to take two breaths, then her lungs seized up from the unexpected climate change. Then her mind caught up and she threw up her hands to shield her eyes and cried out.

Run!

Of course. This was the only thing she was good at; causing trouble and destruction, and it happened every time she stayed in one place too long. It would continue to happen if she continued to stay. So she ran, and she ran, and she would have kept running if she hadn’t come across a starving man in the body of an elk on the side of a river.

Why are you running from me?

She had to fix this. She had to fix it! How the fuck did she do this? It was insane! There was a fucking tear in the world and she was the one who’d torn it, somehow. She’d never done that before.

Hail bruised her flesh and she fought towards the storm’s epicenter, trying and failing to focus on the threads that were unwoven and broken. Tears froze on her face and she choked on snow. Stop. Stop! Please!

People were crying and calling out for one another. Minotaurs bellowed. Vagabond stumbled over the body of a reptilian creature, cold-blooded and dying. She bent to shake its arm. “Wake up. I’m sorry! Wake up!”

“Gabby!”

“No!” She shied away from the voice, barely audible in the howling winds, and charged deeper into the bottom level of hell. Ice crunched underfoot and slipped her up, causing her to bloody her hands even more as she threw them out against sharp, freezing stone. The pain didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but stopping the storm before it overtook the world—whether that would actually happen or not wasn’t the point; if she didn’t stop it, who would?

The song looped back around and she managed to catch a thread, holding onto it with all her mental strength and steeling herself against the instant piercing agony in her head. Somewhere in the sky she heard a faint voice, echoed by others: “So cold!”

What?

She didn’t have time to mull over it any further. The other end of the broken thread she held was there, and she seized it, desperately trying to take control of the unruly lullaby. One stitch, then another; her fingers were no longer bending at this point, but she didn’t care. People were dying. There was no escaping the reality of what she’d done. She wasn’t any better than the Nowhere King at this rate, lashing out when things got too tough and hurting those who didn’t deserve to be hurt. This is why she ran.

This is why you run!

Stitch by stitch. Thread by thread.

What did you do?!

I didn’t mean to!

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the hissing wind. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Maybe she should just… Vagabond lowered her head for a moment, considering for a moment the numbness creeping up on her limbs. Maybe she should just stop. Let the ice get the best of her, let the lullaby lead her into dreamless sleep. Maybe that would be enough to stop this. Everyone’s problems would be solved if she were gone. Without her magic to fuel this icy fire, perhaps the storm would end with her.

But maybe not. Without her magic, it might end, but it also might get worse. Without her magic—without any magic—to stop this unexpected blizzard, it could very well continue to tear across the sky.

She couldn’t hurt people.

She couldn’t abandon Elk.

Her promises dragged her on, further into the storm, until the wind lessened and the weird chant from up above began to fade. Until the blinding whiteness in front of her darkened back into pre-dawn. Until Vagabond found herself on the frozen-solid ground dragging in oxygen with labored heaves. The temperature slowly rose around her. Now that she was no longer distracted with what needed to be done, the pain came crashing down upon her brain like a wave. She shuddered and sobbed and coughed, but had nothing else in her body to vomit up.

She didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. It was still dark enough that no shadow fell over her; not that she would have seen it anyway with her eyes squeezed shut against the roiling agony. Her sinuses squeezed with the regulating pressure, adding a new level of discomfort, and suddenly she was lifted, cradled in arms, and carried. There was a low voice speaking but she couldn’t make out the words, and she wasn’t sure if it was speaking to her anyway. Dimly, she hoped it was a minotaur that was currently carrying her. Let them take her away. The Nowhere King clearly didn’t want her dead, or they would have killed her long ago. She’d gladly go with them.

Except when she came back to herself, bit by bit, and was finally able to open her eyes, she saw very similar armor on the arms wrapped around her. Her cheek rested on cold metal and the bristle of a beard grazed her forehead.

No. No, please.

Were there no more minotaurs? Where did they go? Had they all succumbed to the cold, or had the General been able to cut them all down? Or, worse, had the minotaurs simply run off and left her there to be found?

She wasn’t sure which option was the worst one.

Vagabond drifted in and out of consciousness, each shift and change in her environment jolting her awake and sending her flight response racing. But her limbs refused to move, and eventually she sank back into oblivion, plagued by dreams of receding waters, of knives, of haunted eyes and of crackling energy that shifted colors. Blue. Green. Red. Silver.

It was the silver that woke her. That gleaming thread, stretched into infinity but oh so close, burned through her closed eyelids until she raised them to behold the General crouched by her cot. He was working on something, the clanking of metal harsh upon her overly sensitive ears. Something cold and heavy dropped over her arm. Her wrist. It distracted her from the connection and caused her to experimentally raise her head. When the motion didn’t send nausea and pain shooting through her she continued until her eyes rested on the circle of iron clasped around her wrist.

A shackle.

She didn’t have the strength to pull at it. Instead, she watched him as he sat back to study his handiwork then turn towards her, jumping a bit when he realized her eyes were open. “Ah. Hey there, Gabs.”

There wasn’t enough energy to speak. Vagabond swallowed heavily, painfully against her dry throat, and looked back at the metal encircling her arm.

“Yeah,” the General said softly. “It’s come to this, now.”

She couldn’t even acknowledge that statement. Couldn’t argue her point. Honestly, she was surprised she was still alive. She would have assumed he would’ve ended her life the second he came across her. Why hadn’t he?

“I’m really disappointed,” he spoke again after a pregnant pause. Then, a sigh. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, studying her intently. “But I guess I shouldn’t be. I didn’t know I was pushing you hard enough to drive you away.”

Vagabond stared unblinkingly at him, disbelief causing her brow to furrow.

“You understand why I have to do this. My lieutenants are requesting your death. I promised I could control you. That I’d keep you under rein.”

Control. Control. Like an animal, or a weapon. It was so far from what Vagabond was, what she stood for, that she couldn’t comprehend what was coming out of his mouth. As if she were a dangerous untrained warhorse, with all the instincts and none of the direction.

“I know you can do better, Gabby.” He rose. “Even now, I’m counting on you to do what’s right.” He paused, studying her for a moment, and she tried to speak. The words only scratched her throat. “I’ll get you some broth.”

He left the tent. Vagabond finally tugged at the chain, studying the handcuff with mild interest. It would be easy enough to unlock. Right now she needed to lay low and hope said lieutenants didn’t convince him to put her to death in the interim that she was recovering. Wait until they lowered their guard, and slip away into the night. This time she had to do it right, without the panicked run and wild magic. She could do that. She’d done it countless times before…

The General returned with the promised broth. He helped her sit up and drink, and though it was a thin meager soup it replenished lost hydration wonderfully.

“Now,” he said with a sigh, easing her to lean against a pillow he braced against her back, “why couldn’t you have done all that ages ago?”

She considered her words carefully before lifting one shoulder in a weak shrug. “Didn’t… know I… could.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Her eyes snapped back to him, widening then narrowing in confusion. “I think you know you can do all sorts of things, and you’ve been holding back.” A pause. “Out of fear, maybe? Are you afraid of using that kind of magic?”

How was she supposed to respond to that? He hadn’t felt the resonation of something else responding to her magic before the sky opened up. Again, she was tempted to give the wrong answer, to let him end her life and release all the responsibilities she’d taken an oath to do. Things were so much simpler when she was out in the wilds with no one but herself for company, far from civilization and the very real possibility of hurting someone.

But, no, it was okay. She’d been in situations such as these. She just had to figure out how to play it. The General clearly trusted her a little, right? Otherwise she’d be dead right now.

“I’ve always been afraid,” she said truthfully, her voice barely breaking above a whisper. “Because… if I lose control… those things happen.” She raised her other hand to wipe grit out of her sore eyes. “I tried to tell you…”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore.” He rose and reached over to pat her shoulder. “I’ll take care of it, all right? We’re just gonna to do things a little differently from now on.”

Well if that wasn’t the most ominous thing she’d ever heard him say. Elk had said all sorts of horrible things but none of them had been directed at her, at least not seriously. And the General probably didn’t realize the sinister meaning behind his words. But a shiver rippled through her, and she averted her gaze. He left and she lay there silent, trying to think of a plan and failing. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs once again. The room began to turn above her, and shadows crept at the edges of her vision. Colors began to bleed.

Dimly, before she was forcibly pulled into unconsciousness, she realized she’d been drugged.

~

Vagabond was kept locked to that cot and given a round-the-clock detail; her food and water intake was strictly monitored and her chamber pot was emptied daily. Every evening meal was drugged. The chain was about half a meter in length, which didn’t give her much leeway to do anything, and she was stuck in that monotonous routine for so many days she lost count. The only thing it was useful for was weight gain and rest; the General didn’t ask anything strenuous of her and they only had to move camp once.

He joined her at least once a day and Vagabond strove to keep him interested; she chatted about miscellaneous things and let him lead the conversation. He asked about her past, about her family; she danced around the subjects as she was used to, making light of her travels and regaling him with silly stories of when she was caught stealing and how she’d get away. He wanted to know about the lullaby and her connection to it; unwilling to lie, Vagabond told him the truth. Her bitterness that the Nowhere King had stolen it from her and used it to further his own agenda must have leaked into her voice, because the General pounced on that information immediately.

“I should have known,” he nodded sagely, and when Vagabond cocked her brow at him he continued, “he’s using that song as a means to control you.”

“Uh,” she said.

“Don’t you see? He’s caught your mind in a net. You’re so dependent on that song that you can’t help but follow it.”

Well, that much was true, she had to admit. A memory of better times, that lullaby—words lost to time or not—was the only thing of home she really allowed herself to keep. Of course she clung to it with a fierceness she didn’t allow herself for anything else. Except, of course, her four-legged friend. Or however many legs he had now.

But she wasn’t being mind-controlled. She couldn’t be. She wasn’t a minotaur. She’d know. Right?

The General was watching her, letting the silence stretch out. Vagabond snapped her gaze back to him where it had glazed over into middle space as she lost herself in thought. “He’s not controlling me,” she said, as firmly as she could, but there was a tremor in her words, one that she strove to ignore.

Of course, he wouldn’t let her and of course, he heard it. “Are you sure?” he pressed. “Because that’s the only reason I can see you trying to help him all this time. Why would you stay with someone who murdered good people in front of you?”

What? She jerked, sucking in a breath. No! That had been self-defense. Sure, Elk had enjoyed every second of it, but it wasn’t as if he’d had any other choice. It had been either that, or be dragged back to the dungeons. He had to do it. He had to do it.

“You understand why I can’t let you out of here,” the General said gently when it was clear she wasn’t going to respond. “You have powerful magic that can help us, but I can’t let you use it to help him.”

He got up when her eyes didn’t refocus. “I’ll get you some dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” she replied numbly, “thank you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We need to put some weight on you.” He smiled back at her and left the tent, and she forced herself to choke down the potatoes he brought back, potatoes she knew were laced with sedatives, under his watchful eye.

He eased her back when the drugs took hold, and she felt him remove the small metal pin she’d found out of her opposite hand. Her last thought was, Damn.

When she woke next, both her wrists were bound. Vagabond didn’t call attention to it and neither did he. They both knew.

He’d at least traded the chain out for a longer one this time to make up for the loss of maneuverability, but that only brought the smallest amount of relief. The iron chafed at her skin and itched incessantly. The cuffs themselves were attached directly to one another, not by another chain, which made basic hygiene difficult at best and impossible at worst. She watched for another fallen piece of metal, or anything long and thin enough to explore these new binds, but they were far more careful this time. Her guard was only in long enough to deliver meals and empty the chamber pot, and he kept his gaze averted and refused to speak. She thanked him each time, still. Maybe it would help impress upon him that she was human.

Staring at the same four walls day in and day out drove her to the brink. Life continued outside her makeshift cell; she could hear people moving about and caught snippets of conversation. Each breeze teased her with the scent of freedom she wasn’t allowed to even see.

“Can I at least take a walk?” She begged the General finally and, to her immense surprise, he agreed, unlatching the chain from the cot and leading her out as if she were a dog on a leash. Vagabond didn’t care, at least at first. She was too grateful to be allowed to move and see things other than the damn canvas of her tent.

Pretty soon, though, she began focusing on the people around her, and recognized the looks of distrust on their faces. Her stomach dropped as her heart rose to her throat. Oh, no. No, no, this was wrong, it was as fundamentally wrong as the ragged half of a soul who walked beside her. She averted her eyes and kept them on the ground instead, then the sky, then the layout of the camp, anything but the cold, fearful expressions of people who once turned to her for help.

Before she knew it Vagabond’s shoulder brushed the General’s, and he paused in surprise. She stopped alongside him and unconsciously leaned in further, all but huddling against him. His hand rested on her opposite shoulder and she started, glancing once at his gauntlet then his breastplate. “Oh,” she mumbled, and went to step away. “Sorry, I’m not… watching where I’m going.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, and didn’t let go, keeping her right where she was. “Gabby, listen, it’s okay.”  He squeezed her shoulder. “I know this isn’t ideal. I’m sorry.” He lifted his head and she peeked up to see him frowning, brow hooding and lips thinning as he cast his gaze around. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, Vagabond saw people previously staring at her duck their heads and move away. Relief and gratitude loosened the knots in her shoulders. The General returned his eyes to her and smiled reassuringly. “We’ll get there, it’ll just take time. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, allowing a spark of hope to kindle in her chest.

“But no more escape attempts. Got it?”

“I didn’t try to—” He raised an eyebrow and she flushed, remembering the pin. “Um, right, yeah, sorry. Habit.”

“Out of curiosity,” he went on, finally releasing her shoulder and starting their walk again, “is that why you thought about taking the jail cell?” Vagabond cocked her head, confused, and he clarified, “When we first met, I gave you the choice of work or jail.”

“Oh! Uh, guilty.” He glanced at her, not quite smiling under that beard of his, and she felt her face flush. She went to spread her hands in a wide shrug, but couldn’t for obvious reasons, and allowed herself a disarming grin. “I figured I’d be able to just leave, you know? It’s not like I haven’t broken outta places before.”

“Right,” he drawled. “And go find the beast.”

She wrinkled her nose, her grin fading. Beast. Well, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t right, at least not anymore. A beast her friend had become. She couldn’t deny it. All the atrocities he’d wrought, the violence and death he’d unleashed… he’d been driven to insanity, but his actions were all his own. Beast, indeed.

Gods help her, she still ached to bring him back.

The General was looking at her, and Vagabond perked up, smiling again. “Well, yeah! Hey, I didn’t know he was doing all this.” She gestured around them with both hands, then shifted her hands around to scratch the itch that burned her wrists.

“I know you didn’t,” he allowed, watching. “I kept that from you on purpose. I thought it would be better on you if you didn’t feel obligated to find him.”

That was actually very thoughtful, and she blinked in surprise. Unbeknownst to him of course she’d already both made a promise and become emotionally attached, and thus had already been feeling obligated. But he’d been trying to spare her the pain? It had been wrong, but it was the thought that counted, right? “Oh,” she replied simply, unable to think of another response. He didn’t answer, but she could feel his satisfaction.

They completed the rest of their walk in relative silence. Vagabond put on the brakes the moment they reached her tent, and the General placed a hand between her shoulder blades and gently propelled her inside. He hooked the chain back where it belonged and she slumped on the bed in defeat. Well, she’d made progress. And he’d hinted that she’d be let out of the chains at some point. If she couldn’t get out on her own, there was always that.

A scant few days later—who was she kidding, she couldn’t tell time anymore—she was dragged unceremoniously out of the tent by her guard and tossed up on the back of a horse, her chain locked onto a loop of the saddle and the horse’s reins tied to the General’s stallion. “Sorry for the short notice,” he called back to her, nudging his own steed into a trot, “the minotaurs are attacking a village!”

Oh great. Dread sank deep in her gut, but she didn’t have time to think; they were off, charging across the bleak gray landscape. It was all she could do to hold on.

The battle was nothing but chaos. Minotaurs poured over the hills and into a hapless village, grabbing, chasing, cutting down and burning. People were screaming. Vagabond was yanked along via horse, and someone yelled at the General: “She’s on that bastard’s side, what is she doing here?!”

Her. They meant her. Vagabond swallowed hard and shrunk in her seat; the General pulled her off the horse and snapped to whoever had yelled, “I don’t want to hear another word!” He dragged her to the hillcrest despite her useless pulls against the chain and leaned down to say quietly to her, “Now’s your chance to make it up to us.”

“I-I don’t—”

“Do me proud, Gabby. Prove them wrong.”

She froze. There was no choice, then. Do this or die.

Hush, now…

That wasn’t how her magic worked. But there was no use to even say it. And, when it came down to it… it was either the minotaurs or humans. Creatures who were filled with the Nowhere King’s hatred and will, or people who had no idea what was going on other than the world was ending, trying desperately to save their loved ones. And when she thought of it that way, Vagabond had no choice.

This was going to hurt.

All of you little ones…

The iron grated against the tender skin of her wrists. It drove her to distraction. She pressed through, activating the threads that flickered in her second sight, and they began to pull and vibrate. They fought her control, sending waves of pain through her eyes and pressure on her sinuses. She wasn’t sure what was happening down on the battlefield, only that she knew she had to save the people attempting to flee.

The General’s presence around her remained, holding her up when she drooped and squeezing her arm when she faltered. “You’re doing good, Gabs,” he murmured lowly at her, and she gasped and blinked back tears of exertion. The wind down below had picked up, whipping sand in the faces of the attacking forces, giving their army time to circle around and pinch away the survivors to safety. “I think you can let go now, we’ve got it from here.”

He eased her into a sitting position and shouted for someone, gave her one last pat on the shoulder and headed off to join his men in the attack. Someone else grabbed her chain, their shadow dropping over her, but Vagabond didn’t move to look. It didn’t matter.

“How’d you do that?” the soldier asked timidly, and the woman just lifted one shoulder in a useless shrug. She didn’t know. She never knew. She hadn’t even asked for what the magic did, she just didn’t want those people to get hurt. If she’d had her way she would have just sent the minotaurs back to the castle and the humans somewhere—anywhere—safe, but there was no way to control the wild magic that coursed through her veins.

But they didn’t listen. No one listened.

No one but Elk had ever listened to her.

The mop-up took no time at all thanks to her help, the General told her later on the way back. He rewarded her with sitting at the fire that night, chain hooked to his belt, and she sat quietly and unobtrusive next to him as they joked and laughed and glanced sidelong at her. He considered the socialization the reward, but she just savored the crackle of the fire and being under the stars again. Eventually, though, all good things come to an end, and soon she was being tugged back to her tent. She was so exhausted at that point her dinner that night wasn’t laced with sedatives—likely to ration them properly, she reasoned, though it didn’t matter; she fell asleep immediately anyway.

It felt like she was in the city all over again, except now she had zero freedom to roam. Vagabond had been in similar situations before and had escaped them, but with each passing day the possibility seemed to shrink exponentially. There was nothing in her tent to pick the lock of her shackles. Everything was closing in around her again, and every night was plagued with nightmares and headaches.

The only time she was allowed out was to use her magic, and on the occasional lucky breaks where he took her for a walk. She wasn’t allowed to hum her lullaby; when she tried, the guard summoned his leader and the General scolded her for the attempt.

“You only need to use it to protect our people,” he said firmly. “You can break the habit, I know you can.”

“It’s mine,” she argued weakly. “The lullaby is mine. I don’t remember the words but—”

“It has words,” he interrupted, making a short chopping motion with his hand. “The song is his now, remember? He stole it from you. You didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And you need to keep it out of your mouth unless I tell you otherwise.”

He very rarely was that angry with her, so Vagabond shrunk back and stared at the ground. The General lowered and gentled his voice. “If your magic wasn’t activated by the damn thing, I wouldn’t care. Everyone has that tune in their head. But no one else can kill people by singing or humming it, only you.”

Vagabond nodded. It was understandable, she reasoned. It had been different when she was in the woods by herself—or with Elk. Before all this happened, she could ignore her second sight, and the lullaby was just something to occupy her time and calm her down if she needed it. The second she met Elk his rage and hatred and rotten threads had stained it, changing its shape to something far more powerful and sinister. She hadn’t realized at the time that was what was happening, but it had, and her magic was now more dangerous and wild than it ever had been before. It made sense the General didn’t want it anywhere near his troops.

“Good,” he said after a minute of silence. “Do you want to take a walk?”

Like an under-stimulated dog. Of course she said yes, knowing all too well what he was doing and no longer caring. Anything to get out of the damn tent.

It was a feat unto itself to keep herself from humming. She tried to change the tune into something else entirely, trying to remember one of the many songs Elk had sung, but it always morphed into her lullaby. She tried to remember the steps of one of the dances she’d taught him; one of the last good memories she had of them together, but the thought of him smiling and laughing only hurt and she couldn’t move far enough from the cot anyway.

They had to move camp again. Vagabond was blindfolded, not that it did anything to stop her from knowing where she was. She didn’t need her eyes to know where the sun was, or what direction the wind came from. Eventually, the scent of pine edged the smell of dust and soot, and Vagabond smiled at the welcome change. They’d headed northwest, and there were trees nearby; she lifted her head and flared her nostrils to catch more of it.

The rumble of hooves overwhelmed most other sounds. Vagabond allowed the lullaby to croon under her breath, taking solace in the familiar tune as she rocked from side to side atop her designated horse. She didn’t need to do anything to direct it; it was tied to the General’s steed, so she tried to relax and enjoy the rare feel of the sun on her face.

Northwest of their previous position was an old ransacked town. The humans had either been killed or fled and the minotaurs had taken everything of value so for the moment it was safe. Vagabond allowed herself to be taken into some larger building she couldn’t tell the function it used to have. She wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d taken her into a prison, but she was actually given a room with a bed and a window. What luck! Looked like she was moving up in the world.

Day in, day out. The weather was cooling again. Vagabond made sure she obeyed orders to the letter, afraid of losing her window privileges. In the back of her mind she knew she was playing into his hands. But there was nothing to do but toe the line and hope she had a lucky break. She found every scrap she could and checked it with the manacles; there was a loose nail in the bed frame, but when she pulled it out it had been broken and nowhere near long enough to use.

The General still came to sit and talk to her. She was grateful, and looked forward to his visits. No one else talked to her.

Walls. Shackles. Drugged food. Winter. Magic. Headaches, pain. Her wrists cracked and bled. She was allowed to clean them, and was given a long sleeved shirt to tuck under them for protection. She made sure to thank them profusely.

Spring. Battles. More magic. Nightmares. She came to one night and realized she was being restrained; she smelled smoke, her hands hurt and blood soaked her clothes. The last thing she remembered was hanging her head over the edge of the bed to increase blood flow and ward off a panic attack, and later they told her she’d been found slamming her bound hands against the edge of the bed frame, yanking at the chain so hard she’d sliced open her skin and humming the Nowhere King’s lullaby until flame began to lick at the corners of the blankets. The image of his burning eyes and leering skull was overlaid atop everything, and as it slowly faded she wasn’t sure if it had been a dream or if he’d somehow reached out from where he lay trapped.

They pulled her out of the room and the General, having been woken to deal with the situation, came in and took her outside to get some fresh air as the guards cleaned the blood and put out the fire.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered to him when she could speak. “I don’t… I don’t remember…”

“It’s okay,” he soothed, “it just means we have to adjust things a little.”

No. No. No.

“I wanna go home,” she said, her voice cracking. “I want my mom.”

He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher, but she didn’t even try; she bent her head and shook and cried and he rubbed her back silently, clearly not sure what to do or say. Eventually her tears ran out and she just sat there, drawing in ragged breaths. The General urged her to her feet and brought her back inside. Her shackles were removed to wash and bandage her hands. She stretched her shoulders but didn’t try to pull away as they were once again locked around her wrists.

And then he sat her down on the freshly-made bed, and regarded her solemnly. “I didn’t want to have to do this. But I think it’s necessary now.”

No. Whatever it was, she wanted no part of it.

There was a box on the floor and he opened it, then quietly said, “Hold her still.”

The guards came around from behind him and grabbed her arms. Vagabond twitched and shrank from their rough grip, eyes darting around in alarm. The device he pulled out of the box and unwrapped from what looked like an oiled cloth was black and shone dully in the moonlight filtering from the window. He approached and in one smooth movement hooked it over the back of her head, and swung the other half down over her face.

Metal met her lips. Vagabond yanked back, eyes widening in realization and horror. The metal rods grated against her teeth and she had no choice but to open her mouth and let the scold’s bridle enter, leaning back as far as she could and locking her eyes with the General’s in a panic. He avoided her gaze, slid a lock into the back, and with a click her fate was sealed.

“I’m sorry,” he said, standing back up from where he’d been forced to lean over her. He still wasn’t looking at her. The guards released her arms and she brought them up to claw at the metal mask, teeth clicking on bars that reached almost all the way back to her throat. He gazed out the window behind her and she shook her head wildly, guttural sounds coming from her throat in an effort to get him to look at her, look at what he’d done. “This is preferable to what my lieutenants want, you know.”

What, death? Death was preferable to this. She shoved her fingers under the iron bands and pried at them desperately, but the only thing he did was direct the guards to lock her chain shorter this time.

No one looked at her. “Try to get some rest,” the General called over his shoulder as he turned to leave. “We’re going to need you soon.”

Her choked wail followed him out. And, finally, Vagabond realized there would be no escaping this hell.

I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.

Chapter Text

He stopped visiting. 

She knew why. He didn’t want to see the cruelty he’d wrought; just like when he caged the other half of himself, he was loath to even acknowledge his part in it. Still, Vagabond silently begged him to return, having lost the only person who actually would speak with her and look at her like a fellow human being.

But that time had ended. She was now lesser-than, and thus no longer worth his attention. Whether or not he still liked her—and that was debatable, if he ever had—didn’t matter. 

Just like her.

The prongs inside her mouth were long and thin and shaped like a tuning fork, making it physically impossible to speak or hum without vibration and pain. They bruised the back of her soft palate and forced her to drool; unable to close her mouth entirely, she soon became used to constantly wiping her face of dampness. The metal around her head chafed and rubbed, and she ripped pieces of her blanket to shove under them for a tiny amount of relief.

They had to remove it three times a day for meals, of course, which made it all the worse. It meant that they took one look at her, listened to her quiet pleading, and shoved it back on her face over and over again, day after day. She couldn’t even refuse to open her mouth. If she did, it would only crack her teeth with the force of being inserted anyway.

Magic was all but snuffed out the moment the bridle was locked on her head, which was the only part of it all that brought relief. The threads of reality vanished from her eyes and the nightmares stopped—though only to be replaced by new kinds of torturous dreams, ones that only reminded her of a life she once had. Dreams of freedom and the wind, of forests and running, of a tired cervid face that pressed against her chest for comfort, of that same face smiling at her antics and rolling its eyes at her stupid jokes. Dreams of her mom, and her dad, and the peace of waking up to the smell of the ocean and an extended family she’d never see again. Dreams of her first real lover and their soft kisses.

Those were the worst kinds, because then she woke to fresh torment every morning, weeping at a life lost until, eventually, the tears refused to fall and she stared blankly into middle space. The window gave her fresh air and sunlight, but she couldn’t reach it, and soon lost interest anyway. What was the purpose of looking if she could never partake in its freedom?

The village was found again, of course; this was an inevitability that they’d prepared for and it took no time at all to pack up and move. The General managed to get his people out with minimal casualties—with her help, of course. He had to remove the bridle for her to have any chance at magic, and Vagabond just did as she was told. She couldn’t even pay attention to what her powers did, only that he was pleased afterwards. That was enough.

After that she was unceremoniously stuffed into a covered wagon. Apparently not allowed to ride a horse on her own anymore, she was transported to their next location, where a tent was once again her home. She wasn’t sure why; she was still capable of riding even so bound. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want the minotaurs to know she was there. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t bear to look at her long-term. Or perhaps he didn’t want the majority of his people to see what he’d done to her.

Whatever the reason, Vagabond soon began recognizing that there were only three people aside from the General who were allowed to handle her directly. His older and most trusted lieutenants, she assumed. They had assistants with them sometimes. Adolescents. Said adolescents wore armor like full-blown soldiers, themselves, as ungainly and ill fitting as they were. A sign of desperate times. People were dying faster than the army could replace them.

Seasons shifted and changed, but she no longer kept track. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She didn’t matter.

One night after a particularly nasty battle she became separated from the General, albeit only for less than a minute. Blinded by the agony of causing pain to others and free from the bridle, Vagabond stumbled around in the dark until the eyeshine of a minotaur gazed down at her, huffing and sniffing at her until those eyes brightened in recognition. She looked up at it and whispered, “Help me,” and it stepped forward, snorting and hunching down to peer into her face.

“The Key,” it said, but she blinked at it dumbly, mind churning to catch up. She’d almost forgotten about that thing. Wasn’t it lost somewhere?

“S’gone,” she mumbled. “Boom.”

“A piece of it,” it labored, as unused to speech as Vagabond now was, and she blinked rapidly. The Key. The Key. A memory bloomed: the single note chiming in her mind far away before all hell broke loose. The small rift that let in a storm, and the voices she heard beyond it. A piece of the Key, right, that made sense. Somehow.

“Where?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” it replied, and looked at her expectantly, silent and waiting for direction. For orders. Realization hit her like a ton of bricks and she struggled to make her brain work. Her senses were weak from her torture, but vibrations still thrummed in the air, and she cast whatever strength she had left to them with a single purpose.

Plink.

Her knees buckled. She barely caught herself. Tremblingly, she lifted her arms and pointed. “That… that way. A-Around a kilometer?”

“Gabby!”

“Go. Run,” she whispered, and it obeyed immediately, turning and fleeing into the night just as she was swarmed by soldiers. She swallowed painfully, turned, and mumbled, “Can I ‘ave some… water?”

They ignored her, dragging her away by the chain until she stumbled and fell, and a familiar voice spoke out as the General lifted her back to her feet. “There you are,” he said. “I was so worried.”

“Water?” she repeated pleadingly.

“Yeah, of course.” He handed her his canteen and hustled her along. “Where did the minotaur go?”

Vagabond splashed the water against her face and managed to swallow some of it as she was pulled along. “Ran off.”

“You were talking to it.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?” he asked tightly, impatient.

“Told it to run.”

He handed her off to one of the people allowed to handle her. “Get her going, we have to move.”

“Where’s the mask?”

“I thought you had—ah, nuts.” He cast about frantically. “Must’ve dropped it in the chaos. I have an extra, we don’t have time to look.” Turning, the General jabbed a finger in Vagabond’s face. “Do not,” he said firmly, “do not cause problems. I don’t have time to deal with you.”

“Yessir,” she muttered, and allowed herself to be shoved into the carriage. Oh, happy days, she was going to get an extended period without that fucking bridle. Maybe if she was very good she could convince them to take her shackles off too and let her take a bath. Vagabond folded her hands as best she could and braced herself against the sudden rattle of the cart as they took off.

That was when the reality of her current thought process caught up, and she shuddered. If she were good? How had it come to this? What happened that she now begged at the feet of her captor, eagerly waiting to cater to his whims, and glad when he spared her the briefest moments of acknowledgement? Vagabond’s tongue was swollen from constant abrasions and her skin was dry and cracked and bloody from his captivity. Not exactly the marks of benevolence.

Had Elk felt this way? No, he couldn’t have, she reasoned, lifting her arms to press her hands against the ceiling of the carriage as they went over a large bump. No, Elk had given himself to rage and the promise of vengeance. He was stronger than her. He would have never let himself become a pathetic pleading mess like her.

Elk. She hadn’t thought of him in a while. The real Elk, the one she’d met one peaceful autumn day in a river as he shuddered and keened his pain to the trees. She tried to remember the feel and smell of his fur, the comforting weight of his head when he flopped it onto her chest and knocked the air out of her lungs. The warmth of his body curled around hers in the winter. Memories wavered and flickered into nothingness, leaving Vagabond feeling cold and alone all over again. What about the couple who’d sheltered her at the reindeer farm? Had they survived? Had they gotten out before the war reached them? Their faces slid from her grasp too, as well as their names.

No one was watching or listening now. They could have crammed someone in the cart with her to make sure she didn’t try anything, but apparently they were in too much of a rush, leaving her alone for the duration of the ride. She felt her chapped throat catch the song again. The battle had sapped what strength she had, but this time she didn’t need to concentrate. Just her, and the lullaby, and the way it was supposed to be—soothing, quiet, her mother’s voice that she no longer remembered.

A voice that twisted, and warped, and whispered to her. She was free for a moment. Couldn’t she do something about it?

No, no, she didn’t have the power. Or the energy.

Oh, but it would be so easy. Pluck those strings, call for aid. The world would respond, it always did. Break the horse’s legs, break everyone’s legs. Crack the earth asunder and bring forth whatever secrets it held, whether it be magma or groundwater or long-dormant seeds or old gods waiting to be woken. Make them pay. Make them all pay and seize her freedom.

The air inside the carriage contracted and the pressure began to build in her sinuses, her ears popping. Fresh blood trickled from her nose, a bleed she’d only recently stopped. Vagabond whimpered. It felt like her head was being split in two—not something she was unused to, but it hurt all the same, and on top of that she fought the urge to follow the demons hissing in her ear. 

Make them pay. Make them pay. It would be so easy.

She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t hurt people.

Oh, but it would be so—

Plink!

—easy—

Magic flared in response to hers, but it wasn’t hers. Vagabond blinked, distracted from her intrusive thoughts, and tried in vain to pinpoint the source. It seemed so very familiar. The carriage bounced and, unprepared, she whacked her head on the ceiling, which interrupted the deadly inner monologue. The heady atmosphere dissipated. Horrified about what she may have done if not sidetracked, Vagabond slid off the seat and huddled on the floor in a fetal position, covering her head and neck from bumps. She wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t a fighter.

She wasn’t Elk.

Finally, at long last, they screeched to a halt. Horses whinnied and voices swelled outside the cart. The doors swung open and someone sighed with relief—probably because she was still inside. Oh. Oh, she could have transported herself somewhere. Or, tried. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

Because all her strength had dissipated with fighting the darkness trying to take hold. And then, in the split second before she was pulled from her transport, Vagabond recognized that rotten thread that had attempted to tangle itself with hers. No wonder Elk had given in. No wonder the Nowhere King had been born. It would have been so easy.

She still held the canteen, and she chugged the rest of it when they reached her tent. “Can I take a bath?” she asked when the liquid loosened her throat enough for speech. “I’ll be good.”

The Lieutenant hardly glanced at her, hesitated, then responded, “I’ll let the General know.”

“I’ll be good,” she repeated softly, sitting as nicely as she could on the edge of the cot. Oh, she was so tired. So drained. She hurt so much. So much. But the ache in her neck from the weight of her muzzle was gone, at the very least. As short of a time that would be.

It took a while for the General to arrive, and Vagabond snorted awake from where she dozed when he shook her arm gently. He looked as exhausted as she was, and there were a few bandages wrapped on various parts of his body. He hadn’t just directed the battle, he’d been in it. “Hey,” he said quietly, and she blinked at him.

“Hey,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“My Lieutenant said you asked to take a bath. It’s gonna have to wait till morning, I’m afraid.” He leaned down and unlaced her shoes. Oh, she’d forgotten to take those off. “But I think you’ve earned a night without the bridle.” He smiled when her eyes widened, and patted her shoulder. “Remember, you said you’d be good.”

“I’ll be good,” she said again, nodding determinedly.

“That’s the spirit.” He rose. “Get some sleep, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Mkay. G’night.” She drifted off again, savoring the conversation, as brief as it had been, where he looked at her and spoke as if to an equal. It was disgusting, really, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. Whatever was left of her energy had long since drained away.

She barely heard his “Good night,” before she slipped into slumber, trading the nightmare of the waking world for dreams of white walls and screaming.

~

Vagabond half-expected him to forget or renege on his promise, but to her pleasant surprise, he did indeed allow her to bathe and even got her a change of fresh clothes. She thanked him for the basic human decency, as was expected, but her mind was wandering back to the exchange with the minotaur. The Key. That was what started it all so long ago, wasn’t it? That was what she needed, what she’d tried to find. Delicately, she tugged a few strings, searching for that piano-key-sound from before, but nothing doing. Where had it gone?

There was no time. Not after long she was back in her tent and a new mask was being fitted over her head. She didn’t fight it. There was no use. Her magic sliced from her mind as soon as the metal touched her skin, as if meeting the cold edge of a blade.

This one, she realized immediately, had been modified. There was a strip of leather under the iron, providing a bit of cushion, and the prongs of the bridle were much thinner and shorter and even took a different direction. Instead of assaulting her front teeth they hooked around her molars like a horse’s bit and stretched forward instead of back. She was unsure whether she preferred this new model or the old one, and worked her tongue around it. It stretched the corners of her lips back uncomfortably and made her keep her mouth open further to avoid bruising the very back of her jaw, but the points no longer jammed her soft palate. There was even an extra piece, a collar to hold it all together more securely.

An extra one, he’d called it. Like he just had one lying around. What a load of bullshit.

He left after adjusting it to his satisfaction, hooking an extra chain between the shackles and the heavy ring that hung from the collar. What was the point of that, she wondered, but off he went, hurrying off to deal with something or another without a backwards glance. Her guard peered in to make sure she was locked up correctly, then shut the tent’s flap.

Back to the grind, then. Vagabond let her mind drift to emptiness once more. Nothing else to do. They’d never even let her have a journal.

Not for the first time she wondered if her old friend would come to find her if he ever got out. How funny, that she’d set out to save him, and now hoped he’d save her. He probably didn’t even remember her anymore, depending on how insane he’d gone. Either that or he’d let the bad memories override the good and would kill her. That would be okay. She’d welcome that. At least her death would be at the hands of someone who used to care about her, instead of the hands of those utterly apathetic to her plight. It might even be painless, considering he’d promised once never to hurt her. Did he keep his promises the way she did?

“...So just make sure it’s locked every night. The General says she’s great at getting out of things like this.”

Hm?

“We’ve never had a problem, but that’s because we double-check every day.” Her head rang when someone rapped a knuckle on her bridle, and she grunted and cracked an eye open in irritation. There were people in her tent. She’d drifted off or lost herself in daydreaming. Had she had a meal since the bath? It was hard to tell. There were two people standing by the side of her bed. “Whatever you do, don’t let her sucker you into feeling bad. She’s dangerous. I’ve seen what she can do up close.”

Oh, fuck you.

“Yessir. But she can’t eat with that on, can she?”

“No, of course not. Meals three times a day. Sometimes we gotta drug her dinner when she’s bein’ restless. We used to do it every day, but we gotta ration it now.”

Someone new, then, being trained on how to properly look after her. Not interesting enough to pay attention. It happened from time to time. She closed her eyes again.

“Can she… hear us?”

“Oh, yeah, she can hear an’ see just fine. Hey, wake up!”

Irritated anew, she opened one eye again and glared at the two figures hovering over her. One of the Lieutenants, and an unfamiliar face. The Lieutenant pushed at her shoulder, snapping his fingers in front of her face, and with a huff she shoved herself into a sitting position. Only then did she notice the plate in the young man’s hands. Feeding time.

He was taught how to open and close the bridle, and then she was allowed to eat. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” the Lieutenant told his apprentice, “make sure the bridle’s locked up and I’ll check your work.”

And as soon as they were alone, the other man whispered, “Tori?”

Vagabond didn’t respond at first, having blocked him from her mind as she ate. Then the name nudged a memory, and, brow creasing, she raised her head to look at him. Tori. Tori. Tori. Oh, gods.

Her eyes locked with his and she blinked slowly. He did seem vaguely familiar.

“The town,” he continued, low enough so his voice didn’t escape the room. “We worked together in the tavern. The talking deer went nuts.”

She fought to remember his name. The server. The nice boy who’d said he wanted to travel with them. He’d spoken to Elk directly… he was grown now, with a thin beard and aged wrinkles that didn’t belong. How in the world did he figure out who she was? “Yeah,” she replied, simply.

“They call you Gabby here.”

“Vagabond,” she mumbled, then shrugged wearily. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What happened?”

“That doesn’t matter, either.” She bent her head back to her plate and continued eating. “I don’t matter. You don’t matter. Nothing matters.” She finished and held the plate out to him.

He took it. “Was the deer…”

“Elk.”

“The elk, was he… did he… is he…”

“The Nowhere King.” She blinked back tears. “Couldn’t save him. Tried.”

“Oh.” He stared at her, then, hesitantly, put the plate on the bed and reached for the bridle. “I’m sorry.”

Vagabond shrugged listlessly and finished wiping her eyes. He hesitated, staring at the contraption, and whispered, “I don’t want to.”

She felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. It felt so strange. “‘Preciate it. Y’don’t gotta choice.”

He grit his teeth and carefully lowered the metal over her face. She accepted the bit into her mouth and he locked it in place, then took a deep breath and locked eyes with her. “I’ll fix this,” he said, quietly, firmly. Vagabond smiled a little again as best she could, then patted his knee indulgently. He was just as adorable as before.

The Lieutenant came back then to check and make sure the mask was secured, then taught him how to lock and unlock the chain from the bed frame. Vagabond sank back into her stupor and rolled over as best she could to block them out. And then she was left alone.

Time was a fickle thing. There was none where she lay. Meals didn’t even do it anymore; she had no way of telling which meal was which. Light was too diffused through the canvas of the tent for her to tell what part of the day it was. Vagabond didn’t even smell the soot anymore, it was so prevalent. It rained a few times, and the tent leaked a little, but that was okay. Sometimes she woke and it was pitch black out, and she guessed it was night. Very occasionally she was allowed out to take care of basic necessities. The man now assigned to her brought her a chew stick and let her use it after meals to help clean her teeth. She didn’t talk to him anymore, though he did try a few times. He was sweet, but she didn’t want to get him in trouble and lose a kind caretaker.

It got cool enough for them to bring in heated stones for her cot, which was nice. She cuddled them and dreamed of leaning against a furred body on a silent, starry, frozen night, steam curling from the breath of a man who tucked his nose under her arm.

And then, one night, it happened.

The explosion of light and power in the distance activated her long-dormant flight instinct, forcing her to leap out of bed and wrenching her arms against her binds. She yelped and, panicking, momentarily forgot where she was, the magic forcing itself through the bridle and ringing against her brain. The nausea hit her immediately after the pain, and as the guards burst through at the noise she was making, thick spittle dripped from behind the plate over her mouth and tears streamed from her eyes.

Thankfully they didn’t ask many questions, just unlocked the bridle and pulled it off before she could vomit in earnest, which she did, gasping and heaving and uttering swears in languages she’d thought she’d forgotten. “What the fuck!” she yelled, voice cracking and burning her throat. “What the fuck was that!”

A shudder rippled through their feet then, and it wasn’t from her. It was some sort of aftershock from… something in the distance, something that clanged in her mind as if someone were banging on a piano without any sense of rhythm. Vagabond blinked rapidly, coughing out the rest of the phlegm and hanging against the chain, closing her eyes against the dizziness.

And then, far away, something whispered, and she knew immediately what had caused the magical explosion.

Crawl through the in-between…

The Rift was open.

The Nowhere King had been freed.

She was cleaned, given a hasty early meal, and locked back up. Vagabond strained to listen to what was going on outside, but they’d drugged the food for the first time in a while and she was forced to sleep.

When she woke… nothing happened.

Her routine had not changed. No one came to visit. No one came to talk to her. Even the nice man with whom she’d once shared work and laughter long ago was trembling and silent when he came in, eyes downcast. Vagabond didn’t try to ask, afraid she’d frighten him away.

She expected the General to at least come see her, if only to make sure she wasn’t trying to get his nemesis’ attention or something, but he didn’t. She was kept in the dark despite her itching desire to know what the hell was going on out there. It was the first time since she’d accepted her fate that she was actually aware of time passing, and pass it did at a crawl, driving her mad with the monotony. Still, she knew better than to seem too eager. While death did not frighten her, she did want to at least see her old friend one more time before she met her demise.

Something was different one day. She blinked up at the new face feeding her, and asked, “What ‘appened to th’other guy?”

The young woman kept her gaze averted, as if afraid Vagabond could bewitch her with a glance. She didn’t respond right away, and, assuming she wouldn’t at all, Vagabond let the subject drop. But after she was safely in her scold’s bridle her question was answered. “Taken,” the apprentice said, and hurried out.

Taken. Taken to become a minotaur. Oh, no. He was at it again.

The war would never end. Once upon a time she’d scoffed at the General’s words that it would threaten all of mankind. Now it seemed completely feasible. There would be no one left if this went on. The Nowhere King was determined to commit complete genocide, if not by death then by creating an entirely new species. And then what? Rule over them like the king he’d crowned himself to be? Finally kill his nemesis and end his own life?

She was moved abruptly one day from her tent. A battle, she assumed, but instead she was brought to another location and shoved into what seemed to be a dark, damp cave with a hastily-built stone wall at the entrance. It was pitch black and cold, and she was given a blanket to keep warm. Her eyes asked the guards what was going on, but no one said anything, just sealed her away into the darkness.

This was where she would die, she thought; alone in the freezing darkness, unable to run free or even smell freedom ever again. It suited the General to put her here instead of killing her outright. Out of sight and out of mind, she was now also out of time.

This was fitting, though. Vagabond had decided long, long ago that she was no longer permitted to feel at home ever again. She wasn’t allowed to bemoan what happened to her. It only made sense that this was how she died.

She curled into a corner. Her chain wasn’t attached to anything right now so she had free reign of her tomb, and found a semi-comfortable place to settle in and wait for the end. Eventually, she sunk into a numb lethargy, mind wandering into the pleasant place between wake and sleep.

Muffled sounds outside the heavy door and the shivering of the ground roused her. Vagabond lifted her heavy head drowsily, blinking and vaguely annoyed at being bothered. The sounds faded, then started again abruptly, louder and closer this time. Dampened as they were through the blocked entrance she recognized them to be the signs of battle, having heard them countless times before. A fight, so close? They’d been found, then. Well it wasn’t as if it mattered—

The door exploded open. A massive minotaur towered in front of her, eyes gleaming faintly green, then it whirled with a roar and lunged at whoever had begun to attack it. Frigid air whirled in with the scent and flurries of snow.

Vagabond struggled to her feet, shaking out the pins and needles, wandered to the now useless door and then through it, edging past the minotaur currently engaged with two human soldiers. She regarded them with faint interest, then turned to face the outside. It was beautiful. The sky was overcast and it was impossible to tell what time of day it was. Snow drifted lazily across the landscape, covering everything in a pristine sheet of white.

The sounds of battle filled the air but she ignored them. There wasn’t anything she could do anyway, not with the bridle on. Instead she turned away from the screams and howls of violence and headed for the hills and cliffs in the distance. They beckoned to her, the breeze tugging at her hair and her feet and her skin as if taking her by the hand and leading her on. Vagabond followed silently, sucking in the cold air through her nose and ignoring how it froze the spit and blood on her face. The wilds were out there, filling her senses with the sweet perfume of freedom.

No one seemed to notice her casual escape, so she just kept walking. Far in the distance, a path wound its way up into the cliffs. She followed it as if in a trance. Gradually the sounds of battle faded and the snow muffled the dragging of her chain.

Something behind her was filling the air, darkening and thickening the atmosphere with its heavy presence. She struggled to climb faster. She didn’t want any more of this, didn’t want to be pulled back into suffering and pain and imprisonment. Her near-forgotten promises were the only things keeping her from simply stepping into open air and ending it all.

The snow got heavier. The air got thinner. Vagabond’s chest labored. She stumbled and tripped over rocks, weeds, and her chain, but kept going. Her arms seemed to weigh more and more each step she took, and her neck ached; her head hung at the end and throbbed in pain.

There was no telling how far she’d gone or how long she’d been walking; all sense of time had died years ago. Whatever was behind her was humming. It filtered flatly through the snowfall. Vagabond’s feet hit relatively flat ground and the incline ended and she faltered, pulling herself in a few more meters before collapsing on the ground. The vibrations got louder and ragged breathing joined in, coughing and hacking wetly. Vagabond turned towards the sound, sinking to her knees, and stared out into the white abyss. The path ended here. She was mildly surprised to see no bridge at the edge. For some reason, she felt like there should be one.

“Why are you running from me?” a deep voice penetrated the white wall ahead of her.

She lifted her head slowly, painfully. The metal was frozen to her skin and pulled at the movement. The chain that hung from her collar was so heavy. Darkness crept to the edges of her vision.

Two glowing sparks flickered in the whirling snow. A shape formed around them, at first nearly invisible, then as the twin flames dipped closer she could make out the dripping deadly form of someone she cared for dearly, someone who now no longer resembled the man she once knew.

They regarded each other in silence. The Nowhere King loomed over her, hanging silently in the empty space beyond the cliff. He looked around slowly, past her, then rumbled, “I remember this place.”

More silence. His eyes returned to her. One long spindly leg unfolded from where it had been twitching under him, and rested on the chain now lying limply on the ground. It scraped dully as he dragged it towards him, yanking her arms out in front of her, and he stretched his neck until the smell of rot overwhelmed her and tar splattered from above. This close she could see snowflakes hissing into nothing when they touched him; the billowing smoke of his rotten breath. His eyes stared into her soul and hers gazed back with hollow emptiness.

He sank lower and his darkness curled outward, reaching for her. He traced the manacles and the scold’s bridle, shocking her skin with his heat, and encompassed her head. Vagabond expected them to cover her entirely and suffocate her, but there was a sharp click that echoed through her skull, and then the bridle was being pulled up and away. She worked her jaw and swallowed heavily.

Her wrists suddenly felt lighter and she looked down to see the Nowhere King’s tendrils withdrawing as the shackles hung in midair. He inspected them, then the bridle, eyes narrowing, and she heard only the echo behind his voice hiss in her mind, “And he calls me the monster.”

He lowered the contraption to dangle it in front of her face. “This vile thing,” he said, “will never touch your skin again.”

Vagabond blinked blearily, unable to respond. She felt oddly warm. Despite her heavy clothing her body was frail, and no longer able to handle the subzero weather. Dimly, she knew she was shutting down.

And, suddenly, she was being lifted into the air. She sank into something sticky and wet and hot that slid under her clothes to settle against her skin. It was deeply uncomfortable, but she had no energy or desire to struggle. Very close to her, a bony white countenance turned to look down at her face, and the scrape of teeth ran over her hair. Her tender scalp, despite the numbness, burned, and she flinched and whimpered softly.

“Hush now,” he murmured. “And rest, little one.”

Vagabond’s eyes closed. They were flying, whipping over landscape covered in white, and the icy wind was unbearable.

“Rush, now…”

She sank further into the darkness, sighing quietly as her body adjusted to the temperature change. The warmth now wasn’t made of danger, but refuge. The rotten sludge around her that spelled death for any who dared cross him instead cradled her gently and shielded her from the cold.

“...into the middle of…”

She felt…

“...nowhere…”

Safe.

Chapter Text

Fever plagued her, causing maddened dreams and sweaty broken sleep. She was only marginally aware of her brow being mopped with a wet cloth and the shock of ice being pressed against her body. When the dreams got bad her mother hummed their lullaby, her voice oddly deep and echoing, and sometimes her father spoke to her in the same tone, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying. She talked back sometimes but had no memory of what she said even as she said it. Once or twice she half-woke standing in an open space, like a large hallway or room, blinking in vague confusion before someone came to get her and take her back.

She was trapped again, obviously. She’d never escaped the torment, had only dreamed it. Maybe she was still in the cave and these were her last moments before death. Maybe it had all been a fever dream. Maybe she was still fifteen and nothing was real. None of it had happened.

Then something thick and black would drip onto her and the smell of decay hit her face, and she was brought back into the reality that was her life. Sometimes her fingers would graze something hard and rough and she would hold on as tightly as she could until it was gently removed from her grip.

Deep into her fever, she dimly felt herself be lifted and carried. Then wind and cold pummeled her overheated body and Vagabond writhed weakly in the arms that held her, gasping in discomfort as her half-naked body was forced to endure what could only be described as a whiteout blizzard. They stayed out there for what felt like forever before a voice she knew rumbled out, and she was carried back in.

Things got better after that. Her sleep was deeper, her dreams mellowing and her mind catching up faster each time she was woken to eat or be cleaned.

It was night when she woke abruptly, fully, and stared up at the flickering battle between light and dark far above her. The low snap-hiss of a dying fire somewhere in the room was nearly drowned by the howling of the wind outside. She couldn’t see much from her vantage point; it was impossible to even tell the size of the room.

Her body failed her when she attempted to sit up. Carefully, on shaking forearms, Vagabond pushed herself inch by inch towards the head of the bed until she achieved a slight incline. It didn’t do much. She still couldn’t tell where the hell she was.

It took her a while of backtracking and pulling up hazy memories to piece together a story. They’d been attacked. She’d been shoved in a cave. The minotaur… the smell of freedom… walking, cold, snow, and… him.

He’d come for her. He had come for her; he had set her free; he had brought her here. He had saved her. The rush of emotion and realization was so intense that she gasped out loud, hands flying to her face—hands that were bandaged, that were unbound—a face she could move and a mouth she could close and teeth that no longer scraped and cracked against metal. Her tongue was almost back to regular size, no longer swollen with abuse. Everything still hurt, yes; that would take some time to heal, but—

This vile thing will never touch your skin again.

She began to weep. Softly at first, then with ragged gasps, sucking in air loudly until her throat burned and the tumultuous avalanche of feeling things again collapsed atop her. She’d been crushed by the deep ocean of emptiness for so long and now she was rocketing to the surface so fast she couldn’t even parse what she was feeling. She was at once both burdened and lightened, heavy and flying, and her uneven breathing caused sparks to fly in front of her eyes.

As she calmed, head spinning, the clack of a latch turning brought her attention to the far end of the room. A minotaur poked its head in, saw she was awake, and huffed. It clomped over to her. Vagabond just stared. Its head was uncovered and she could make out some bovine features.

“Hungry?” It asked at length.

She blinked, swallowed and licked her lips. She could do that now, whenever she wanted. “I,” she tried, then coughed and wiped her face out of habit. The dampness came from her eyes this time instead of her mouth. “I-I…”

It waited patiently.

“...Sure,” she said finally. “Um, but first… water?”

The minotaur pointed. Turning to follow, she saw a pitcher in the shadows on the bedside table. “Oh,” she mumbled, and struggled to reach for it. The minotaur watched for a few seconds, then huffed again and did it for her. Vagabond was determined to drink water on her own, and did so shakily, then the minotaur left and returned with some hard biscuits and more broth. The biscuits felt like hardtack, and she knew her weakened mouth wouldn’t be able to handle that, so into the broth they went until they softened and broke apart.

“Where, um,” she tried again, “where… am I? I mean in the castle. I know I’m in the castle.”

It paused, unsure, then said slowly, “A… room.”

She didn’t know what she was expecting, and a laugh cracked her throat. “Ow,” she mumbled, and took another sip of water. “Okay. Uh, where’s E… where’s… the King?”

“Throne room,” it responded promptly this time, and took the bowl from her. There was a pause, then its eyes flickered oddly green and it added, “Sleep.”

“...Okay.” Her adrenaline was wearing off now anyway. Sleep, yes. That was what she needed. Answers and answering could come later. She pushed herself back down into sheets that smelled like mildew and got comfortable, rolling onto her side. On the far side of the room, the door shut with the same sound it opened with. Vagabond waited, but she didn’t hear the turn of a key or the click of a lock.

Made sense. Where would she go?

She let sleep—real sleep this time, not a feverish coma—settle over her like the quilt she nestled under, and sighed softly. Who knew what her old friend would do or say later when they had time to talk. But for now, she could fool herself with the thought that maybe, just maybe, he still cared about her.

~

The room she was in, she found out later by exploration, had once been a sort of living room. Besides the bed—which seemed to be a new addition, perhaps just for her—the other furniture were couches and chairs and tables shoved out of the way. They were old and full of mold and dry rot, but still serviceable, and she nestled into them when she was tired of being on the bed. Frankly, she’d be tired of being anywhere near a bed for the foreseeable future. On the opposite side of the fireplace, which she would have assumed would be completely backed up with debris but was perfectly functional to her surprise, were large double doors that lead out to a balcony of sorts. They were sealed shut with black goop.

Vagabond prodded at it carefully, having never been able to really inspect the crap, and wrinkled her nose at the sensation. It was no longer hot to the touch like his proper body (if one could call it that anymore), but still had give to it. Almost like semi-cooled wax. It didn’t have much of a smell, surprisingly enough. She expected it to reek like his breath, but it only held the barest whiff of scent that she couldn’t quite place.

Frankly, she was tempted to touch a piece of it with her tongue if only to get more information, and made a face at her own thought process. “Nasty,” she grumbled. As if she were a baby and needed to put things in her mouth to understand them. And she definitely didn’t want to put her poor lips and tongue through any more abuse.

There was another door tucked in the back of the room. Even though it had been close to the bed she hadn’t noticed it before, and surprisingly wasn’t sealed or locked. Vagabond took a few hesitant steps inside, squinting into the darkness. Well, hell, she needed a light of some kind. A few torches still hung on the walls, old and dusty, so she nabbed one and lit it in the fireplace. It would burn out fast given how dry the wood had become, but she didn’t need it for long. So armed, she trotted back into the other room. A bedroom of sorts. Why they didn’t just put her here was a mystery, but she figured it didn’t really matter. Blocked from the warmth of the fire, it was freezing, and she shivered and crowded closer to the torch.

Poking around a bit revealed the belongings of a lesser noble of sorts; a woman, if the fancy vanity with makeup scattered around was any indication. Though, of course, she couldn’t assume. The chair at the vanity was knocked to the floor and an outfit lay on the bed. Someone had been about to start their day when the Nowhere King’s forces had overtaken the castle, and likely fled—or tried to flee—in whatever they were wearing at the time. Gods only knew if they actually made it.

In the back of the room was a walk-in closet, full of fancy if moth-eaten dresses. Placing the rapidly-burning torch on the wall sconce, Vagabond rummaged around to look for a suitable change of clothes and found a sealed cedar chest in the back. Inside under a pile of miscellaneous items lay hidden trousers and shirts. Men’s clothes. It smelled of a secret.

So hidden in moth-repellent wood, they were largely intact, and Vagabond hurriedly took them back to her room, shutting the door against the cold and tossing the near-finished torch into the fireplace. She used the pitcher of water to wet a rag and stripped, scrubbing at herself and huddling near the fire. It took a few rags to get herself into any sort of presentable state, though she wished she could chop the tangled mess that was her hair. The General had allowed for an occasional cut to keep the bridle from ripping her scalp, but it was still in terrible shape.

The sound of the latch alerted her to the hall door, and Vagabond squeaked and ducked behind a piece of furniture. She stumbled, her limbs still weakened from her ordeal, and thumped to the floor. “Ow…”

The minotaur trudged towards her and she scrambled to at least get the pants on. “Wait wait wait! Shit! Hold on!” Her voice cracked with the sudden strain and she coughed, pulling the pants over her hips and scrambling for the shirt.

It suddenly hung in front of her face. The minotaur stared at her with an expression that could only be described as bland amusement. Vagabond felt her ears heat up and she snatched it, throwing it over her head and yanking it down. Like the pants it was a tad too big, and she rolled up the sleeves. “Um. Thanks.”

An enormous hand reached down and she took it, letting the minotaur help her up. Still red-faced, Vagabond sat on the bed and rubbed her feet together. She needed socks. Thick socks. And shoes. Whatever had clad her feet before had likely been thrown out; they weren’t anywhere to be found.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “okay. Can… can I see him?” The minotaur stared at her and she clarified, “The Nowhere King.”

It grunted and nodded, then took a step back and gestured to the door. “Oh—Oh!” She stammered, “R-Right now. Um, right, well, do you have any socks? Or shoes?”

It cocked its head.

“No? Okay. Gimme a sec.” She had to go into the other room again, and though it took a few minutes she emerged triumphantly with riding boots and a tattered coat. All the socks she’d found had been threadbare and ratty, so enlisted the aid of the minotaur and its knife to cut pieces of semi-intact fabric and shove them in the toes of the boots as well as tuck the too-big pants down over her heels. The coat was full of holes and reached down to her mid-calf, but it was heavy and warm nonetheless and would serve its purpose. “Ready.”

There turned out to be so many stairs in the damn castle. Which, thinking about it, made sense given that it was carved into a mountain, but it still took her some time. In the end her legs threatened to give out and the minotaur had to carry her the last few flights while she grumbled about how weak she’d become to keep the twisting of her gut at bay.

The throne room. She’d been there before, once, on the eve of the Nowhere King’s triumph, but that had been years ago. The minotaur placed her on her feet and the two standing on either side of the massive doors—why he felt like he needed guards escaped her, but there they were—swung them open.

And there he was.

It had been so long that her memories of him weren’t complete, and her eyes roved over the partially translucent body with a mixture of emotion she couldn’t even begin to unravel. Trying to figure out which part of him was which was at first impossible; he curved in the air slowly, never still except the skull that remained firmly in place no matter how his body moved. There were too many legs dangling under him, and she realized they were all forelimbs. The next piece of him looked like his chest, with all those ribs and the spines of thoracic vertebrae. No wonder he’d wanted her to sit further down on his back. Sitting on those would have been immensely uncomfortable for him, she thought dully. Which meant his legs were coming out of his neck. What a strange design choice.

Of course, his crowning achievement was the literal crown of antlers resting on his head, twisted and golden as if he indeed wore a coronet. Despite the horror of what her dear friend had become, Vagabond was in awe.

Fear of what he’d become and what he might do fought with her desire to be close to him again, but it wasn’t strong enough to keep her feet from carrying her across the threshold. The door dragged shut behind her, leaving them alone, and for a long moment they studied one another. The Nowhere King was imposing and utterly impassive, the only window to his torn soul the burning emerald flame that had replaced his eyes.

As always, she was the first to break. Elk had always been able to outwait her in anything. Vagabond let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and said quietly, “Hi.”

He didn’t respond at first, simply studying her. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Then that dual-tone voice rolled out in the space between them, mocking and amused. “Afraid of me now, are you.”

Vagabond scowled and forced her legs to move. To her credit she didn’t falter, but her steps were slow as she made her way down the long, imposing hall and approached him. His head tilted slowly downwards to follow her progress, but otherwise he didn’t move to meet her. Tired and trembling, she made it to just in front of and below him, and lifted her own head to meet his gaze. The muscles of her neck twinged at the movement, having spent so long drooping from the weight of her iron prison.

For once, looking at such a powerful creature didn’t hurt her second sight. The lack of said prison meant she could see far more than just what was physically in front of her. But Elk was the Nowhere King now; it wasn’t just a rotten core spreading its fingers through his body and mind. It was just him.

“Why so hesitant,” he mused, regarding her, his words the slicing edge of cruelty, “I thought we were friends.”

She flinched at his tone and searched for a response. The only one she could find was a soft plea. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t… Don’t do that.”

Slowly, the massive rack of antlers swayed to one side as his head went the other way, and Vagabond couldn’t tell if it was yet another mocking gesture or if it was one of genuine curiosity. A single drop of tar fell from the side of his mouth at the movement and she watched it hit the ground with a wet plop. “Please,” she went on, her lips numb despite their movement and their chapped dryness. “I tried so hard. I-I tried so…”

A long silence. She struggled with her uneven breath and the tears that tightened her throat and squeezed her esophagus, making her gulp for air. Finally she repeated, unsure of what else to say, “I tried so f-fucking hard, Elk.”

Another pause before he spoke again. His voice this time was so low it was more of a sensation than actual sound. “I know.”

Vagabond swayed. Already she was exhausted from the encounter, and they had barely spoken. The atmosphere was charged with uncertainty and silent accusations, stained with hatred and malice and regret and of things that should have been said years ago. She tried and failed to think of them. The words refused to come. Vagabond’s hands found her neck again, meeting a patch of skin that reminded her of a time she rubbed salve into a ring of missing fur.

The Nowhere King finally moved. Wearily, she looked up as he lowered to meet her on eye level, ink-black hooves brushing the ground, and the back end of him followed to settle on the dais. He crouched like an eldritch spider and reached out with tendrils of darkness, tugging her bandaged hands off her neck and pulling them straight out in front of her. They squeezed the tender skin right where the manacles had rubbed her raw.

“Now,” he breathed, his bony muzzle less than a meter from her face, “you understand.”

Yes. She understood. She understood the madness behind those deep brown eyes, that hollow rage and hopelessness deepening into the hatred that devoured him from the inside. She understood the constant reminders of imprisonment, of torture, literally imprinted on flesh, never to disappear. There were no words to acknowledge this, just the silent understanding between them. “I,” she tried at length, clenching and unclenching her hands, feeling the tug of scar tissue. He waited, eyes unmoving from her face. “I…I missed you.”

Her hair ruffled and tickled with his sudden faint snort, whether in annoyance or amusement she couldn’t tell. “Did you.”

That was the last response she wanted or expected. Tears stung her eyes but refused to fall. Still, she couldn’t keep the thickness of heartbreak out of her voice. “Yes.” Her hands rose on their own volition and he let her as her fingertips brushed his lower jaw hesitantly, aware that it could be the last thing she did before he snapped and killed her. If he did, it was worth it. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

A sharp intake of breath. The Nowhere King pulled away slightly, avoiding her touch and releasing her hands. Panic clutched her chest. She couldn’t stand any sort of rejection, not now; not from him.

“I cannot give you the comfort you seek,” he said abruptly, his demeanor changing and cooling as he rose away from her once more. He pushed off the floor and lifted his head away from reach, gazing out detachedly beyond her shoulder. Vagabond’s mind screamed out, but her voice refused to follow. “That time has p—Gah!”

She launched herself at him, using every last reserve of strength she had left, and threw her arms behind his antlers where his neck still drooped in front of her. He yanked back, dragging her along and making a short, garbled sound. She would have laughed if the horror of the situation weren’t so clear; if she weren’t panting with the exertion of sudden movement. Her arms sunk into his abyssal form, rotten magic splattering all over her. His jaws opened and a guttural snarl filtered through them.

“Let go,” he snapped.

“No,” she whispered.

Silence except for the dripping of his body and his ragged breathing settled around them. The Nowhere King was otherwise frozen, unsure of what to do. Aware that he’d just continue to wall himself off from her if she released him, Vagabond focused every muscle into hanging on as he pulled back, pressing her sunken scarred cheek into his exposed molars.

“You don’t… have to give me… comfort,” she gasped between pants. “You… just… have to be… here.”

He shuddered and lifted off the floor entirely. Her legs dangled and his own churned furiously under him in a pantomime of clawing up the floor like he used to. She could feel the rest of his body moving, whipping back and forth like the tail of an angry cat. A thousand small hands prodded at her, grabbing her arms, her hair, her clothes, pulling and pushing without direction as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hug her back or throw her across the room. Vagabond tightened her arms as best she could, but what was left of her muscles were failing.

The hope that had rekindled in her chest began to die, and nearly snuffed out entirely when all of those hands grabbed her all at once, preparing to rip her from his body. Her lungs stuttered and sparks flew in front of her eyes from the effort of hanging on.

He pulled her away and her arms gave up, limp as noodles, but instead of tossing her he held her out in front of him midair. Eye-level with him again, this time hanging above the floor, Vagabond panted, trying to force her arms to lift again and reach for him. He watched the feeble attempt, glowing eyes narrowed, and she thought that would be the end of it, but then a deep sigh filtered from his jaws and he sank back down until her feet met stone. “Pathetic creature,” he murmured, his voice quieting.

“Takes one to know one,” she replied, forcing the words through her burning lungs, and though it was meant to be a joke it rang far too true to laugh at.

“Yes,” he mused, the ghost of a chuckle behind his words and his eyes narrowing in an emotion she couldn’t decipher. She took solace in the fact that he hadn’t pushed her away entirely; ropes of hot tar clung to her still. “We have so much more in common than I ever thought we would.”

Vagabond averted her gaze for a moment and swallowed. “I… guess we do, now.” She clenched her teeth together, feeling the ache of cracked enamel. His tendrils ran over her, stroking scars and bandages and leaving oily residue. She leaned into the touch, eyes closing.

“Tell me,” he said after a few moments. “Did you struggle, when he placed you in chains?”

She didn’t answer for a good while. She didn’t want to revisit that betrayal. His movement stilled and, sensing he was getting irritated, she cast around for something to say. “How did you know where I was?”

He tightened his grip, and her eyes opened. “I have had quite enough of your avoidance, Vagabond.” The deep echo of his voice darkened. “Answer the question.”

Staring at a point just beyond his skull, she swallowed hard, feeling the roughness that lingered from the abuse her mouth had suffered. “He… had me held down.” The Nowhere King rumbled, demanding more, and she went on, “...No. No, I…” Tears pricked her eyes. “I don’t r-really remember how it happened.” It was all a jumble. Linear time hadn’t existed during her incarceration; events were scattered throughout her memory like crumbs.

“Of course you didn’t.” The hiss of anger pierced her thoughts, and she returned her gaze to him, eyes widening. “You don’t defend yourself. You wouldn’t now, either, would you.” Fingers of oily black ink slid up her shoulders, wrapping around her neck and chin and sealing her mouth shut. He mocked her exhausted arms by lifting and holding them up, grip painfully tight. That fearsome skeletal head tilted at her quiet whimper and he squeezed until her bones ground against one another and breathing became a struggle. “You wouldn’t fight me, either, would you. I could kill you right now. Watch the light leave your eyes and you would just sit there and wait for death.” A ripple went through him and he leaned even further, his lower incisors brushing her cheek. His skull was all she could see, those twin green embers boring into her as he eagerly watched her eyes glaze over. Her pulse throbbed heavily in her temples, but Vagabond did exactly as he predicted, hanging there limply in his grasp. He was right. She really was pathetic.

Her arms were still being held up on either side of his face. Summoning as much strength as she could—which was nothing, really—Vagabond managed to tilt one hand and brush his lower jaw once more with his fingers, then inch them up to hook in the space behind his molars. She left them there as if cupping his cheek as her sight began to dim.

The goo slid from her mouth and brushed over her lips in a pantomime of tenderness. The Nowhere King caressed the hollow under her throat and then pressed inwards, slowly, further cutting off her ability to intake air little by little. He let out a slow shivering breath of his own as her eyes unfocused and rolled, gleeful, black drool dripping from his open jaws in his excitement. You will bring joy…

“I,” she used the last bit of air she had, her voice nothing but a suggestion of sound, “I…m… not a… figh…t…er.”

Those glowing eyes blinked, momentarily leaving his eye sockets empty, and abruptly she hit the floor. There had been no in between motion. She hadn’t felt herself falling. He’d let her go?

She gulped oxygen and her vision cleared slowly, only to see a single hoof in front of her face. Her old friend watched her gasp on the floor for a moment, then said, almost wearily, “No. You aren’t.” Another pause. Vagabond had no energy to even lift her head. He ruminated silently for a few moments that felt like hours, then his deep dual-tone voice reached her ears once more. “Do you hate me?”

It took her another minute to find her own voice. It scratched her throat. “No.”

“You should.” He moved, and the hoof pulled away. “But, no… I don’t think you even know the meaning of that word.”

A moment later she was lifted roughly and rolled over so she was being carried bridal-style by a minotaur once more. Her limbs flopped uselessly around as she was moved. “Take her back,” the creature’s leader ordered, curling through the air and raising his head to look down on them.

“Wait,” she mumbled.

“You are free to come and go as you please,” he went on, studying her as if she were a fascinating insect. “Your needs will be met. But I warn you, if you leave this castle, I cannot protect you.”

Vagabond blinked blearily up at him, trying to wrap her head around what had just happened. He’d tried to kill her—no, she realized. He hadn’t actually tried. She’d be dead if he had. He’d merely been toying with her. The King waited a moment, then added, “Do you understand?”

“Mmh…unnerstan’.”

“Good.”

The minotaur turned and began to walk back through the hall, and Vagabond tried to force herself to move. No dice. Her body was done. She’d be surprised if she stayed awake all the way back to the room. But she had to know. “D’you… hate… me?”

The doors were already open, and the minotaur marched through. At first she was concerned that her voice hadn’t made it back to the other side of the massive hall, but as the doors began to swing shut the faintest of replies filtered through. She barely made out his whispered response. Perhaps she wasn’t even meant to hear it. Perhaps, as her weakened body shut her down, she only imagined it.

“I would never.”

~

She slept on and off for some time. The meeting had drained her more than she thought it would have. It was at least two days before she woke fully, which she only figured out by counting back the number of meals they’d woken her for.

As soon as she felt up to it again she redressed and stepped out. The Nowhere King had said she could come and go, so that’s what she would do. Faltering near the minotaur, who regarded her curiously, she fought the urge to timidly ask for permission as she was so used to and instead strode down the hall. And down the stairs. And down more stairs. And more stairs, until she had to sit and catch her breath. Her guard plodded down and stood next to her, making a low questioning sound.

“I’m okay,” she muttered. “I gotta do this on my own.” After a moment she added, “Thanks, though.”

It took her a good few minutes to be ready to move again, then Vagabond continued down wearily, trembling but determined. “Where is he?” She asked once they were on the ground level, staring out the nearest window at the lazily drifting snow. It had slowed considerably, but hadn’t stopped. “Throne room, or somewhere else.”

The minotaur hesitated and she looked up at it. It seemed wary, but after a moment grudgingly responded, “Throne room.”

He spent most of his time there, apparently. Vagabond’s sense of direction was still top-tier, and she’d already memorized the way, so she completed the journey and paused in front of the large double doors flanked by two other minotaurs. The helms made it impossible for her to tell what they were. But that didn’t matter, because they refused to open the doors.

Fine, then. Close yourself off from me, will you? Vagabond didn’t argue or complain. She turned on her heel and stalked to the smaller entrances to the side of the great hall, shoving her way into the preparation chambers made for servants to bring food or whatever else while her minotaur trailed behind. There were doors in the back she could use to get in, she remembered that from before. Basic castle layout one-oh-one.

“Wait,” the bison-man intoned nervously as she neared the back door. She eyed it over her shoulder. “Not safe.”

“Stay here then.” She turned the latch, braced her shoulder against it, and shoved as hard as her pathetically weak body could. It creaked inward slowly, tar stretching across the gap, and Vagabond wriggled her way through, surprised she didn’t immediately hear her friend’s snarls or feel his hot sticky grip on her.

That was because the Nowhere King was busy. His long body trailed on the floor and his legs shook as he heaved violently, the room full of the sounds of black vomit splattering the floor. It was weirdly fascinating, that she could see all of this through his partially transparent body. He finished vomiting and now just hung there, breathing heavy and eye sockets empty. Vagabond waited for him to gather himself, and when he finally raised his head whispered, “You okay?”

He whipped around, nearly knocking her over with the tail that had once been his back end. She squeaked and avoided it, but tripped over her own feet anyway and landed on her butt. At this rate she was going to have bruises on her ass for days. “What!”

Eye sockets still empty, he shook his head violently from side to side to dislodge the goo still hanging from his jaws and the sparks of his eyes burst to life, wide and shocked to see her there. “What,” he intoned again as she struggled back to her feet and brushed herself off. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you okay?” she repeated. She was about to say you don’t look okay, but refrained. He looked, frankly, like a pile of sapient gelatin with a skull attached.

“I’m f—what are you doing here?”

“You said I could come and go as I pleased,” she moved for him, and, still startled and bewildered, he remained where he was. “The main doors were locked so I went through the side.”

“I meant from the castle,” he snarled, jaws opening with an ominous creak and lurching towards her in a clear threat. Vagabond paused as the urge to leap back momentarily took over, then determinedly stepped forward again. “If the doors are closed, it means I want to be alone—”

She reached him finally. It had been so long since he’d become the terrifying, deadly Nowhere King, he was completely unprepared for when she raised her hands and rested them on either side of his skull. He probably thought she’d never come near him again after he’d throttled her. His breath caught and he completely froze, eyes widening. She ran her fingers along the single canines of his upper jaw, the space before his molars, the ridge above them and the graceful sweep up to his antlers. Slowly, his lower mandible closed, and she stroked that too, brushing her fingertips down to his lower incisors and cupping his skeletal face in her palms.

“I know better,” she replied lowly, “than to leave you alone.”

He stared at her, his rasping breath brushing her face. Vagabond ignored the stench and leaned forward, slowly, to press a kiss to his forehead. He made a soft sound and twitched back just a little, but she rested her cheek where she’d kissed him and gradually his head began to hang in her grasp, heavier and heavier, until her arms began to tremble from his weight.

“I miss your fur,” she went on. “I miss your smell.”

He rumbled wordlessly.

“And your ears…” She traced her hands back up to behind his jaw. “And your beautiful eyes.”

Silence. The Nowhere King was still utterly frozen. He seemed to have checked out entirely, unable to handle the tenderness with which she touched him—or maybe that she dared touch him at all. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, he creaked forward until his teeth touched her shoulder, and rested his chin there.

“You are,” he replied finally, sounding so very far away, “the only one who does.” 

She smiled sadly and leaned her temple against his molars. Beyond them, through his body, she could make out the portrait above the throne atop the stairs. The Princess. It was old and dusty and cracked but her beauty and regality were still radiant. No wonder he spent all his time here. She wanted to say that the Princess probably missed him too, but that would accomplish nothing but to make him upset, so she refrained.

For a long time they were silent, adjusting to one another’s company. Vagabond found herself oddly accepting of both his body and his new psyche. He was damaged beyond what she could have ever thought possible, but so too was she; there was no other way to explain why she was so blasé about what he’d done to her last time. She had to be crazy.

Her old friend shifted suddenly, apparently having finally made a decision, his mind returning from wherever he’d gone. His head lifted away but before she could close the gap he settled again, his body wrapping around and around until she was in the middle of black tar. It crept up her legs and what was left of his ribcage pressed against her back. Vagabond leaned against him, surprised to feel resistance instead of slipping into him like water. “Tell me,” he said at length, settling down more comfortably, his many legs curling up and over her and his head sinking back into the cushion of his gelatinous body, “tell me everything that happened since we’ve been apart.”

Vagabond took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. Where to even begin. She was tired all over again, so she let her legs buckle and sat on the goopy floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and folding her arms around them. Part of her wanted to flee this conversation, like she had in the past—one hand pressed to her chest, above where the deep scar still etched itself. But if there was anything else she owed Elk, it was this, and her torture at the hands of the General was something she now shared with him. He’d understand.

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Her eyes burned. Vagabond lifted her hands to wipe away grit and realized they were covered with sticky tar that wrapped entirely around her face, blocking both sight and sound. The Nowhere King was roiling around her, but when she tried to move his essence held her in place. There wasn’t anything to do but wait, so that’s what she did as he undulated, and with a final shudder he settled back down. The side she leaned upon swelled as if by a deep breath, then contracted.

The goop fell from her eyes and ears and she wiped away the specks that were left, looking around in confusion. He was facing away, his rib cage curved against her back and upper body pointed towards the opposite end of the hall. Slowly his mighty antlers swung around as he turned to look at her, neck snapping in a way that couldn’t be comfortable.

“Um.” She looked around. He stared impassively down at her. “What, uh…”

“Don’t concern yourself.” There was a definite tinge of satisfaction in his voice, and he canted his head one side, now looking woefully neck-broken. The tap of footsteps alerted her to her minotaur just beyond the Nowhere King’s tail, making its way around with a large mug. The poor thing’s eyes were wide and it looked absolutely terrified. Vagabond accepted the mug of water gratefully. “You fell asleep.”

Oh, right. She’d talked for what felt like hours. He’d interrupted now and then for clarification, but had remained largely silent, and by the time she’d gotten to the cave she could barely keep her eyes open. Leaning on her old friend was comforting, murderous insane monster notwithstanding, and she’d easily slipped into slumber. She sipped at the water for a while then, emboldened by the fact that he hadn’t moved or pushed her away yet, asked, “What about you?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then, “Mm?”

“You. I told you my story. I want yours.”

He untwisted his neck with some absolutely unholy popping sounds and returned to staring down the hall. “There is not much to tell.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, what d’you call this.” She poked his side and it jiggled, her finger sliding way too far inside his goopy self than was comfortable. To her immense pride, she didn’t make a face or gag as he jerked his head to side-eye her, even though she really wanted to.

He twitched and growled. “I used the Key to make the minotaur. That part you know.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Using the Key in such a manner results in magical radiation. I was not careful.”

Vagabond rested her hand where she’d poked. She wanted to scold him. She wanted to tell him that he mattered, that he was the most important person to her in the world, that everything was just so fucked up and twisted and she didn’t know what was wrong with her to be sitting here snuggling with a genocidal maniac, friend or not—and she cut that string of thoughts off, sighing quietly. “Well, I’m here now, and I do care about you.”

“And now it is too late.”

She lolled her head back against him, staring at the ceiling. “Never too late.”

“It is far too late for me, my little friend.” He glanced back at her. “If you have any sense of self-preservation, you will leave and not come back.”

“Well, I don’t, and that’d go against what I promised, so that’s not happening.”

He gave the ghost of a snort, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he no longer had a nose or because he was just being quiet. “I nearly killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Why are you so calm,” he twisted around entirely, half-lunging towards her with half his body even as the part she leaned upon remained still. Vagabond’s heart jumped and she jerked back at the abrupt movement, pressing further into his ribs, which made her realize he’d refused to withdraw from her despite his aggressive posturing. He still wanted to be near her, and that more than anything sent warmth curling through her chest. “I could kill you. I’d enjoy killing you.” His blazing eyes studied her from mere centimeters away, maw open and pitch blackness beyond threatening oblivion. “You were so very lovely when struggling for breath.”

“Yeah,” she replied vaguely, and couldn’t keep a very slight crooked smile from her lips as they played over her face. “I could tell you were enjoying yourself.”

He pulled them back, tilting his head again with that cold, intense stare of his, eyes traveling up and down her face as if not sure what he was seeing. Vagabond reached out, sinking her hand into his dripping neck and emerging with one of his own, which she pulled towards her. “You know what I kept thinking?” she rested it against her throat and pressed it there until it molded to her windpipe. “Every time they threatened to end my life… I thought about how I’d rather it be you.”

The Nowhere King rumbled softly, the hostility crackling in those twin flames fading ever so slightly. He was still sharp and focused on her face, and made a soft, interested “Hmm.” Vagabond wasn’t sure what he was thinking, or what he saw in her, but he’d calmed, and she was just too tired to deal with another enraged outburst. “I’d rather you watch the light leave my eyes then the people who looked at me like…like…” There were no words to describe the sheer degradation of her ordeal, but he knew.

“Like an animal,” he finished, putting just a little bit of pressure on her esophagus. “They treated you like an animal.” He used his hold to pull her chin up, and leaned forward again until her nose—and his lack of one—were all but touching. She blinked languidly up at him. 

“Vagabond, dearheart.” That skeletal head was still cocked to one side, the light of his eyes half-extinguished, as if he’d hooded them over. The pet name sent melted warmth through her heart. Oh, it felt good to hear that again. It made her want to snuggle right back into his chest and go back to sleep, knowing she was safe from all outside threats… even if the greatest threat alive was currently holding onto her neck. “Are you flirting with me?”

Her thoughts screeched to a halt. She’d been slowly draining through their conversation even though she’d only just woken up from a nap, but his low purr jolted her awake. “Ah, what?”

“Is that what this is?” Oily, sticky tar slid up from her neck to her chin, and Vagabond tried to withdraw, her face heating up, but she was as far back against him as she could be. She flapped her hands in sudden panic on either side of his skull and he withdrew slightly, the slightest trace of a chuckle lingering between them. He was very obviously and very deeply amused. Vagabond could feel herself reddening. “Because it very much seems so.”

“Wh—I—that isn’t—” One thumb traced over her lower lip and she knew damn well he was only doing it to fluster her further. And it was working; Vagabond was fully awake now, heart pounding in an anxiety she hadn’t felt even when he’d directly threatened her life. The bastard had no romantic intentions towards her and she knew it and he was just tormenting her in a way he knew would get a rise out of her, the way choking her out hadn’t. “No! Stop that,” she slapped his hand away and he laughed outright, pulling back entirely.

On one hand, it was nice that he was expressing a sense of humor, as nasty and childish as it was. On the other, what the fuck?

She voiced her thoughts, though much more weakly than it sounded in her head. “What the—” her voice broke and she cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure, “—the fuck, man?”

That only seemed to make it worse. The Nowhere King rose above her and gaped in that farce of a smile, ichor sloshing from his gaping lower mandible, and Vagabond could only watch and speculate. It wasn’t quite in sneering mockery nor was it in purely genuine humor, and for a few moments she had no idea what to make of it.

And then it clicked as he began shifting to get out from behind her. Vagabond leaned back on her weakened arms to keep from falling, staring up at him as he rose to hang in the air once more. He hung over her, oppressive and predatory and seizing the control of a situation he’d lost when she’d first entered and touched him without fear.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay, fine.” She staggered to feet that were half-asleep and nearly teetered in the opposite direction. “Good talk. I guess I’ll go.” She eyed him as his chuckles finally began to fade, then threw caution to the wind and added, “Jerk.”

That spurred another snort of amusement and a trail of whispered laughter in her mind. Relieved but still red-faced, she made a show of brushing herself off and glanced over to where the minotaur was still standing next to the wall, head bowed and silent. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, though it wasn’t as bad as the last time they’d talked. “I’ll come see you tomorrow. After I find my dignity.”

She had only taken one step when the Nowhere King said, deceptively mild, “I did not say you could go.”

Fierce, unexpected terror froze her chest into ice. She wouldn’t have been surprised if her next breath had steamed in the air; it wouldn’t have been a surprise if his body heat wasn’t keeping the space around him honestly pleasant. All of a sudden it was as if everything had faded partway out of existence and the minotaur she was headed towards was at the other end of a tunnel. Her next words came from lips that seemed made for someone else, numb and far away even as her heart began to pound. “You said… you said I could…”

“From the castle. You keep conveniently forgetting that part.”

The freezing sensation continued; spread. A nagging familiarity tugged at her, a faint whisper breathing deep in her mind: Run.

His voice was much closer next time he spoke, after a heavy silence. “Ah, it seems I’ve found a sore spot.” The heat of his breath brushed her neck, and Vagabond ran her hands over where the iron had bitten into the flesh of her arms, over and over again. She was hyperventilating, she realized dimly, and it was giving her the all-too-familiar pain of a headache.

“Vagabond.”

Run!

A rumbling sound of curiosity met her ears, and his presence drew away. “ Very well, then. Get out.”

She stumbled over her own feet in her haste to leave, and the minotaur followed as she pushed past all the debris in the service area back out, down the hall, to a set of bashed-in doors where snow piled in. Outside, the storm had stopped or at least paused, and Vagabond clambered to the top of the pile in eager haste, slipping and sinking into the fluff until she was standing on a sort of terrace and the world spread out before her.

She was outside. Outside and unfettered and could walk away at any point; the land sprawled out to the horizon and the freshness of the air settled her mind. Even so it took a while for her heart to slow its panicked race. Each inhale pierced her lungs and brought her back to the present. It reminded her that she was tired and her legs begged to sit, but she had no desire to be soaked in icy water. Behind her, a questioning sound met her ears. Her bison-man—at least, she thought it was male, which begged the question, what happened when the Nowhere King paired a male animal with a female human or vice versa—was too large to climb out and waited just inside.

“I’m,” she tried to speak, failed, and closed her eyes. Breathe. Breathe. “I-I just. I don’t.” How to even explain, when she couldn’t figure it out herself? “Gimme a few… no. No, I’m gonna… you don’t have to follow me. Why are you following me?” She turned abruptly, staring at the creature, which huffed. “Why did he tell you to follow me?”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “The Nowhere King speaks. We obey.”

Bitterness, fatigue, frustration and self-deprecation warred inside her mind. Had he just forgotten to call the minotaur off? No, it was in his face back in the throne room; he could have sent it somewhere else at any point. Was it just there to make sure she didn’t go where he didn’t want her? He said she could leave the castle but perhaps there were things he didn’t want her to see. Was it to keep her safe when he wasn’t around? He said he couldn’t protect her beyond the castle walls, but that begged the question if he would while inside.

He was so fucked up. She was so fucked up. He’d strangled her. She’d offered him her throat. He’d personally nursed her back to health and then avoided her after she was well. She’d gone to find him anyway. He’d rejected her. She’d refused his rejection. He wanted her to leave. She didn’t want to leave. He didn't want her to leave, and she left… Vagabond pressed the palms of her hands against her face and then yanked them back when skin met skin and not iron. Her whole body was tingling, and not in a good way. She was… she was angry.

What did he want? What did she want?

She didn’t know what she wanted. But she needed to move.

Walking away from the castle, from him, now, would be suicide, so she turned and half-slid down the mound of snow back inside, and strode off. Moving helped. Moving always helped.

Vagabond walked until she traversed from one side of the main floor to the other, fueled by growing frustration. She walked, and thought, and relished the ability to wave her hands around and yell at herself, at Elk, at the minotaur trailing after her, until her knees all but buckled. The minotaur carried her back to her room and she enlisted his help in cutting her hair, then took another sponge-bath and wrapped herself in blankets by the fire.

The next few days held the same thing. Vagabond’s limbs itched to move and it only got stronger by the day, and she explored further and further. She learned how to ditch the minotaur by slipping through doors too small for him to follow too closely, and was gone by the time he managed to get through. Honestly she felt a little bad when she heard his distressed lowing, but following her nature after she’d been forced to suppress it was so incredibly fulfilling it was like a drug, and she couldn’t stop. She made up for it by finding the poor thing afterwards. Not only did the minotaur need to obey the Nowhere King, he’d probably be killed if he failed. She didn’t want that. The creature had once been a man, and one that once tried to save its people before his individuality and humanity had been stripped away.

The days stretched and continued, then became longer, and Vagabond realized spring was coming. There was no other way to tell other than the length of daylight itself; there was no pollen upon the air nor the sound of birds in the desolate landscape spread out beyond the castle. With the dripping of melting ice and the shift of winds, now coming from vaguely south, her restlessness began to grow. And so too did her overused power, once laid dormant by illness and near-death, writhing before her and refusing to leave her sight no matter how much she tried to suppress it.

As her spirit recovered along with her wanderlust and magic, it only fueled Vagabond’s frustration. She could feel him, somewhere in the castle, a black hole draining everything around and spitting it back out as seething hatred and a sick sort of domination towards everything alive.

She saw him outside the throne room only once, while she carefully traversed one of the long battlements with the help of her minotaur; the ice was melting, making it even more slippery than when it was purely frozen. Vagabond considered it good practice in keeping her balance. The Nowhere King appeared when she was halfway across, sliding out of somewhere she didn’t have eyes on and hanging in front of the castle, gazing quietly into the distance. The sun glinted off his golden crown. He really was quite regal, she thought, and stood there to admire the figure he cut despite his grotesque proportions.

He turned to go back inside eventually and she waved to get his attention. He paused, staring in her direction, and Vagabond beckoned for him to come closer.

The slight movement he made at her gesture made her both smile and clench her fists in irritation. Her old friend flowed towards her, automatically and unthinking, very slightly before he halted and jerked his head back. His eyes narrowed and she could see a puff of steam when he snorted in irritation before spinning and heading back in. Stubborn bastard.

She wanted to go to him then, but by the time they’d completed their journey she had to admit defeat. The act of constantly trying to balance and catch herself from slipping had worked muscles she hadn’t even been aware of before, and she had to retire for the day. She took a bath in the tub she’d washed out using freshly-boiled snow. There was no soap available, and she wouldn’t have trusted any she may have found at this point anyway, so she just rinsed until the water ran clear. Her minotaur carefully cut her hair with his knife and after dinner she snuggled near the fire again.

These were just motions to go through to distract her from the simmering frustration gnawing at her insides, fueled by the change of weather. Along with spring storms something else was hovering on the horizon. Some sort of ominous wind was blowing in, and Vagabond was painfully aware that it was headed for them. The charge was building. Something had to change. Something had to give.

Exploring the castle was a slow process, and a few times Vagabond was sure one of the minotaurs looked at her with far too much intent, but she honestly didn’t care. One or two of them even leaned way too far into her personal space to take a whiff of her, and that’s when her minotaur stepped in, bashing them away and snarling. She appreciated his company, but she couldn’t help being reminded of the early stages of imprisonment and slipping away became more commonplace.

As she walked, she hummed. It was dangerous to do so close to the Nowhere King himself, given his power over it, but she couldn’t stop herself no matter how much she tried. The fear of abuse wore at her, but slowly, she could relax, and eventually she hummed out of spite. It was still her lullaby, damn it, and she refused to let the General stop her or the King to only use it for himself. Her magic flickered and wove, but Vagabond was used to it at that point, and it didn’t seem to do too much yet.

Walking caused her to both space out and focus at the same time. It was almost the death of her.

A clang echoing through the hall made her stop and blink, the lullaby choking off mid-hum. A man shouting, and then the roars of angered minotaurs, pinged around the corner, and right as Vagabond was jumping back out of habit someone charged around it right at her. A human.

She should have seen that coming. So far, the location where they were somehow molded with animals hadn’t come up in her exploration, so it made sense that she would eventually stumble upon it. The prisoners were likely held in the dungeons and then brought up when needed. The man likely had escaped as they were transferring him, or something. Wide-eyed, Vagabond darted away, then hesitated. Wait, why was she running—she should help him escape—

Glancing back at him, about to stop and turn around, what she saw sent a bolt of pure terror racing through her heart up to her throat. She knew that face.

The Lieutenant glanced over his shoulder just as she did, and like her, froze mid-step. Vagabond stumbled back, mentally blanking out in absolute panic. Her first reaction was to head towards the minotaurs roaring in the background, but as his eyes narrowed and he redirected his movement, the stolen sword in his hand swung towards her and she knew immediately what he was thinking.

She turned and ran.

As quick and nimble on her feet as she was, her body just wasn’t up to the task anymore. The hardened soldier had lived as long as he had for good reason. His powerful strides grew louder and Vagabond’s breath caught, dry and sharp as a spear. Why? Why? Why did they want her dead so badly, she’d done everything they’d wanted; everything he’d wanted. She’d endured their torture. She’d helped their people escape. She’d protected them; aided their survival from the very beginning.

Turning to see where he was caused her downfall; literally. Her boot caught on the uneven stone floor and she stumbled in painfully comedic timing, causing him to close in the last few steps as she used her momentum to spin and jump backwards. She knew why, she realized dully as he lunged in slow motion, the sword whistling through the air towards her chest. She couldn’t be trusted not to help the Nowhere King. For the good of mankind, the witch known as Vagabond was better off dead.

Something splashed on the ground and miasma darkened the hall. A raspy half-scream of fury sliced through her ears and mind and the Lieutenant’s expression changed from intense focus to absolute horror.

Time seemed to both halt and speed up. In the second before the blade sank into her flesh, ichor pummeled the both of them, wrapping around their bodies, blade, and stone. The Nowhere King hit the floor with enough force to send tremors up into Vagabond’s legs and she fell backwards—no, she was yanked backwards, and in the next moment he was leaning over her shoulder and holding her against his neck. Or chest. Or whatever it was now.

Everything stopped. Vagabond was focused on the very point of the sword, mere centimeters from her chest. Slowly, her eyes traveled down the blade to the Lieutenant’s hand, covered in tar, then up to his face. A fearsome skull hovered in front of him, green flames narrowed and focused. She could feel the vibrations of her friend’s rage in the tendrils that held her; the legs that wrapped around her.

“I,” her voice came from far away and underwater. “I would’ve… h-helped you escape.”

So focused on certain death in front of him, he barely acknowledged her words, but his eyes did widen. The Nowhere King twitched his head to one side at her voice, but he soon refocused. The point of the sword wavered in front of her, then began to swing away. The soldier hissed in pain as his hand was twisted unnaturally to turn towards him.

Vagabond could only watch. She tried to backpedal, but was held firmly in place as the weapon completed its rotation to now be facing his chest. The tip slid into a gap between his breastplate and leather, and his face began to contort as it sank past them into skin.

“Elk,” she choked on the word.

The Lieutenant gasped, face twisting and teeth gritting tightly together. The Nowhere King pushed it in further, and he cried out in agony. Vagabond shoved back against her friend, but the cage of his legs tightened, nestling her close. She let out a low sob as the sword sunk through him, blood dripping out from beneath his armor onto the floor. And then he began to twist.

His cries became screams. The man jerked and writhed against his liquid binds, gurgling and frothing at the mouth. Vagabond shoved back stronger, unable to look away, bile bitter on her tongue. Her lips were moving and she could feel her throat making noise, but the sounds were nonsensical. She wanted to cry, but her eyes were dry of tears in the sheer dread and revulsion at the scene before her. She’d been in war; she’d seen horrible things, but the slow agonizing death of a man who, while not kind to her, had tried to kill her, had taken care of and fed her and cleaned her and even at times guarded her with his life during battle was something she couldn’t comprehend, it was—it was—

With a sudden, horrible jerk, the Nowhere King yanked the sword in one swift movement from the Lieutenant’s body. Blood gushed from the wound, no longer plugged, and he released the man to collapse on the floor where his limbs twitched spasmodically and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Despite the severity of the wound it could very well take him minutes to die. 

“Vagabond.”

Her own binds released but before she could move or her knees could buckle she was roughly spun around and pulled a few steps away as the King stepped back, keeping her facing him. He cradled her face and studied her up and down, eyes narrowed. “Are you hurt?”

“No. No. Why—” She swayed, and he steadied her. Her voice was working suddenly and now couldn’t stop and she gasped and trembled and stared vacantly at him. “Why. Why. I did everything they wanted. I was good. I helped. I—I—”

He listened silently, tendrils moving over her body, checking her over. “I did everything,” she repeated, numbly, panting and lightheaded. “I did everything he wanted. I would’ve helped him escape. I never went against them. I was good. I was good. I was… I was…” She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, and paused to fight for breath. “Why,” she croaked out finally, “why?”

A long silence. Vagabond hung in his grasp, wishing she could cry but too far away to actually do so. She was cold. She felt so cold.

“Elk,” she whispered as the pause continued to an unbearable length, leaning for him, needing some sort of acknowledgement; some sort of reassurance.

He glared at her and threw back his antlers. She flinched and whimpered softly, aching for the feeling of safety he’d given her up on the cliff. “What did you expect? He knew you would come back to me if given half a chance. And now you are here, and they know you could aid me.”

“Elk,” she said again. “Please. Just…”

A low, gurgling moan from the dying man made her jerk. She tried to step forward, towards her friend away from the death behind her, but suddenly she was turned back around to look at the bloody, twitching body once more. “Look at him,” her friend snarled. “Look at that man. He would have killed you.”

“I—I know—”

“He almost did, and he would have felt righteous about it. He would have died all the same, but he would have died knowing he did his General a great service.” As always, that word was spat with such loathing it almost didn’t register. “He’d know he was in the right. He’d die thinking he’d saved so many people from your witchcraft.”

“But that’s not true!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Furious now, he snatched her up; Vagabond finally got what she wanted and leaned into his tar, reveling in the warmth and being close. But, of course, it was short-lived; he whipped around the corner and into a huge room and practically threw her down. She stumbled and grabbed one leg, but she didn’t need to; the limb behind it swung forward and pressed against her back, pinning her there. “Look,” he snapped, “look at these people.”

She darted a look around and sucked in a breath. Cages upon cages of humans and animals lined the floor, stacked two high in some places; and oh, she knew them, she recognized at least three faces, and knew with cold certainty that this was the contingent that she’d been with. The Nowhere King had found her, and in doing so, had found them all. “Oh,” she heard herself say. “Oh, gods.”

“You,” he jabbed a hoof at one such cage holding a young soldier. The attending minotaurs moved to obey and opened the door, dragging him out. “Look at him, Vagabond,” the Nowhere King hissed, tightening and squeezing her between his two legs. “Do you think he deserves to die? Deserves to be a part of my family?”

“No,” she whispered.

“He deserves to be let go? Set free?”

“O-Of course—”

“Answer my questions and I might do just that,” the skeletal head lurched towards him, and he sobbed and scrambled backward on the floor until he met the armor-clad legs of a minotaur. “Do you recognize this woman?”

His mouth worked until he found his voice. “I-I-I—th-th… Gabby, that’s Gabby.”

“Do you know what she can do?”

He nodded wildly. He was only barely an adult, if that, Vagabond thought, and tried to push one of the legs holding her away. She couldn’t handle it if he decided to kill the boy the way he’d killed the Lieutenant. That would be the last straw for her already-battered mind. “She, she, can do magic, she, the General said—”

“That’s enough about that man.” The Nowhere King pulled his head back and twisted it around to look at her as she tried to slide out from between his limbs. For a moment he just watched her squirm, then hissed, “What do you think, my little friend? What do you think will happen if I let him go?”

“I, he, he’ll g-go back to the army.”

“He’ll go back to the army, and he’ll tell them about you, and they’ll send people to end you.” His eyes were mere slits and he came closer so she couldn’t avoid his gaze. Vagabond blinked back tears that were finally making an appearance. “It doesn’t matter that the General tortured you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled.

“It doesn’t matter that you cannot cause harm to others.” His tail snapped back and forth; she could feel its frenzied movement. “It doesn’t matter that if they took you alive, you’d be right back in those chains.

“Tell me, boy,” he barked, jerking his head back around, “if your precious leader were to tell you to put this woman in chains, would you do it?”

The soldier whimpered softly, darting a look to her face. He struggled for a moment with words before finally whispering, “Yes, uh, sir.”

“If he told you to gag her and seal her away would you do it?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Why?” She blurted out, and this time she couldn’t keep the tears from falling. “Why? Why? I helped you all. I didn’t deserve it. I tried to help!”

“Help,” the King snarled, tilting his head slightly to keep them both in his view, “you and your helping. You and your promises. You see what they bring you? You see what they have wrought? Your help is thankless. Tell me, Vagabond, that boy, does he look like anyone to you? Does he remind you of anyone?”

“I… I…” She scrabbled helplessly at his leg and fought to keep up with the subject change.

“Oh, come, how is it that distant in your memory. I remember. I try so hard to forget, but I at least remember him.”

Me, too, buddy, was all she could think. All she ever tried to do was push all those bad things of the past away. It had worked for so long that she never thought to consider what burying said memories could do to a person.

He answered his own question, for once too impatient to wait. “I remember the cliff. I remember the soldier. I remember the avalanche.”

The picture of his memory—her memory—blossomed to life in her mind.

“The soldier,” she breathed.

“The soldier, that bastard soldier that you convinced me to spare!” He was practically frothing at the mouth now, liquid rot sloshing out of his mouth with every jerk of his head. The focus of his hatred cowered at the legs of the unmoving and uncaring minotaur. “Do you remember now? I remember. I remember his face. That is, what it looked like before I smashed it to a pulp.”

Vagabond shoved at his legs once more before giving up and hanging there, empty and tired. If there was anything she’d forgotten, it was how fast Elk could go from relatively calm to furious in an instant, and now it was exacerbated by years of isolation, war and insanity. It was like his default state was varying stages of seething hatred, tamped down on occasion only by necessity.

“I remember your words,” he continued, shaking in fury and… something else. She couldn’t tell if it was regret or fear or pain. “‘Nothing bad’s ever come from showing mercy.’”

“Elk,” she whispered.

“Do you remember what happened after we let him go?”

“Elk…”

“He came back. The one time I showed any sort of—I will never show mercy again. Not to another soldier, ever again. Put him back in,” at his words the minotaur standing over the boy grabbed his arms and threw him back into the cage. He hit the bars with a cry.

“Elk, please!”

“Elk, Elk,” he mocked, letting her go at last and spinning to face her far too fast a creature his size should be able to move. “Elk is gone.”

“No, he’s not, he’s not, he’s still there, you’re still him,” she begged; now freed, she held a hand out for him, but he yanked his head away and snorted, slamming the floor with his hooves and sending ink splattering on the floor.

“I,” the word was spat, literally; she wiped it from her face, “am the Nowhere King. I am a being that nearly killed you. I am the monster of these lands. I am the nightmare, the darkness, and I will continue to slaughter and pursue and conquer and suffer until there is nothing left!”

Vagabond reached out again, shaking her head, and looked at his churning legs. They were propelling him backwards, away from her despite his rage, and that more than anything boosted her confidence to keep going. She knew he wanted to come to her. She’d seen it, over and over, in his actions and body language, and for the life of her couldn’t understand why he’d deny himself now. He’d always loved her physical touch and attention. She had to make him see it.

“You’re still Elk,” she pleaded softly, and he tossed his head up to glare down at her.

“I’m not,” he hissed. “And you had best get that in your little head before I hurt you. Again.”

“Liar.”

She didn’t know what possessed her to say such a thing. She was still reeling from the madness she’d just witnessed and the word slipped from her lips as if it wasn’t the worst possible thing to say to him. And, judging by the way his eyes blazed and he slammed a hoof down so hard the ground trembled, he wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

“You… dare.” He pushed off the floor and expanded, filling the room amidst cries and sobs of his prisoners and shrieks of various animals. Vagabond stared up at him, all too aware that this very well might be the end.

“You’re lying to me,” she said stubbornly, digging herself deeper, “and you’re lying to yourself. You’re the one who saved me. You’re the one who’s called me friend. And you’ve never hurt me.” She rushed on before he could interject. “I didn’t have a single bruise from that time. You’ve never made even a scratch on me.” Her voice rose as she focused, shoving aside the past few minutes to deal with later. “You know why?”

His eyes narrowed again. Everyone and everything was silent now, and every single set of eyes were on them. The only sounds were her voice, and his raspy breath.

“Because you promised you never would. Elk.”

A shudder went through him. “Be careful, human.”

“Either you’re lying, and you’re still Elk, or you’re not, and you’re gonna end me right now.” She looked up at him wearily, and braced herself. “So if you don’t care about me anymore, about whatever promises you’ve made or whoever you were in the past, kill me. Kill me and prove it.”

Everything in the world seemed to fade away as she spoke, leaving both him and her alone as if they were the only two people left. All she could see was that massive bloated body, that white skull and those gleaming antlers; his wild flaming eyes as they snapped open wide. And then the skull got larger, and larger, and she realized too late that it was lunging for her and his jaws were spreading apart, far too wide to be natural, and then wider and wider and wider, oblivion calling out from between them. Vagabond was lifted by black tar and then that oblivion closed around her, sealing her away into nothingness.

Chapter Text

Everything was hot. It would have been a nice change to the freezing castle if not for the knowledge of what was happening; if not for the fact that she couldn’t breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the nothingness to overtake her entirely.

A second passed, then two. Vagabond fought the urge to inhale, though it didn’t matter anyway; the gunk forced its way up her nose and burned her sinuses. It was distinctly unpleasant. What was taking him so long?

And then she was flying through the air. Hitting the floor didn’t hurt as much as it should have; it squelched under her and took all the impact. Even so it forced the air out of her lungs and she coughed and wheezed, forcing the rotten ichor out of her nose with loud snorts. It coated her inside and out and all she could think of in that moment was that she’d finally gotten the taste she’d been tempted to take before. It was bitter and pungent but not as disgusting as she’d thought it would be. Either that, or her brain simply couldn’t handle what it really tasted like and defaulted to something she could understand.

As she hacked it out of her throat and blew it from her nose it also drained from her ears, and the sounds of retching filled them instead. Wiping it from her eyes, Vagabond cast around half-blind for the source of the sound and found it in the Nowhere King, who was leaning over and vomiting the same way she’d found him doing in the throne room. For a few minutes they both gasped and shook on the floor until he raised his head, tar draining from his nose and eye holes. He didn’t look at her, staring vacantly with empty sockets at the wall in front of him.

Vagabond started laughing.

He whipped his head around, staring at her as best he could without the fire of his eyes ignited; she cackled and spat and heaved and sobbed, unable to stop, and when he snapped “What is wrong with you,” she could offer only one explanation.

“Kinky.”

His eyes snapped open then, almost comically wide and filling the bony sockets, and his mouth dropped open. She was, in that moment, one hundred percent certain that he remembered exactly what she was talking about, and it only caused her to fall over in a fit of maniacal hysterics.

“You,” he began, then made a sound that could only be described as partly between a groan and gurgling. Vagabond tried to slow her crazed giggling. “You stupid, foolish, selfless—”

Vagabond sucked in air desperately, the muscles of her chest seized and painful. “I knew it,” she interrupted, lunging to her feet and almost falling over again, “I fucking knew it, you absolute psychopath!” Her lips curled back from her black-stained teeth and she bared them at him, then coughed up more tar, dashing it from her mouth. “You liar, you absolute liar, I thought you said only humans lied, looks like you’re just as bad as we are!”

He practically screeched with rage, but she screamed back, causing him to stop abruptly and jerk away, staring at her. Vagabond stumbled, suddenly lightheaded and completely spent, and fell against a minotaur, who stiffened, unsure what to do. She clung to its arm in a bid to keep standing. She was going to have a panic attack, she realized, as the walls of the room began falling towards her and shadows crept on the edges of her vision. But she just couldn’t. Stop. Laughing.

“Take her back to her room,” the Nowhere King spoke finally. “And bring me her previous guard.”

She snapped out of it just enough to realize what he was saying. “Don’t you dare!” She shrieked, “Don’t you dare kill him you bastard it’s not his fault don’t you dare, don’t you dare!”

“Now,” he snapped, and she was swept off her feet, still yelling.

Struggling was useless, of course, and she didn’t have the strength anyway, but she pawed at the armored beast holding her as she was carried away. Given the length in which they had to walk, she did eventually wear herself out and was mostly asleep by the time they reached her room. These weren’t her minotaur and they hadn’t been given further direction than to bring her there, so she was dumped just inside the door and left there.

The laughter overtook her again, this time mostly just painful spasms of her diaphragm, and she was honestly concerned that she would actually not be able to stop. Dragging herself to the balcony doors, she leaned her head against a cracked pane and sucked in fresh spring air until the convulsions finally ceased.

She needed a bath but there was no way her body was going to cooperate right now, so she collapsed on a sofa and instantly passed out.

There was no telling how long it had been when she woke. Hours, a day? Vagabond managed to get herself working enough to stir the fireplace into life and strip off her tar-stained clothes. A wet cloth sufficed to clean off most of the goop that still clung to her, and the old garments she tossed to the side to clean later. She’d amassed a good few changes of clothes in her explorations, so she redressed and headed shakily for the door.

The bison man swung his head around to look at her.

Vagabond’s mouth dropped. “Oh thank fuck.” She took a step out and the minotaur moved to intercept her, blocking her way. “I thought he’d killed you.”

He blew out a snort. “Me, too.”

“I’m sorry I ditched you,” she went on, once again trying to move out of the room, and stuttered when he again crowded her back inside. “I’ll—eh?”

“The Nowhere King has spoken,” the minotaur replied. “You are to stay here.”

A hot, indecipherable gust of emotion swept through her. Her chest squeezed again and she inhaled sharply. “Excuse me?”

“In this room,” he clarified, as if that indeed clarified anything.

Vagabond took a step back, slowly, staring up at him. His eyes reflected faintly green, and she wasn’t sure if that was because of the light or if it was because the Nowhere King was looking at her through them—if he could indeed do such a thing. She clenched her fists and opened her mouth to retort, then let the breath she’d been holding out slowly. “Okay, then,” she replied tightly, “can you help me with a bath?”

He grunted and nodded and did just that, using the cauldron of water she’d received that had been likely gathered from a river. She soaked for a while, trying to sort out thoughts. The walls were closing in around her again, sending needles of terror shooting up her spine. She had to remember the General and the King were one and the same person, with many of the same thoughts. This made sense. But he had said she was free to come and go from the castle, so by the time she dragged herself out and ate a meal, she’d managed to figure out her next steps: she’d wait five days. Five days to see if he’d release her, and if not, she’d take matters in her own hands. Until then she’d wait.

So she waited.

It took her about that time to regain her strength and settle her nerves. The nightmare of being eaten alive plagued her dreams, and it pissed her off. Five days of nothing, and it pissed her off. Five days of silence, of uncertainty and fear and growing anger.

And on the fifth day, either the biggest coincidence in the world happened or fate itself decided to give her a break. Vagabond hummed incessantly, watching threads of reality stretch and vibrate; it was painful, but she didn’t care anymore. And then something responded.

She was so startled she nearly stopped. The lullaby kept going and she jumped back in hastily. Elk’s magic sang along with hers, twining around and seizing control as he was wont to do. It dragged her along, sucking it in like the black hole he was.

That’s how you wanna play, huh? Fine.

He wanted to drag her in, she’d let him drag her in.

Everything folded like an accordion, squeezing her tightly in a familiar but forgotten sensation of space rippling. And then it spread out again, depositing her right where she wanted to be.

Vagabond planted her feet and let the anger overcome her, bubbling through her eyes and her voice as the Nowhere King loomed over her, mouth ajar and shocked into silence.

“I,” she spat, “have had. Enough.”

He raised his head and stared down his long nose at her and for a moment they faced each other down, the silence absolutely deafening. He even seemed to be holding his breath. Then, he let it out in a low dangerous rumble. “Return to your room,” he said, and behind her, the grand hall doors opened.

“No.”

She tugged and the doors slammed shut again, almost crushing the minotaurs about to enter. No pain hit her so they’d managed to escape, and she refocused her attention on the huge gelatinous creature before her. The Nowhere King’s eyes widened, then narrowed into slits.

“I’m not leaving,” she said tightly, “and neither are you. Not until you talk to me.”

“Now, what do you think you’re going to do,” his voice lowered into a purr, far more ominous than his snarls and posturing. He allowed himself to sink closer to her, stretching his neck out, and she took one step back to brace herself for the building storm. Tension and ozone crackled between them. Vagabond could feel her hair standing on end with prickling static. There were eyes on her, and not just his. “Are you going to fight me?” The word was hissed out, mocking and cruel, but Vagabond was too far into her magic, and too angry, to care. “You? Even if you did, even if you could, what do you think would happen? Do you think you can beat me?”

The air of the room seemed to expand and contract with every breath she made. She knew he could feel it, the way his gaze flicked around, and allowed the mania and fear and anger bubble over. The Nowhere King was sending goop towards her, spreading across the floor, and Vagabond lifted her chin to stare into his eyes defiantly. “I’m not gonna fight you.”

He crept closer. “Good. That would be foolish.”

Her magic sang. His was still responding. She allowed her lips to curl back, and for the first time in a long time, felt the joy of wild adrenaline flood her veins. “I’m here to fight for you.”

She threw herself into the magic, letting it, for once, just take her where it wanted her to go. He lunged and she was suddenly several meters to the side, leaving him snapping at empty space. She laughed breathlessly and skipped a few meters away, wild magic urging her into a dance. His goop shot for her. Stagnant air became alive and whirled in response to her movement, the funnel cutting a path between them and sending the liquid rot back at him. Shaking his head of his own essence the Nowhere King floated above her and sent gooey arms blasting for her, the ends spreading into fingers. Vagabond had no idea what he meant to do with that and didn’t want to find out. She stood next to the throne without knowing how she got there and the massive hands slapped against the floor.

“Vagabond,” he warned, gathering himself. “Stop.”

“Sorry, what’s that?” she taunted, and he snaked his neck towards her again, then jerked and snapped in surprise when she was far closer than he expected. She kissed him on the forehead and he twitched; she giggled at the absolutely flabbergasted look on his face, skull notwithstanding. “Stop what? Am I upsetting you? Why’s that?”

“You are pissing me off,” he bellowed back, reaching out with his legs to entrap her. Vagabond laughed sardonically and suddenly was behind him again, his ichor falling from her arms as if it were oil on water. He spun to face her again. “And that is a dangerous place to be.”

“Cut the dramatics. You’re not gonna kill me and we both know it.”

The whirlwind whipped around the room, expanding, encapsulating the entire length of the hall and rising into a crescendo. He fought to control himself in the cyclone and in the end had to plant himself on the floor and skitter at her like the eldritch monstrosity he was, growing more and more legs to keep himself down. She waited until he was almost to her and then stones from the floor shot upwards, blocking his way and clipping him in the skull. He yelped and popped his jaw back into place.

“Annoying, isn’t it?” she called over the tempest; the ozone sent static electricity flying and dancing as if made of playful sprites. “You keep trying to get to me and no matter what you do, there are all these walls!”

The stones fell back into place. Vagabond ignored the sting in her eyes and he hunkered down again, glaring at her.

“Stop,” he repeated, his deep voice piercing through the noise and magic effortlessly. Despite the natural commanding calm he exuberated there was a faint note of distress, one that she both despaired and relished. “Vagabond, dearheart, stop, you’re hurting yourself!”

“Oh yeah?” she sneered and darted around his bulk as he turned to keep pace, skipping and spinning while the rising pressure and power prickled all over her body. She was too hot, and dropped her coat to let the gale cool her sweat-soaked skin; attracted to the water, electricity crackled against her painfully. There was copper on her tongue and her ears popped. “What do you care, huh? What use does the Nowhere King have for empathy?”

She scampered up the dais and leaped atop the throne, standing on its arms. “Nice throne ya got here! Would be a shame if something happened to it!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Who’s gonna stop me? You? Why the fuck do you care about this piece of stone?” The thick vines forcing their way through the floor were moving, growing, spreading tendrils of their own. “What do you care about that?” One hand jabbed upward, pointing to the framed painting of the Princess, and the vines began reaching for it. His eyes widened and he lowered his head, brandishing his antlers and preparing to charge as if he were indeed still an elk. “What do you care about her? Do you even remember?”

“It, was all, for her!” He bulldozed his way down the hall, face down, his antlers pointed right for her.

She grinned madly, braced herself, and let him come. “You mean, all for you.”

He was almost upon her when he realized she hadn’t moved or disappeared. All of a sudden his hooves flew out in front of him, trying to stop his momentum, ropes of tar grabbing the columns to aid his skidding halt. Vagabond’s grin widened as two of said hooves slammed to either side of her head, barely missing crushing her own skull. He roared at her, right in her face, and she responded by saying cheekily, “Why’d you stop?”

The Nowhere King bent his legs to bring himself closer, slowly and carefully, as if a sudden movement would send her away again. He would be right. “Vagabond,” he said, enunciating carefully, “if you touch that chair, that painting, you are going to regret it.”

“That right?” she replied, then lowered her voice to hiss, “I’m sorry, did I find a sore spot?”

His eyes widened in recognition. She leaned forward, her nose brushing his skull ridge. “Doesn’t feel nice to be mocked, now does it.”

“You won’t be mocking me if you force my hand,” he warned.

She gave him another kiss just above his nose holes. “You mean I haven’t yet?”

The vines writhed and tore away from the wall, whipping for him. Taken completely by surprise, he shoved himself away and up automatically to avoid them. The tempest was waiting and he was immediately battered by wind as the vines snatched at his legs, pulling every which way. He flailed and she laughed. “How the tables have turned, Elky-boy!”

He roared in fury and Vagabond stepped from the arms of the throne to the seat, pressing a hand to her temple and blinking rapidly. She was losing herself, she knew. There were so many eyes on her, and their owners were beckoning, urging her to join them. She had no idea what they were or what they wanted beyond that. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

I don’t matter!

The manic laughter bubbled up again: frustration, joy, anger, desperation. She jumped down entirely off the throne. Despite her bravado she didn’t want to ruin the picture or the chair; both of those things were deeply important to him and causing damage would also irreversibly damage their friendship. If one could call it that anymore. She skipped down the length of the hall, her limbs moving as if belonging to someone else entirely. There was no way to tell if the seductive madness hazing her mind was her own, or merely the pressure of magic that didn’t belong in human hands. Vagabond danced and hummed under him as he fought the vines with black ones of his own. The Nowhere King finished ripping the plants apart and used the last one as an anchor to drag himself back to the floor. At that point she was near the doors again.

“So, hey,” she called conversationally, when he’d torn the last one in half and tossed it aside, “how’d you find me? What were you doing while I was trying to get the General to you?”

“And instead, you were captured,” he replied, and she scowled and waggled a finger at him.

“Nah-nah, this one’s about you. You’re the one who complains about deflecting, so stop it.”

“I learned that,” he snarled, “from you.”

“Finally!” She perked up. “We’re getting somewhere! You remember back then, huh?”

He froze. Even the puddle that had formed under him stopped rippling. His eyes dimmed; turned introspective. Vagabond smiled and coaxed, “You remember why we’re friends?”

“Are we?”

“Dunno, you tell me.” She folded her arms. “You call me friend but you haven’t been acting like it. So, are we?”

“We… we are,” he murmured, almost too low to hear. “We are.” Then his eyes blazed again and he threw back his antlers, angry all over again. “But that means nothing.”

Vagabond’s smile broadened. Her head was throbbing and the movement and the diffuse light of the room was beginning to make her sick, but she studiously ignored it. “Liar.”

He bunched together, snarling, then suddenly dove into the puddle underneath him, vanishing into the floor. The threads snapped to just below her, gathering with rotten power, and she darted to the side before he exploded from nothing. The cyclone contracted again and spun for them as he managed to grab her arm, goop slopping up to her elbow.

Vagabond stumbled, off-balance, and was dragged closer. She looked over as he lowered his head to her level, and turned her hand, fingers curling to thread through his own. For a second before the column of air hit them they were face to face again, and she murmured teasingly, just loud enough to reach him through all the noise, “Hey, at least you have hands now.”

“Vagabond—”

“Wanna dance?”

The cyclone hit, tearing them from each other. Vagabond was tossed and battered before the magic swept her up again, transporting her to another location. She’d lost all sense of the room by now; the angles of the floor and walls and columns went every which way. The energy popped between his antlers now like lightning on antennae. She watched it channel through his tines, silver to green, and for a moment it seemed like they curled and grew with each crackle. He was absorbing everything now. In her second sight she could see his black hole expanding and filling the room like her wind and vines. She was out of time. He was finished with her nonsense. There had been no question on what would happen if she directly challenged him like this: the King would win.

The now-massive eldritch being stared her down. “Vagabond,” he repeated, tenor rolling out easily through the insanity that writhed in the hall. It was low and dangerous; a final warning. “Stop this. Right now.”

The woman looked right back up at him, grinned, and said, “Make me.”

Glowing eyes narrowed to the tiniest of slits. “Fine.”

His legs, now too many to count, curled up and away from his body, bending in ways they should not have been able to. He swelled with power humming from the lullaby and then came crashing down. Vagabond had only a moment to brace, and she wasn’t even sure what she was bracing for, so she just watched in wide-eyed fascination as he slammed into the stone floor.

All the air sucked out of the room. Vagabond was aware of her chest heaving uselessly, working to inhale, but she wasn’t sure if her lungs were at all successful. The funnel dispersed. The vines collapsed. The electricity died. She felt her knees buckle and the last thing she saw before her eyes gave up was him darting to catch her.

She didn’t lose consciousness, though she wished she did. She couldn’t hear anything, the pressure in her ears blocking most sound. Her eyes ached from staying wide-open but unseeing, temporarily blind. The only sense she had left was touch. Her heart labored and her mouth and throat felt like cotton; she was covered in cold sticky sweat that was swiftly covered by hot sticky tar. Tremors shook her body and her teeth chattered. Something soft and warm and wet draped over her staring eyes.

Nausea roiled and she turned her head abruptly, feeling fluid drain from her mouth. At least it lubricated her vocal cords along the way, and she was able to finally whimper. A low bass pressed in on her eardrums in response, but she couldn’t make out any words. She swallowed and spat again, this time the fluid catching, and she was gently turned to let it out easier. Her hands and feet were both numb and tingling, and she searched around until she found his essence to sink her fingers in. It slid down her hands and wrapped around her forearms.

Her senses came back slowly, very slowly. First the taste of copper seared her mouth, then her ears began to clear. Her nose was all stuffed up and her sinuses ached. Finally she became aware of the cloth on her face to keep her eyes from drying out, and lifted a shaky hand to paw it away.

She lay in the crook of one of his legs, the others bunched around and bent above her. Blinking rapidly caused tears to stream from her eyes, and she stared up at the flames watching her intently from about half a meter away. He shifted, and one neck-hand reached out past her head and came back with the cloth she’d pushed away. He used it to mop her face. It came away stained rust-red.

She tried to ask what just happened, but the words failed to exit. He didn’t respond to the attempt so she focused on coming back to herself. The Nowhere King kept his eyes on her as she flexed her fingers and toes, then hands and feet, arms and legs, and finally stretched and popped her back against him. Fatigue and dizziness deadened her movements, causing her limbs to feel like they were swimming through honey. Eventually she had to give up and slumped back, blinking away the rest of her tears.

Throughout all of this her old friend was sinking closer and closer, likely without thinking, until Vagabond could reach up and touch him. She did reach out one trembling hand, but refrained from touching, and just waited. He studied her hand, palm-up and inviting, before letting out a low sigh and making it the rest of the way to meet it.

“What possessed you,” he murmured. Vagabond lifted her other hand and cupped his jawbones. “Why would you attempt such a thing. You had to know I would best you.”

“Yeah,” she managed to say. She worked her jaw before continuing. “Besting you… wasn’t the point.”

“You could have died.”

“You keep saying that.” She tugged at his face gently. “I… don’t… care.”

He grumbled and let her pull him closer. “I care.”

“You haven’t been acting like it.”

“Are you sure?”

She sighed. “Elk… please stop talking in riddles. Just. Just talk to me. I’m here. I want my friend back. Please.”

For a moment he didn’t respond, then, abruptly, he sank down the rest of the way, arching his neck and bowing until his forehead rested on her chest and his antlers sprawled out on either side, scraping the floor. “I cannot be the same person I was, dearheart.”

“That’s okay. I’m not, either.”

A long silence. Vagabond cradled his head against her chest. It was heavy and suppressed her breathing, but it was so very comforting to feel that weight atop her again, as annoying as she used to find it. Finally Elk spoke once more, his voice shaking her bones, “A soldier was captured and brought here. He asked to speak to me. He was adamant.”

“He asked to see you?” She wrinkled her nose, trying to imagine it. “Huh.” That was the ballsiest thing she’d ever heard.

“He said he knew where you were. I’d only ever heard people call you Gabby, but he called you Vagabond. That is how I knew he told the truth. He told me everything, in exchange for his life.” He rocked his head slightly to one side. She ran her thumbs over the ridges of his eye sockets. “I didn’t have to drag it out of him. At first I thought it was a trick, a trap, but he pleaded with me. Said he’d been sent there to find you, but he didn’t know how to set you free.”

Her head was spinning. What? What? “He was… sent? By who? Who was he?”

“I didn’t ask his name. I didn’t care. He said he remembered me at some party, and that he used to work with you.”

Vagabond’s eyes were closed at this point, but at that they shot open. She knew exactly who he was talking about. “Oh. Oh, gods among.”

“You know him, then.”

“Yeah… yeah, he… said he was gonna help me. I didn’t take him seriously. And then I heard he’d been captured. I… I assumed he was already a minotaur.” Her thoughts tumbled around her head. “He was sent?”

“I didn’t ask that either. I didn’t care who sent him, only that he knew where you were.”

And he’d come for her. He’d heard where she was, and Elk had immediately responded and came to find her. Vagabond felt her breath catch and her fingers tightened on his bony face. “So… wait. You said everyone else called me Gabby.”

“Yes. I knew you wouldn’t like that.”

Her head was swimming with all this new information. “How’d you know what people were calling me?”

He lifted his head to look at her. “Is it so surprising that I was searching for you?”

She stared back at him, wide-eyed, then choked out, “Y-Yeah.” He cocked his head and she went on, “I mean… I knew you were looking for the Princess, I didn’t think you’d… stop to try and find me.”

His gaze was, as always, sharp and focused. Vagabond had averted hers, playing idly with the goopy tentacles coiled at his neck, but she could still feel its fire on her. Finally he replied, “You were wrong.”

“Clearly,” she whispered, blinking back tears to no avail. The Nowhere King watched her curiously as she sniffled and wiped them away. Carefully, he reached out a tendril, touching one of her cheeks as if he’d never seen it before. “Have you ever cried in front of me?” he asked, peering closely at her face. “Before?”

“I-I…” She coughed and mumbled, “I… don’t… I-I think so?”

“What did I do back then?”

Vagabond swallowed hard and tried her damndest to stop. “I don’t remember.”

“Hm. Neither do I.” His neck extended and straightened, pulling away from her, and she tensed as he cast his gaze around, afraid her crying had pushed his psyche behind his walls again. But he was merely taking in all the debris and marks of their brief struggle. “That was quite the show,” he said after a moment. “Had practice, did you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Desperate to get the topic back onto him, Vagabond tugged at one of his legs. He swung back down to look at her. Emboldened by his sudden docility and responsiveness, she struggled to sit up further and wrapped her arms around him, letting his goop slide over her shoulders. “Tell me everything that’s happened since we’ve been apart.”

The Nowhere King rumbled, but didn’t react to her embrace. It seemed that Vagabond’s outburst had finally flipped a switch inside of him. Who knew how long it would last, but he was reciprocating her affection, and that was all she could ask for the time being. “Very well.” And then his face was hovering near her right shoulder, coming from the opposite direction. It was terribly disconcerting; from where she sat, the base of his neck hadn’t moved. “But,” he added, “I want to know something in return.”

“You already know my story,” she mumbled into him, and closed her eyes. He didn’t smell like Elk anymore, but she could get used to this. It was the new him, after all.

“No. I don’t.”

It took her a moment to catch up. Oh. Oh.

“I want to know everything,” he went on. “I don’t remember much from before, but I do remember how annoying you were when avoiding my questions.” His eyes narrowed. “Enough of that. You know everything there is to know about me, even things I’ve forgotten. It’s your turn. Especially in the light of…” One hoof uncurled and gestured to the room. “...All this.”

Vagabond groaned and shoved her face further into his neck, letting it slide over her. She could only do that for a few moments before needing to breathe, and pulled back out, wiping her face. Fair was fair; she knew it, he knew it, she knew he knew it and he knew she knew it. “Fine. Okay. You have a right to know.” She hesitated. “It doesn’t have to be, like… right now though, right?”

“Hmm.” She peeked to see him studying her up and down. “...No. We will speak again.”

“After you tell me.” She wanted to take as much advantage of this agreeable mood of his for as long as it lasted. Tomorrow he might decide to avoid her again.

He sighed. “After I tell you.”

Vagabond smiled, let go and fell back onto his leg—or, at least, expected to fall onto his leg. She hit something far squishier and realized he’d wrapped his neck under her back. Oh, that was much more comfortable. “Okay, I’m listening. Go.”

He completed the circle and rested his chin on her chest. And then he began to speak.

As it was with her, his memories were not complete. The drive to find his Princess had utterly taken over every decision he’d made. He didn’t remember why, but Vagabond could hear the obsession burning under his tone. It was the driving force behind each and every action, every slaughter, every soldier captured. He’d been preparing to enter Centaurworld again. There had been a confrontation with the General in the Rift. “That was you, wasn’t it,” he mused, shifting his chin a little. “You sent him there.”

“Uh-huh. I thought you’d use the Key.”

“I tried…” he trailed off, squinting. “Mm. It was so long ago.”

She trailed her fingers over one of his antler prongs. “And then?”

His time in the Rift had driven him past any insanity that had begun to eat away at his mind. He breezed by the people that had opened it again, snorting, “All they had to do was let me leave, and I wouldn’t have even spared them a glance. But they decided to try and fight me. And like you, they didn’t last very long.”

She blew a faint raspberry. “I wasn’t trying to fight you, I was trying to get through that thick skull of yours.” She knocked her knuckles against his forehead and he huffed. “Apparently, as smart as you are, the only thing that gets you to listen is brute strength.”

“Mmgrble,” was his response. He moved his chin again, and this time Vagabond winced as the point of it dug into one breast. She shoved him back to her sternum. “I do not know if what you did is considered strength. You lost yourself, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever, shut up. What did you do to me, anyway? I can barely move.”

“Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not,” he snapped. There it was, his temper had finally returned. Vagabond didn’t want him to withdraw, so she just meekly nodded. He settled down and told her, in profound reverence, the appearance of his old love; how she’d halted him in his tracks. “I would have let her kill me,” he murmured, his deep voice even deeper, mellowing into adoration. “Only her. If she wishes my death, so be it. But she didn’t. Couldn’t.”

Vagabond didn’t dare interrupt again. She recognized the description of the magical explosion; that was what she’d felt, and winced when he described the Key lodged in his chest. Though, to be honest, she was glad they had been able to escape his rage. He told her about how he’d returned to the castle and reoriented himself… and listened to reports of the magic-user who often helped the General’s army. One in particular had sent him into a rage. A woman, stumbling in the night and dragging a chain, whispering to a minotaur about the location of a piece of the Key.

His story ended and his soothing voice fell away. Vagabond was barely hanging onto consciousness at this point, the vestiges of adrenaline finally draining away. She fought to keep her eyes open, and the Nowhere King lifted his head off her chest to peer at her face. 

“Rest, my little friend,” she barely heard him whisper. “You’ve made your point. Rest dreamless and safe.”

Vagabond closed her eyes and snuggled into him, and finally allowed herself to drift off to sleep to the feeling of her old friend gently grooming what was left of her hair.

Chapter Text

It took almost three days for her to recover. Whatever he’d done had sapped her body of energy, calories and appetite. She felt like she had when she first arrived; achy, exhausted, head throbbing, barely able to move. She was back in her room in bed and though that annoyed her, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

After the first day of sleeping and not eating the Nowhere King came up to personally order her to eat. His tone brooked no argument and she could tell he was terrifyingly close to force-feeding her, so she submitted and choked down a few bites of whatever was offered. He didn’t let up, of course, and she came to realize that if she rejected a meal she could count to thirty and he’d be up in the room again, glowering.

This was all reminiscent of when she’d skip a few meals in the General’s control; she would be invariably forced to eat, and though the General himself would order his lieutenants to do the dirty work she had the dreadful feeling the King wouldn’t be the same. He would shove food down her throat himself. Vagabond had had enough of tasting his rot during their little tiff to last her the next few months at least.

“Were you always so mother-hennish?” She asked irritably, washing down tasteless porridge with a gulp of water.

He dragged his body a little further in and settled on the floor, watching her shrewdly. His massive length fell out the balcony doors and lukewarm spring air floated in. Vagabond could see the hint of green beyond; the land wasn’t as desolate as she once thought. She itched to get outside. The Nowhere King didn’t respond, sinking his head onto his bulbous neck and watching her unblinkingly. “For someone as obsessed with food as you,” she went on, studying the now-empty bowl before placing it on the floor beside her, “I’m surprised you don’t have a personal chef.”

She picked up a slice of dried sausage and held it up. “Want it?”

He glared.

“I know you do.” Vagabond waved it back and forth. “I can’t chew it. My teeth are all fucked up now, y’know.”

For a long moment he didn’t move, fixated on the meat, then leaned forward and opened his mouth. Vagabond smiled and dumped the slices in, and he swallowed them whole. “I can smell the spice. Sausage, amirite?”

“Sausage…” his eyes unfocused and he put his head down on a pillow next to her. She’d gotten tired of sitting in bed and had made a nest on the floor. “Sundried tomatoes.”

“Oh, yeah.” She leaned back against the seat of a chair. “Pasta.”

“Carrot cake.”

“Apples and cranberries.”

“Pumpkin pie.”

“You and your sweets.” She reached up and rubbed a hand over one knobby tine. “Your antlers are so regal.”

He grumbled a little, clearly annoyed at being brought out of his memories of food, and rolled his head to the side to bring her into his sight. Said antlers swung the other way, out of reach, and she let her hand drop. “I’ve always hated them.”

“Well, I love them. They definitely make you look like a king.”

“Your compliments are getting a little far-fetched.”

“Not far-fetched if they’re true.”

He squinted at her, she squinted back, and they commenced an impromptu battle of the wills; him calm and commanding and knowing he’d win despite his languid pose, and her struggling to keep from escaping the discomfort. Finally, carefully, she raised both hands. He gave the distinct impression of raising an eyebrow as, with exaggerated slowness, she reached for him and suddenly slapped her palms over both of his eye sockets. “I win.”

“Get your hands off my face.”

“Make me.”

“That is the second time you’ve said that,” and suddenly she was on her back, pinned firmly to the floor while his bare skull hovered ominously above her. “I don’t know why you insist on repeating it. You know I can, and I will.” He leaned closer. “Or is that the point?”

She felt her face flush. Ichor dripped hot on her cheek and she frantically cast about for a way out of her current predicament. Abruptly a grin spread across her face. His eyes narrowed. “What.”

“You flirting with me?”

He backed off so fast his antlers bounced off the ceiling. Vagabond raised herself up on her elbows and waggled her eyebrows. “I win again.”

“Ridiculous, irritating creature,” he growled.

“Guilty as charged.” She got comfortable again, flapping the blanket atop her to get some air flow. She was, for whatever reason, all overheated. The Nowhere King remained quiet, still focused with that burning gaze, almost expectant. Vagabond felt her nerves buzz and her heart rise to her throat; he was going to ask her to start telling her life’s story, she just knew it. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready, she couldn’t even think of where to start, and then his eyes shifted from her to the side and Vagabond pounced on the escape. He was looking at the chair where she’d set her book down, and she grabbed it and raised it up before him. “It’s a multigenerational epic about some nobles in an eastern empire.” 

“I didn’t ask.”

She ignored him. “I don’t know the original language, but it seems like a pretty good translation. Even has a summary of characters and stuff in the back.”

He didn’t move from his lofty height, but his eyes graced the cover, taking in the title. Finally, grudgingly, he asked, “Fiction or non-fiction?”

“Honestly, couldn’t tell ya.” She paused, lowering the book back to study it, then looked back up at him with an impish smile. “Want me to start over? I can read it to you.”

He went silent, considering. Vagabond could tell he wanted to say yes, but his pride was saying no. Stubborn bastard. She rolled her eyes and opened the book to where she left off. “I’m not that far along, see?”

“Hmph.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She put it down and stretched, then beckoned to him. “C’mere.”

He didn’t move.

“Don’t start this again,” she warned. “Come here and let me love on you.”

With a deep, exaggerated sigh—she could feel him rolling his eyes, though he refrained from actually doing so—the Nowhere King flopped his head down, splashing the cushions and nearly ruining the pages with his gunk. Vagabond pulled it away just in time with a huff, then snuggled up to him, propping up on one elbow. He gazed into middle space, not moving as she got comfortable. “So,” she thumbed through the book, “what have you been up to while I’ve been unconscious?”

“Never you mind.” Vagabond frowned, and he paused before adding almost gently, “It would only hurt you.”

Right. Reality hit her once again like a ton of bricks. The war. His atrocities. While she was teasing and playing with her old friend, people were dying and being twisted into monsters. She looked back down at the book sandwiched between them. How easy it was to pretend everything was okay. Vagabond felt her own trauma stir, threatening to rise into the foreground, and forced it aside, reaching behind her for a few more snacks. “...Yeah. Let’s read the book.”

Silence. Vagabond popped a piece of dried fruit into his mouth via the gap behind his molars, grinned as he snorted and swallowed, then turned to page one and began.

~

With warmer weather came storms, and Vagabond felt her energy return with each rumble of thunder and crack of lightning. She kept the doors of the balcony open and let the wind race through, making a mess of the room and bringing the faint scent of pine. No wonder she hadn’t smelled spring approaching; the room she was in was so high up that the beginnings of new life hadn’t reached her and the snow had hidden everything from view.

She was shocked at the rapid transformation. It was as if the city had never existed. How long had it been, since they’d both been locked away? It seemed both like yesterday and forever ago that she was racing over roofs and slipping on clay tiles. If she explored far enough, how many old bodies would she discover? How many houses and stores and broken lives had been forgotten under the apathetic creep of nature?

The smell, the sight, the sounds of lush spring overtook her completely the first time she felt confident enough to go outside. Vagabond promptly forgot the gloomy castle and bolted, charging into the underbrush and leaving her bison man completely behind. Pine needles slapped her in the face, dumping water from a recent rain all over her and emptying her mind of all else. Birds fluttered tree to tree and slippery dead leaves tripped her up; she laughed and rolled, throwing her arms around a mossy log to stop her tumble.

She lay there, hugging the log with everything she had, and whispered, “I missed you.”

The forest wouldn’t mock her. It wouldn’t block her out, wouldn’t send guards, wouldn’t lock her away. A breeze made its way past the canopy and rustled the leaves, sending one hanging branch to swing lazily and touch her shoulder as if to say, “we missed you too.”

Vagabond cried. She buried her nose into the moss and sobbed with abandon, letting out the wrenching pain of reliving memories long buried; the aching emptiness of being deprived of exactly this for so many years. She ran her hands over the bumps in the wood and let the pine needles slip through her fingers and sucked in the musk of dead leaves and flora and pollen. That! She realized; that was what Elk now reminded her of. Before, he was the epitome of a woodland creature with the scent of trees and river water. Now, he was the forest floor, with the scent of decay and decomposition. But wasn’t destruction and rot only the precursor to new life?

Thinking about Elk, the Nowhere King, brought her back to the present. He was hurtling towards certain doom, she could see it; rapidly approaching and threatening an end to everything she held dear. Oh, he deserved it, she knew. No matter how gentle he was with her—and gentle wasn’t a way to describe it, just close enough—he was, in his own words, the darkness and destruction of these lands. The only way to stop him was, well, to stop him.

She couldn’t accept that. Sitting up, Vagabond let her mind wander. Being out in the wilds helped her thought process immensely, but try as she might, she couldn’t think of a single way to end all this without killing him as a person. Joining him with his counterpart would work in theory, but the Elktaur had become two utterly deplorable monsters, and the whole wasn’t always greater than the sum of parts…

Their falling-out had forced him to acknowledge some parts of himself, but Vagabond could sense it wasn’t enough. Despite his apparent concession and their newly reawakened connection she could still sense Elk—the true Elk, her friend—hiding behind his rage and hatred. She’d forced him to open up a little, but it hadn’t been enough. He needed to be rattled. The doomsday clock was ticking down and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

With a groan she got up and stretched, procrastinating her return with the need to work kinks out of her body. As much as she wanted to stay out here forever, the needling fear of someone other than a minotaur finding her tugged her to turn back. She was still far too weak to really escape if someone wanted to do her harm. Vagabond turned back towards the castle, pleased she automatically knew where it was despite being effectively lost. “Still got it,” she informed the woods triumphantly.

The minotaur found her halfway there, his ears perking up when she came within eyesight. Vagabond smiled at him and he fell into step beside her. “I like being your guard,” he said abruptly.

Surprised and pleased, she looked up at him. “What, really? I thought it’d be scarier, since you’re closer to the Nowhere King.”

“It is,” he agreed, then fell silent, brow furrowing in thought. Vagabond could tell it was harder for him to work through his own mind; bison weren’t known for their intelligence.

“Hey,” she said cheerfully, “d’you remember who you were before?”

He hesitated. “Sort of.”

“That doesn’t stop you from hurting people?”

He paused midstep, and when she looked up at him he averted his gaze. “No,” he said after a moment. “All hail the Nowhere King.” He touched the old insignia on his breastplate. Red and gold paint was almost entirely scraped off by multitudes of battles and time, but she recognized the faded pattern of what used to be the crown’s closest contingents. He was one of the first, perhaps, and somehow had made it past his master’s incarceration. No wonder the Nowhere King had entrusted him as her guard.

“Right,” she said softly. “All hail.”

They continued back in. Vagabond took one last deep inhale of the forest and sighed, then let him help her up the many flights back to her room, where she took yet another bath. This was probably the most bathing she’d ever done in such a short period of time. It was kind of nice to be able to pamper herself, but it did needle her conscience, the old wariness of feeling settled writhing uneasily in her gut: not allowed.

The Nowhere King appeared as she was getting out. He’d taken to coming up to see her if she didn’t go down to the throne room that day; it warmed her that he was now aware of her absence and did something about it. Nowadays the great hall was open to her, and she’d made a point of coming to visit at least once a day to hang out, gently poke at his memories, or read to him when he didn’t feel like talking.

As it were she yelped and dove back into the other room. “Hey now!”

She could hear him rumble and squish about as he got comfortable. “What are you doing.”

“I was about to change,” she tucked the ratty towel more securely around her and poked her head through the door. “As my clothes are out there, so turn your butt around.”

“Why?” He eyed her with a sardonic glint in his eye, then went on wickedly, “I’ve already seen you naked.”

Vagabond would have shrieked, but her voice caught in her throat. She coughed and hacked, sputtering until she found it again. “You, you, what!”

“The minotaurs had to practically cut your clothes off when I first brought you here.”

“The minotaurs saw me too?!”

“Only two of them. Including your current guard.” His double-tone voice became downright vindictive. “And then they bathed you.”

Vagabond made a sound that he should have been proud of, sitting hard on the floor just inside the door frame out of sight. “You jerk I hate you!”

“No, you don’t.” He was casual and confident in his response, and she could hear the condescending chuckle behind his words. She wrinkled her nose and popped her head back out to stick her tongue at him. “I don’t think you’re capable.”

“Fuck you. Turn around so I can get dressed.” She folded her arms across her breasts, even though he couldn’t see anything but her head, and studiously ignored the fact that he was absolutely right.

For a moment he stared at her, as if incredulous she was still insisting, then with a deep sigh his head began to turn. Loud snaps and cracks filled the room as he slowly forced it out of position to look in the opposite direction. Vagabond winced with each horrifying sound—that was something she didn't think she’d be able to get used to. “Hurry up,” he groused.

She scrambled to obey, grabbing the clothes she’d laid out on the bed and throwing them on. “Okay,” she called, and he swung his head back into position; she cringed and sought to change the subject. She’d have to file the “he saw me naked” string of thoughts away for later. “So, uh, you’ve been busy lately. Um… planning something?”

“Once again,” he replied, “do not concern yourself.”

She folded her arms again, averting her gaze to the open balcony. It was partially cloudy out and the air smelled of rain. She wanted to run. “I know,” she said quietly, “that you wanna protect me. But we need to talk about this.”

“I have already explained to you what will happen,” he growled, with strained patience. “What must happen.”

“But it doesn’t!” She stepped towards him, resting one hand on an ink-black leg splayed out to one side. “It doesn’t have to be this way. It doesn’t have to happen. There’s always another way.”

He studied her a moment, impatience warring with affection, before he took a deep breath. Hot air blasted her as he let it out and momentarily he closed his eyes, settling his temper. It was a good sign he was capable of such a thing, and Vagabond took it to heart. The Nowhere King leaned forward and gently rested his chin on her shoulder, leaning his teeth against her temple. “Dearheart,” he said, finally, “there is no other way. I don’t know where the General is. If he had his way, he’d keep me sealed away for eternity. I don’t know where the Princess is. If she were here, I’d ask her to end me and this war. Doing nothing is not an option. And so it continues on, and on, and on, until there is nothing left.”

She squeezed her own eyes shut, willing back tears and pressing her cheek against him. “And because you’re enjoying yourself.”

“There are so few things that bring me joy. This…” his darkness roiled in her mind’s eye as he chuckled, darkly. “This is one of them.”

“Are you even hearing yourself? What about when you were a centaur—”

“Queso.”

“What?”

“Never liked it. But I’d give anything to have some right now. Spanish for ‘cheese,’ you know.”

Vagabond grit her sore teeth, then winced. She couldn’t be mad. How many times had she done the same damn thing; flee her bad memories for good ones and turn to things that brought her enjoyment to escape the discomfort of the present—or the past? Her mind was as ragged as his had been when she’d met him in a river. She was all-too-aware that she was in the beginning stages of mental recovery; the same he’d been in when he’d first begun to speak. Time would only tell if she could save herself the same way she was trying to save him.

It would be so easy…

“Elk?” His head shifted on her shoulder. “When you were… trapped. Did you reach out to me?”

“Mm. More times than I can count. To no avail. I couldn’t hear you.”

Well, that would stay a mystery, it seemed. Her fingers tapped on his skull and she ignored his soft, querying sound. He was talking to her, that was progress, and had successfully diverged his temper. It just wasn’t enough.

“I went for a walk the other day.”

“What else is—ah.” He lifted his head off her, just slightly. “Did you see something you were not meant to?”

“I…” the image of a sobbing man being strapped to a platform lingered in her mind, no matter how many times she suppressed it. She’d walked out on a beam, drawn by the flashes of sickly green light and the absolute wrongness in the threads of reality, and had immediately regretted it. The rest of the day had been spent shaking, and she was glad she’d already visited her friend that day. “I s-saw your machine.”

“Glorious, isn’t it. It’s the fourth version.”

Vagabond swallowed. “It’s uh, certainly something.” She faltered; he was now trying to either soothe or distract her—or both—by stroking the opposite side of her face. She appreciated the gesture, but they needed to talk about this. “Elk, I’m… I’m scared.”

He stopped.

“I’m losing you again and I don’t want to. I don’t want you to die, and I don’t want you to suffer, and I don’t want anyone else to suffer and I know… I know you feel like those are the only options, but I…” She was trembling, trying to keep her tears from falling onto his bony face, and hissed in a breath. “Please, this needs to stop, this can’t be the only way. It can’t.”

The tendril he was using to touch her gripped the side of her neck. “You are so irritating.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Be selfish for once,” he snapped. She flinched. “For once in your life.”

“Maybe you should learn to be selfless,” she replied, and tightened her hold when he made to move away. “For once in your life.”

He snarled, then visibly forced himself to gentle. “Let’s read a chapter. We were just getting to a good part.”

Vagabond closed her eyes, and gave in.

They were drowning.

~

The march towards the end continued steadily, the days counting down as if seconds of a bomb. Howls and roars of unholy creatures echoed through the halls when she descended now, amid the cries of terror of humans. And every once and a while, she heard the deep tenor of the Nowhere King rumbling out, unintelligible, but she could just imagine what he was saying.

How did it come to this. How. Vagabond wracked her memories, trying to find a single instance where she could have stopped it. The avalanche had been the last straw in his undoing, but he’d been hurtling down this self-destructive path long before that. If only she’d confronted him beforehand. If only she wasn’t a completely useless friend.

“HELLOOOO!”

Vagabond made it to the other side of the room she was idly searching before her mind caught up with her flight response. Gasping, heart pounding, she ducked behind an armoire and peeked back out.

A shiny, bald, eyeless creature peeked back at her from the floor.

“What,” Vagabond panted, “what, who, what the fuck?”

“OHHHH, I see,” the creature proclaimed loudly, “you can talk to Mr. Shrimp Legs but the sight of the noble Comfortable Doug sends you scurrying like a common rattaur!”

“What,” she repeated. “What.” Her brain scrambled to catch up. “Wh—you need to go, the minotaurs will—”

He disappeared into the hole and the hole likewise disappeared, as if it had never been. His head suddenly appeared next to her along flying bits of stone as he popped halfway out of the wall. Vagabond squeaked mid-sentence and whirled, stumbling back. It had been so long since she’d seen any sort of centaur she’d completely forgotten what they were like. Moletaur. She’d met plenty of them in her brief jaunts into Centaurworld. “And HOW many minotaurs there are! ALL out in the forEST awaiting the No-where King’s COM-mand to render my homeworld into death and destRUCTION while a woman full of strange-sad steals from the dead.”

Vagabond felt the blood drain from her face. “In the… forest?”

“YES, that is where they gather!” He took a deep breath. And kept going. And kept going, making a high pitched tea-kettle noise and baring sharp teeth. “They march for the World of Centaurs—whoop it is time for Comfor-table Doug to go!”

He spun like a top, sending shards of stone everywhere, then popped back into the hole as the bison-man slammed open the door. Vagabond was still staring at where Comfortable Doug’s hole had been, which was now nonexistent, and started at the sudden movement. Before he could demand answers she whispered, “The army?”

The minotaur hesitated. “The army,” Vagabond repeated.

“There was a centaur—”

“Nevermind the centaur, what about the army.”

“The Nowhere King has assembled his forces,” he replied reluctantly, still waving his cleaver, looking around for the intruder. Who knew what had kept him from coming in sooner; Vagabond definitely didn’t care right now. “We will march on the Rift.” Another pause. “Not me,” he added, as if that needed clarification, “I will stay with you.”

“No,” she heard herself say. He cocked his head. “No. No, no…”

She rushed past him and darted up the stairs to her room and out onto the balcony. The black form of the Nowhere King hung silently in the air, watching the forest below. Vagabond followed his gaze. The trees were too thick in many places to see past them, but here and there were clearings, and lines upon lines of movement betrayed the figures making their way through.

He turned and saw her, most likely because her magic surged in her panic. Swiftly, he moved for her. The clouds already gathering in the sky began to darken as she frantically tried to think of a way to stop the army from advancing. Just letting her magic do its work could have drastic repercussions, but she might have to do it anyway—

The shadow of the King loomed over her. She’d hesitated too long. “I was going to come tell you when I had finished taking stock of my army,” he said mildly enough, but there was an edge to his words. If she tried to stop him, he’d stop her first. “I may be gone for a while.”

She shook her head, backing up slowly, but couldn’t think of any words. “I know,” he continued after a moment, leaning forward to keep pace, “that this is hard for you.”

“Elk…”

“Now, now. Go back inside.”

“No! ” She dashed her tears away and swallowed hard. “I can’t just let you do this. It’s not necessary, none of this is necessary or okay or, or…”

He waited silently. The storm gathered above them. Vagabond reached for the lullaby.

“I can’t let you,” she breathed.

He grabbed her suddenly, moving faster than someone so big should. Vagabond scrambled for her magic, but suddenly she was gasping, her control and power slipping away. The Nowhere King skittered inside and dragged her with him. “Look,” he spat. “Look at this.”

The clink of chain drew her attention, and despite her sudden weakness Vagabond shoved backward in an utter panic. Her old nemesis dangled in front of her face, its evil mask open and shackles swinging slowly from side to side. She could hear herself scream. Where had he hid that, where did it come from, why had he brought it with him—

“Look at it,” the King hissed, grabbing her chin and forcing her gaze. “This is what they did to you.”

She whimpered and clawed at him.

“This is what they would do to you, again. What he would do, if he didn’t have enough gall to kill you outright.”

“Th-The centaurs, they had n-nothing to do with—”

“They will side with the General. Do you understand? They will buy into his lies, the foolish creatures. They will fight to contain me, kill my family, and seal me away again.” He dragged her face around to look at him. “He’ll convince everyone not to try and end me. He will fight to continue this useless, endless war, to prolong our suffering, and they will help him.”

“They’re just trying to protect their people!” She yelled back, cringing from the ominously creaking bridle. “You can’t blame them for that!”

He released her abruptly and reached out, ripping a large, dusty, heavy painting off the wall and tossing it aside with a crash. The bolt hammered into stone to keep it anchored remained stuck and he swung the bridle up to take its place. “ Look at it! Look at your torture every time you feel pity for those pathetic things. That would be your future.” His eyes narrowed, taking in her tear-streaked face, and his voice lowered. “There. Is. Nothing. Left.”

She shook her head, slumping into a chair as the room spun, exhausted and broken. He reached out, taking her suddenly cold hands in his hot tar, and at first she thought he was attempting to be sweet in light of his cruel revelation, but he was wrapping her limbs in his rot and sticking her to the chair.

He pulled away as she jerked against her binds, studying her coolly, then turned to her guard, who had followed her into the room. “Take care of her.” Lowering his head to eye level once more, he stared into her face, forcing her to acknowledge him. “Vagabond… stay.”

And then he left.

Stay. His voice had taken the edge of the lullaby, drawing her in, using the magic as a force behind the command. It rang inside her head like a church bell, bouncing through her thoughts until everything else was flattened to the sides. She stared emptily in front of her. He’d turned the chair to face the evil contraption hanging on the wall, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing the oncoming panic to wane so she could think. The storm was here; she didn’t have time for anxiety.

“H…Hey.” She got her mouth to work, albeit slurred.

Be selfish for once.

“Hey. You.”

The minotaur grunted beside her. Vagabond dragged her eyes from the chain on the wall to him. The ringing in her head and ears refused to abate, leaving her swimming through his power. That fucker, using her own song against her.

“Cut me loose.”

It would be so easy to just let him go. Let him continue his slaughter. Let the war drag on, and on, and hide up in the tower and pretend nothing was happening and let him dote on her the way she wanted to dote on him. 

“The Nowhere King—”

“Told you to take care of me. Not keep me captive.” She struggled to focus, clawing through the thickness in her mind. “Cut. Me. Loose.”

She didn’t want him to die.

Be selfish.

The tar fell from her arms. Vagabond lurched to her feet, grabbing onto him to steady herself. “Take me downstairs. Front door.”

If you don’t want to fight, you don’t have to. But at least let me do it for you.

He picked her up and plodded for the door. “Faster,” she said quietly, “hurry.”

Obediently, his steps quickened. There were nothing short of a gazillion stairs to get down, and his feet were massive, so there was only so fast he could go on a good day. Vagabond tore through the heavy haze on their way, ears popping as the ringing began to subside. Her rising anger and frustration helped. How many times did they have to go through this? How long would it be until he finally snapped and got rid of her for good?

Until that happened, she’d return to his side. Over and over. She’d promised.

I’ll fight for you.

Voices echoed through the hall, now empty of screams and howls. Strangely calm voices.

“I’m good now,” Vagabond said, “I’m good, I gotta walk, let me down.”

The minotaur obeyed, though he was staring in the direction of the voices’ origin, gripping his sword the moment she left his arms. Vagabond dropped to a run, stumbling, urged on by both urgency and curiosity. Someone was here. Someone not a minotaur. It almost didn’t matter. She had to go to him. It was the end, the storm was here and the tidal wave was hovering over them; she had to get to him now, now, now.

Without warning she was being yanked back, right when they turned the corner and the nearest door came into view. Her minotaur shoved her behind him as, with a sudden deafening boom, the massive door fell inwards. Dust, dirt, and debris filled the hall. Vagabond staggered when the heavy gate hit, making the floor shudder, and coughed and pulled her shirt to cover her mouth and nose.

And in the sudden silence, a huffy voice grumbled, “Dirt feet.”

She blinked her watery eyes open. Standing on the thick slab that used to be a door was a woman, and poking its head in behind her was a huge man, glaring down at her.

The absolute enormity of the giant man would have normally given her pause. As it were, Vagabond only had eyes for the woman. She was aged, and the lines of her face were written with stress and years of sorrow, but that didn’t matter. That purple hair could only belong to one person.

“Princess,” she breathed.

Chapter Text

Vagabond had to immediately leap in front of her guard. The woman had startled at her voice and whipped around, crimson energy crackling from her fingertips, and the bison-man had begun to lunge forward. “Wait wait wait! Wait! No wait!” She shoved her palms against his breastplate. “Stop! That’s the Princess that’s her!”

He skidded to a halt. The floor rippled and Vagabond winced as her magic spiked, vines crawling towards them. The lullaby whispered stay, betraying her. She grit her teeth and bore it. “Wait,” she gasped one more time, using the King’s order against his own minotaur, and he froze. “Okay. Okay.” She turned, leaning back against him and panting. The woman was staring at her. The huge man was staring at her. A pair of legs poking out from under the massive door gave one last twitch, then stilled. Vagabond winced. Ouch.

After a moment the woman, still frozen and staring at her, let the power die and stood slowly from her crouch. Though as ragged and scruffy as Vagabond was, she still held herself with the regality of royalty, especially from her perch atop the slab. “Who,” she said finally, her voice low and rough, “are you.”

“I’ll tell you who she is,” the man behind her sniffed, “she’s a woman who doesn’t have dirty feet. She’s someone who knows the value of shoes.”

Vagabond blinked and broke her gaze to him. “I, uh. Hi. I’m,” she darted her eyes between them before settling on the Princess, who was far more important at the moment, “I-I’m Vagabond, I’m… I’m his… friend. He’s my friend.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Who. Who is your friend.”

“E-Elk,” Vagabond squeaked, completely intimidated by her imposing stare, which was impressive given her closeness with the Nowhere King of all creatures. The irony did not escape her. “Oh. The Nowhere King.” Saying his title-name snapped her out of her awe. “The—I gotta get to him. I gotta—” she dragged her fingers through her hair, stammering uselessly, and suddenly the woman leaped down from the door and strode over to her, completely ignoring the huge minotaur at Vagabond’s back.

“You,” she said slowly, glowering at her, mouth set in a frown, “are his friend? That can’t be. The Nowhere King is an entity of absolute evil. He has no friends.”

“Absolute evil, huh,” Vagabond replied quietly, “is that why you didn’t kill him in the Rift?”

The Princess sucked in a breath and took a step back. “What.”

“Is that why—”

“I heard you. How did you know that.”

“He told me,” Vagabond said, and then everything started rushing out, “he told me everything. Well, we had a shouting match first—okay it was a little more than a shouting match, he kicked my ass—but he told me everything because I’m his friend, he’s my friend, we’re friends and I have to get to him he’s making a mistake, he’s, he’s,” she faltered, panting, darting a glance out the door. “And I gotta stop him. Somehow. I gotta reach him. He’s making a mistake.”

“He’s gone past making mistakes,” the Princess responded, tightly, cutting her off with a short chopping motion. Vagabond felt her chest clench and the urgency froze. So removed from the monarchy, and in spite of her current ratty appearance, the older woman couldn’t keep herself from her noble upbringing, commanding attention and respect with a single movement. “They both have. This has gone on long enough. Too long. If neither of them will stop for me, they won’t stop for you.”

Vagabond grimaced and hung her head. It was true. Elk had always been obsessed with his one true love, but instead of doing things the right way he’d gone down a path that was in no way redeemable or reversible. He’d said so himself, once, during their little hangouts in the throne room, hinting that even joining with his counterpart was no longer enough to make it all end. That it might not even work for long. They’d become two totally different people, joined only by that stretched, frayed silver thread in Vagabond’s second sight; one mind and soul notwithstanding. 

“You know what he said once,” she murmured, keeping her eyes downcast. “Before it all.”

Silence hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then, the Princess responded, just as softly, “What?”

“He said we could’ve been friends. He hoped to become whole again… a-and travel with us both, together. Like our own little herd.” Vagabond’s mouth stretched in a painful grimace, and she winced as her lip split. “I knew it was never an option. But… he didn’t give up hope for a long, long time.”

Another brief moment of quiet. Vagabond felt a gentle brush against her tunic, then the other woman’s hand rested on her shoulder; hesitant, as if it had been a long time since she’d had to comfort another human. “I don’t doubt it,” the Princess said, and Vagabond lunged forward before she knew what she was doing, throwing her arms around the other. The Princess understood it all, just as Elk had said she would. Vagabond didn’t even need to ask; she could see it in her face, the way her breath caught, the way she gripped the younger woman’s bony shoulders with shaking hands.

“I’m sorry,” Vagabond mumbled into her shirt. “I tried.”

“I,” the Princess gave in, wrapping her arms around her, and squeezed tight with a wiry strength that Vagabond once herself possessed. “So did I. And I failed. Over and over…”

“Me too.”

A shadow fell over them and Vagabond jerked her head up to see the man towering over them, arms folded over his chubby belly and wrinkling his nose. She wasn’t surprised that he turned out to be a massive centaur, though with his sheer size she’d honestly expected the rest of his body to be one of an elephant. Or a whale. “Now why can’t you be this nice to me?” he whined. “I deal with enough from you, I’d like a show of appreciation every once and a while.”

Vagabond couldn’t help it; she laughed, and the Princess scowled and stepped away, releasing her. “Just ignore him. We don’t have time for this.” She wiped her eyes and Vagabond did the same, then leveled her gaze at the still minotaur. “It obeyed you.”

“Uh.” She darted a look back. “Well, um, kinda. But, but you’re right, we gotta get going.” She reached over and patted the minotaur’s arm. “You can move now, but don’t attack anyone.”

He shifted and huffed down at the Princess, whose eyes narrowed. “Princess,” he lowed suddenly, then, in a move that surprised all of them, bowed.

For a moment no one moved, all of them blinking in surprise. Then the older woman looked away. “Not anymore.” She cast her gaze around the ruined castle, and Vagabond winced. This had once been her home. “My kingdom fell long ago.”

“You can still reclaim it,” Vagabond said softly.

“Just call me Woman,” was the flat reply. “And I need to find the Key.” She turned to stare down at Vagabond, who lowered her eyes.  “It’s time to end this.”

“I don’t want him to die.” Her voice was weak and pleading. The Princess—no, Woman—shot her a glare from under brows heavy with the weight of necessity and the pressure of decades of pain. Vagabond knew that look well.

“God help me,” she said after a pause. “Neither do I.” She blinked rapidly, looked away, took a deep breath and her next words were firm and cold. “This has gone too far. Where is the Key.”

A short silence. Vagabond took a deep, slow breath, nodded, and turned away from the door. Woman or Princess, she knew better than to go charging off alone now that she was here. Vagabond was no leader, and she really didn’t have an idea of what to do other than “get to Elk,” so anything resembling a plan was welcome. “This way.”

For the most part, they were left alone. Most of the minotaurs were away in battle anyway, and those that stayed behind were either simply crushed by the beartaur or recognized the old princess in time to stand respectfully back. Vagabond wasn’t sure if they themselves recognized her from their past, or if the Nowhere King had impressed upon them with his emotions that she was not to be touched, the way Vagabond herself had been. Whatever the reason, it was a swift trot to the Key. All those hours wandering had paid off.

The terrible machine loomed in the center of the room. The minotaurs left behind were dutifully continuing their work, churning out more and more of their brethren. Vagabond shuddered and stepped back at the sight. The twisted threads overwhelmed her vision, rotten and black and sick, vibrating with wrongness. The single human locked in a cage lit up at their entrance, tentatively hopeful, though his eyes widened the moment the beartaur entered the room.

Woman said nothing. The beartaur grinned, cracked his knuckles, then roared and thundered over to them, taking them out with very little effort. Vagabond held out a hand against her own minotaur’s chest to make sure he stayed put. He hadn’t seemed to care when his fellows had been killed before and didn’t seem to now, idly watching the others get absolutely served.

The Key gleamed a nauseating green behind its bolted case. Vagabond glanced hopefully at Woman, who waited for the beartaur to be finished. “How are we gonna get…”

She held out a hand. In a split second the Key flicked from green to crimson and exploded out of its prison, shot across the room and slammed neatly into Woman’s hand. Vagabond yelped and jumped back, wide-eyed and blinking back watery eyes at the sudden flare of power. The kingdom’s old monarch was sharp and decisive in her movements, her expression never moving. In an instant Vagabond knew why no one had ever questioned her magical abilities. When compared to her own chaotic, uncontrolled powers, Woman was the epitome of restraint and discipline.

“Let’s go,” she said sharply, and Vagabond, utterly cowed, nodded.

“You’re welcome,” the beartaur huffed. “No, no, don’t thank me. I’m going home. I guess I’ll see you when you climb all spider-like back in. Without, let me guess, using the door.”

“For the last time,” Woman sighed, “it’s a cave. But fine. Abandon me here. I don’t need you. Let that man out of the cage and don’t eat him.” Ignoring the captive’s yelp at her words, she turned to Vagabond, who was feeling rather out of her league.

“O-Okay. Um.” She waved up at the beartaur. “Bye, nice to meet you.”

“At least she has manners,” he said, adjusting his glasses and squinting down at her. “It’s nice to meet you too. Come by the house sometime, will you? I could use some polite company.”

Vagabond grimaced. She was the exact opposite of sophisticated, polite company, and if he wasn’t satisfied with a member of the royal family he wouldn’t be satisfied with her either. “...Yeah.” She turned to face the roiling storm in her mind’s eye and felt her stomach clench. “We gotta go, fast.”

“Agreed.” With one last glare at her comrade the older woman took the lead. “I have a horse waiting.”

“You what! You mean I didn’t have to come all the way here?!”

She ignored him. “Is that coming?” she jabbed a finger at Vagabond’s guard, who grunted and nodded before she could respond.

“The King’s orders,” he said, “take care of her.”

Woman stared at him, then Vagabond, who flushed, feeling oddly on the spot without knowing why. Woman took a steadying breath then strode off, waving a hand for her to follow. Vagabond obeyed at a trot, unable to keep up with her long power-strides otherwise. She was a little concerned about the man left behind, but she didn’t think the beartaur would actually eat him. Maybe. Hopefully.

But if they didn’t get a move on, a lot more people would die, were likely already dying, and that took precedence. They charged through the castle back through the doors, where Vagabond’s guard was immediately knocked over by a charging horse.

The fact that said horse could get a one-up on the mountain of muscle that was her bison-man, much less succeed in bodily throwing him to the ground, made Vagabond think they were under attack by some sort of… what, she didn’t know. Before she knew it she was halfway up a thick vine crawling on the side of the castle, the minotaur was scrambling on all fours to get away as the armored animal flailed its hooves, and Woman stood in the middle of it all without once changing her expression.

“Becky,” she said.

The horse lunged at the minotaur again, and he lifted his cleaver.

“Rebecca Apples.”

The wild-eyed mare skidded to a halt, the whites showing around her irises and her nostrils flaring pink. Woman leaped on her back without hesitation, effortlessly swung her around—the horse responded immediately, ears still flat against her skull—and held a hand out to Vagabond, utterly ignoring the very confused and aggressive minotaur. “Get on.”

“Uh,” Vagabond replied, very unwilling to get anywhere near the murderous expression said animal was now burning into both of them at once, given the position of its eyes.

“We don’t have time for this. Get on.”

“Yes ma’am.” Vagabond scrambled back down the vine and brushed herself off, glancing warily at her minotaur, who was poised to attack, and then the horse, who was also poised to attack. She understood Woman’s insistence the moment she settled in front of her in the saddle; with her astride, her guard was guaranteed to stand down. Her status as human shield settled, the old monarch clicked to the horse—Becky Apples, she’d said—who responded immediately and sprang directly into a gallop. Vagabond clutched the saddle’s pommel as they charged through the forest, towards the distant light of the Rift.

The bison-man thundered powerfully alongside, bashing aside anything in his way while Becky Apples galloped through the brush. He wisely stayed out of the horse’s immediate reach: Vagabond didn’t miss the flattened ears and side-eyed glare, as well as a snap in his direction every once and a while. She was otherwise occupied, herself, though; Becky was not as smooth a ride as Vagabond remembered the General’s horse being, and though strong, Woman couldn’t hold her still very well either.

Before forests took over, the city had sprawled between the castle and the Rift. It somehow made the distance both smaller and ridiculously bigger. The first time the war broke out the sounds of it had echoed through the empty space above buildings. Now the dense forest blocked all trace of the madness that was happening on the other side.

They broke free of the forest and sped up, kicking up dust of the barren wasteland that lay before the Rift. The sounds of distant battle hit them without warning and Vagabond grit her teeth against the familiar mix of soot and ash, fighting to stay focused as her mind threatened to disconnect. Abruptly, Woman pulled Becky Apples up short. Vagabond thumped against the horse’s neck and wheezed, scrambling for purchase. “Ow! What—”

What lay before her choked off any further words. Vagabond had been in battle countless times over the years, so much so that the sight of mangled and hacked-apart bodies strewn everywhere was no longer a shock. But the sheer magnitude of… this… was far more than she was used to. The bodies seemed endless as Becky Apples picked her way between corpses, crimson flecking Vagabond’s boots and Woman’s, well, bare feet.

Vagabond would have focused more on just how gross that was if her gaze wasn’t suddenly drawn upward. The sky was as red as the ground. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The Rift’s light blazed. And the Nowhere King writhed in the air, gelatinous body whipping back and forth behind the pink sheen of a magical shield. Centaur magic. He slammed his great horned head into the barrier, over and over until it cracked, howling in rage. As they rode closer and topped a hill, they could see a meager resistance desperately trying to keep him and his forces from Centaurworld. Most of the figures were the familiar soldiers of the war-torn land of humans, but scattered among them bounced colorful shapes that poured from the Rift’s mouth.

It had been so long since Vagabond had seen centaurs. It would have been the only thing she could focus on if only her eyes could move from the enormous, black-ink form of her friend. He shook his head violently, legs twitching and lashing underneath him. His maw gaped open and she expected to see him erupt with his tar, but instead he just screamed, and even from this distance and through the barrier that muffled his sound Vagabond could hear the deep distress behind the fury.

He dropped suddenly to the ground, out of view, and then rocketed upwards, shattering the dome and hurtling into the air. Woman sucked in a breath in a hiss and urged Becky Apples onwards. They were reaching the edge of the actual fighting now, the monsters coming into view through all the dust kicked up and soldiers darting around them without a second glance. Vagabond shrank back against Woman, unable to stop herself from the fear of not the monsters, but the humans.

“You are safe,” her guard said from beside them.

“You might not be,” Woman replied tightly.

He grunted. Vagabond glanced at him, momentarily worried about his own safety—he was a minotaur, after all—before her friend’s cry drew her gaze once again. She would have expected him to dive back into the fray the moment he was freed, but he was whipping around, eyes vacant, drooling, his rumbles permeating the growing noise as they rode closer. He writhed into goopy knots and snapped at himself, and for a moment, looked like a being thrashing around in confused anguish. His threads burned in her vision and the lullaby jittered dizzyingly; something had happened that had jolted his resolve and shaken something deep inside him.

For once Vagabond wished he had a better hold on his damn magic. It was affecting her, too. She screwed up her nose, wiped her watery eyes, and tried to focus on something else. No dice. Lightning cracked and the crimson clouds swirled beyond his twisted form. And among it all, a single silver thread burned, steady and vibrating in its wrongness, frayed but true.

She followed it down to the ground, just below the swell of a hill. The Nowhere King paused his frantic thrashing and hung in the air for a moment, mouth open and panting though she wasn’t sure where the breath was even going. Slowly, his huge antlers swiveled towards them, but he was looking at the ground, following the thread. Vagabond’s heart leaped into her throat in sudden blinding terror. No, she knew what— who —was on the other end of that connection. She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t see the face of the man who’d tortured her so; who had nearly driven her into the same insanity he’d driven the soft, gentle soul that had once been Elk.

Woman shifted behind her, sensing the change in demeanor. “Do you,” she started lowly, clearly unsure why Vagabond was suddenly trembling in frozen fear, “do you want to get off here?”

Vagabond’s lungs screamed for air and she gasped, obeying their order. She tried to respond, but suddenly they topped the rise and the Nowhere King’s green embers lifted and widened. He’d seen them.

The armored figure standing between them turned. Vagabond’s brain immediately blocked him out, dark spots forming in her eyes to avoid looking at him in a pure stress response. Instead she looked up at her friend. She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her, at his love, or both of them as a package. He seemed… relieved? Tired? His face was motionless, but his eyes flickered and raged in so many emotions she couldn’t parse them out. He was leaning forward towards them, at least slightly, but remained silent as the General spoke.

Say something, she begged silently, but he didn’t respond, just stared.

“Vagabond,” Woman said softly. “Get down.”

She obeyed without thinking, stumbling to the ground and was caught by her minotaur, who she clung to. As one the General and the King glanced at her, then back at Woman. Becky Apples took a few more steps forward.

“He doesn’t love you.”

Swaying, Vagabond cast about to find the origin of the voice before being drawn to a figure on the other side of Becky Apples. At first she wasn’t sure what she was seeing, then as she blinked the blind spots out of her eyes she could make out a prone soldier, just a girl really, being cradled by what could only be a Centaurworld-ified animal. The round little creature didn’t look back at her, just stared at the trio with tears streaming from her eyes. “That is not what love looks like.”

And there it was, the thing Vagabond had been trying to tell her stupid, selfish friend for years. He didn’t love the Princess. He loved the idea of it; he loved putting her on a pedestal; he loved how she made him feel. But not for one second did he really, truly love her as a person. If only Vagabond had been able to get him to acknowledge it. If only she’d been more forceful in her arguments. If only she’d been more blunt. If only she’d been more. Maybe all this could have been avoided.

There was only one end to this bitter death-strewn story of lies and deceit and darkness and pain. And Vagabond screamed silently against it.

The General was speaking again, but she blocked him out, looking up at the Nowhere King again. He was drinking in the old Princess’ features, but slowly, slowly he responded to her gaze, and looked back at her. This time there was no mistaking the empty tiredness in his eyes. Whatever had happened to him before they’d arrived had taken its toll, and the appearance of the one he’d tortured himself for had drained him utterly.

“Elk,” she whispered.

He stared at her another moment, then turned back to the scene unfolding before them. Becky Apples wheeled suddenly, startling her, and clopped away from the General. He followed a few paces behind, and Vagabond’s minotaur huffed and pulled her away, one arm protectively around her and the other bearing his cleaver.

Woman looked down at her, and began to gesture, but suddenly the General spouted, “I had to live to see you! So I could tell you that… I love you.”

Vagabond froze, and so did the horse. Woman took a deep breath and let it out, shuddering, and even though Vagabond refused to look at him she could sense his triumphant smile.

And then Woman’s face twisted in an expression that could only be described as pure hatred, and she screamed.

With an explosion of dust and embers the armored horse reared and once again spun on its hind legs, lightning cracking behind them like a theatrical being of a play, and lunged powerfully for the man. Vagabond could only watch in shock, in horror, in slow-motion as the General cried out and threw aside his sword, running from his wife, running for his life, towards the cliff. The Nowhere King simply floated slightly to one side out of the way, watching idly.

What are you doing! Vagabond wanted to cry, but the words froze in her throat, and the King glanced back at her. For a moment, their eyes met, and his old command Stay hummed in the lullaby. He knew what he was doing.

No. No.

The General skidded to a halt in front of the cliff.

Elk.

The warhorse wheeled to put him at her back.

No. Please.

One powerful kick to throw him off.

Gods, no.

She could only stare blankly up at her old friend. He’d flinched when his counterpart had been forcefully ejected into space, but otherwise just watched nonchalantly as the General’s scream faded into silence. And then, he jerked. His eyes widened. His maw opened wide with a gurgling sound, tar frothing as if bleeding internally, and his howl ripped through the suddenly silent battleground. He writhed again, this time not in distress but in agony, screaming in pain and spewing his own insides into the air. Droplets hit Vagabond’s skin and clothing and she cried out in her own pain as the sick tangle of his life-force twisted and ripped, their lullaby screeching to a halt and tearing in half.

She screamed his name. It did nothing. He fell.

The minotaur released her and stumbled back. Vagabond lunged forward, blinking tears from her eyes and leaping for the cliff’s edge. Another set of arms wrapped around her and she buried her face into Woman’s scarf, sobbing.

“I know,” Woman whispered to her, and she couldn’t tell whether the shaking belonged to one or both of them. “I know. I know. I know.”

They sank down as one, clinging to each other. Vagabond gasped and choked and cried. “But he doesn’t,” she tried, “he doesn’t, he doesn’t—”

“He does,” Woman was crying too; she could hear the thickness in her voice. “He does. He deserves this. This is his fault. It’s all his fault.”

“It’s mine, it’s mine too, I tried to tell him—”

“And I should have forced them back together the minute I realized. I should have killed him in the castle. I should have killed him in the Rift.” There was no way to tell which him she was referring to for a moment, before Vagabond realized she meant either. The elktaur should have been stopped before it had gotten too out of hand. “It’s not your fault. You were just an innocent bystander.”

Vagabond struggled to breathe. She lifted her face from the other’s clothing and sucked in air. Woman waited a moment, then let her go and shakily stood. Vagabond remained on her knees. “I need,” the former princess began, took a deep breath, and went on more strongly, “I need to… make sure.”

Vagabond shuddered.

“Stay here.”

Stay.

Be selfish.

“No,” she found her voice, lurching to her own feet and using the other woman as a handhold to pull to standing. “No, I… I need to. I need.” She cast around for the words, but the point had been made; Woman simply nodded and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Can you make it down?”

That gave her pause. Frankly, no. Long ago such a thing would have been a piece of cake. Vagabond had been steadily working her body to get some sort of strength back, but she was nowhere near what she once was, and to attempt to do so would be suicide. “I…”

“That’s okay. I’ll help.” She paused. “Wait here.” And without another second’s hesitation she leaped over the edge, effortlessly swinging her way down the rocks. A pit of jealousy formed in Vagabond’s stomach. She leaned forward to watch, resting a hand on Becky Apples’ saddle before a low snort brought her attention to the horse’s absolutely murderous eyes and flattened ears. Vagabond snatched her hand back and mumbled an apology.

A few minutes later magic flared in her second sight and she jerked back, pain searing her head as red sparks spat around her. Everything went a bright cardinal, far more saturated and brilliant than the deep color of blood around them, and suddenly Vagabond was standing on a ledge partway down the cliff.

She nearly fell. The world spun around her at the sudden power and she dropped to her butt, swaying and slightly nauseous. She only had a few more minutes before the energy snapped and popped around her again, then once more she was moved, and this repeated itself until she could no longer see open air in front of her. She wanted nothing more than to flop to the ground and let the cool stone take care of the way the world rotated uncontrollably, but urgency dragged her on, towards the low pained growling that could only be one person.

Woman was standing before the two halves. Vagabond stumbled forward. The elktaur was barely alive; the man lay unconscious while the beast barely held himself up, dragging his body across ragged stone. At Woman’s approach the skull swung around to face her. His emerald sparks were extinguished. Black sludge dripped from every orifice. The only thing left of Vagabond’s dear friend was that skull, and the barest trace of a ribcage.

“Elk,” she heard herself say, and he turned even further to look at her, or at least to point his head in her direction. She stumbled forward. The lullaby was as weak as his life-force, and despite Vagabond’s historic bitterness about the subject all she wanted in that moment was to feel his contribution to her song again, twining about her magic and dragging her along. She had no direction without him; there was no reason for her mother’s old tune to even exist. Not anymore.

She’d almost reached him when Woman held out an arm, blocking her way. Vagabond froze, confused. “Wait,” the other murmured, then stepped forward and knelt between the two, holding the Key out with both hands.

“Let me see you as you were,” she said, softly. “One last time.”

Vagabond’s eyes widened. A wave of relief swept through her, so powerful she staggered. Elk, having turned back to his love, leaned forward as if in slow motion, his every movement slow and weary and ready, and practically fell against the Key with one last gurgling snarl. There was a flash of blue light, making both of them squint, and before it even faded Vagabond could feel her old promise come to a close, finally, finally fulfilled.

She didn’t recognize the person in front of her when the light faded. Perhaps she expected a face that looked more like the General, but this was someone new. His features were gentle and smooth, so unlike the man he’d become, and… she sucked in a breath. No trace of tar seeped from his body. He was intact, furred, whole.

Woman stood back. Her expression was blank and broken as she beheld someone she’d been falling for, long ago, and Vagabond, lightheaded from the weight that had been suddenly lifted from her shoulders, stepped up next to her. And then past her.

The old monarch didn’t stop her, and she wouldn’t have let her anyway if she’d tried. Slowly, Vagabond stepped into the puddle of liquid rot the Nowhere King had left behind as Elktaur labored to his knees and turned around. Despite the centaur’s physical differences from his human half, she couldn’t look him in his eyes, instead moved past that half of him. She could feel his eyes on her; hear his broken ragged breathing, and settled to her knees between his front and back legs and leaned against his side.

“Vagabond,” he breathed, in a voice that was both the elk’s and the man’s. Why were there two, he was whole, there should have been one, just one…

She buried her nose in his fur and inhaled.

“I’m so sorry.”

She shuddered.

“You kept your promises.”

Her tears wet his fur.

“All of them.”

Her fingers combed through the dark browns and blacks of his coat. She couldn’t bring herself to look back at his human half even now, and felt the shift of his body. One back leg moved up to rest against her, the only thing he could do in this position. She appreciated it.

There was a long silence, stretching several minutes. He didn’t say anything more. She knew he was bowing his head to the woman before him, not daring to speak to her. He didn’t have the right and he knew it.

“Vagabond,” the older woman finally began, quietly. “It’s time.” She paused when Vagabond shook her head vehemently, coughing out a sob, and her voice hardened. “Fine, stay there. But it won’t be pretty.”

Vagabond nodded against him, and choked on her tears.

“My friend,” Elktaur said, brokenly.

“You idiot,” she wept into his side. This was it, the world was ending, and despite how much she’d tried to turn the tide, fate was closing the curtain. “You stupid, stupid man.”

A deep, bitter, single-syllable chuckle grated against her ears. It cut off abruptly into a strained hiss. Deep in her second sight, among the threads stained with self-hatred and a life that could have been, a silver fire sparked back to existence. He spoke again, a whisper directed to the ground but not to her. To the woman who stood before him; the one he’d blamed for his torment. “You need to… hurry.”

Woman stepped back. Took a steadying breath. And then began to sing.

The lullaby’s faded tune flared. Her lullaby. Their lullaby. Vagabond tightened her grip on his fur, clutching him so hard some of it came away. Too easily.

His low dual voices joined his lover and wife, briefly. It was peace he craved; peace he’d always wanted. Driven to abject madness and lashing out at every living being around him, the death-throes of his torn soul had begun long before he’d ever given himself into becoming a monster. Two monsters. Vagabond hummed along, and the voices momentarily split. One reached out to his wife; the man, calling for his love, while the other…

“My friend, you’re finally free.”

Woman’s rage hummed in the threads of reality. Her loss, her pain, her heart-rending anguish and grief. Her magic burned red. It crackled around them, stinging Vagabond’s skin. She didn’t flinch. She stared down at the clump of fur in her hand. It had skin attached. Tar dripped from where fascia should have been. Black seeped from his pores and squelched between her fingers. His breathing was ragged. He sobbed, but didn’t move as death loomed above him. He was ready.

But she wasn’t.

I don’t want you to die.

The silver thread stretched. Frayed.

Don’t leave me.

There were eyes on her.

You’re finally free.

Wasn’t that what she craved?

Faced away from the oncoming final blow, Vagabond could nonetheless see it coming. Heard— felt —the painful sear of furious magic that belonged to a powerful, jilted, displaced woman who would have been queen. Her rage and regret sharpened the Key into a point. Their magics wove together.

What do you want?

The lullaby wound to its inevitable end. But wasn’t it her lullaby?

It’s mine.

A short, pregnant, poised silence. A deep, readying breath. Elktaur shuddered, threads unraveling. And then the blade came down as the link between the two, one which should have never been, to end the life of a man who’d brought suffering and pain to so many—

What do you want?

—thinned and burned in Vagabond’s second sight—

I want…

—lighting aflame with red. Green. Silver—

Be selfish.

—was the thread humming in tandem with a song that echoed through time, and then that thread—

The eyes blinked.

—snapped—

Chapter Text

White.

Everything was white and she was numb.

Dead, she had to be dead. She felt nothing; saw nothing. Space vibrated and eventually she could make out the notes of her mother’s song wrapped around her. She had to be dead. Where were her ancestors?

Her hands ached and buzzed distantly with numb discomfort. She couldn’t move them. Why did she have hands if she’d left her mortal body behind? Something was digging into her temple. It was cold and hard. Rocks. Her head hurt. A deep bass boomed between her ears and a weight pressed atop her back, pinning her face-first to the ground. Something hot and wet slopped and writhed against any and all exposed skin.

She wasn’t dead, she decided. She was way too uncomfortable to be dead. And sick. Discomfort was slowly turning into migraine and nausea; familiar sensations Vagabond would never be rid of. She tried to move, but whatever was atop her held her down. Bile rose to her throat. She turned her head and spat it out, scrabbling uselessly at the rocks with her fingertips until her nails tore. The sharp physical pain slam-dunked her back into her body and everything came rushing in; the scent of blood and ash and howling of wind and patter of rain.

The smell of rot overwhelmed all else. A hot blast of air hit her face. Vagabond tried to move, but all strength had left her. Instead, she was suddenly flipped over and something wet and sticky grabbed her chin and pried open one eyelid despite her pleading whimpers.

Twin emerald flames stared down at her. They were all she could see, and the light hurt. But that didn’t make sense; he was whole again and he was dead, he was dead; she had been there; the Princess had killed him, she’d seen it with her own eyes; she’d sensed the severance of life from this mortal coil… but this wasn’t the afterlife. It couldn’t be. Everything was too real.

He released her and the tell-tale thump of and sudden weight of his head dropped on her chest. His breathing was more ragged than she’d ever heard it, even after his horrible fall down the cliff. He gurgled and rasped and grumbled atop her, jaws brushing her chin.

They lay there together. Vagabond tried to drag a hand up to him, to both reassure him she was okay and that he was indeed actually there, but she couldn’t move. It was just as well. She wasn’t okay, after all. And neither was he. His teeth scraped her skin as he prodded weakly at her. She tried to make a sound; any sound. Maybe she was successful.

He was gone suddenly, and she was being lifted. Vagabond groaned and tried to keep herself from vomiting. The keening of tinnitus and vibrations of reality around her caused her to momentarily black out. When she came to, they were flying across the land. No, not flying. She’d experienced that when he’d carried her. But they were moving fast, and the huffs and snorts sounded just like her bison man. Rain slapped against her face. She turned into him to avoid it, stomach lurching. Oh, she hurt.

The torment of being carried and jostled around lasted for what felt like forever. Her guard unfortunately didn’t escape being vomited on a good few times. Then they were inside, and Vagabond recognized the castle’s smell immediately. It was strangely empty and echoey; there were no screams and cries of the damned left behind; the only thing she heard was her minotaur’s grunts and sniffles as he shook his head to send droplets flying.

She found her voice. Sort of. “Wha… where…s…”

He ignored her, set her down, and without further ado stripped her, leaving her cold and wet and naked and shaking on the meager threadbare carpet. Unsure of what was going on and unable to stop it, Vagabond instinctively curled into a shivering ball. She wasn’t left there for long; he returned and bundled her in a thick blanket, rubbing life back into her limbs. She tried to push him away. Her arms were trapped in the blanket’s folds. What was going on?

“Elk,” she rasped when her throat obeyed her at last.

His response was immediate. “Hush now.” He was trying hard to sound steady and confident, but there was a desperate weakness in that commanding voice. Vagabond tried to move and panted with the effort. She waited for him to continue speaking, but he only gurgled. Hot tar slid over her face and gently turned her head to one side. Her stomach lurched again but she managed to keep it in this time and crack open one eye.

The Nowhere King, from what little she could see, looked as terrible as she felt. He lay on his side next to her, mouth far too wide open in a way that suggested he simply didn’t have the strength to close it. Black fluid leaked from every orifice, pooling slowly on the floor. He dragged himself closer to her, and his green sparks burst to weakened life. They stared at each other for a few moments until Vagabond finally worked free a hand from her cloth prison and reached out with trembling fingers to push his lower mandible closed. He didn’t move, just gazed at her.

Her fingers played lightly over bone, reaffirming that he was indeed there; that he was indeed… well, him again, not the elktaur. She tried and failed to wrap her head around the past few events. None of it made sense. Not even spelling out each event from start to finish helped make it any way coherent, and indeed only made her head hurt more.

“What,” she managed, broken and raspy, “happened?”

It took him a moment to summon the strength to respond. His voice was barely audible, more a suggestion of sound instead of an actual word. “You,” he breathed, “set me…”

She leaned forward to hear the last word as his eyes slowly shut and he surrendered into whatever unconsciousness was possible for him.

“Free…”

~

They recovered slowly, painfully. Neither of them could really move. Every time Vagabond tried to get up, her blood pressure tanked and she was forced to lie down again. He didn’t even try to stand. Vaguely, she became aware of what was happening and whispered to her guard to bring a small animal for him to devour. Without further ado the minotaurs obeyed, and before long she was presented with a dead rabbit. Vagabond whispered a thanks to the lagomorph for its sacrifice, and offered it to her friend.

The Nowhere King didn’t need any encouragement. She had to yank her hand back as his jaws clamped around the animal, and he swallowed it whole before sinking back to the floor with a satisfied sigh. Weakly, head spinning, she gestured for the minotaurs to bring more. Once again, they obeyed, returning much more quickly this time with a fox in a cage. Vagabond winced, but this was a far better fate than the one it had been previously destined for, so she ordered its death and handed it over. This time her friend rose into two limbs that looked like twigs and snapped it up in a way that reminded her of an alligator, and afterwards remained in a semi-upright position.

The next few days were spent in a similar manner. Vagabond remained by his side. She managed to choke down some rations, but that was the extent of taking care of her own needs. She couldn’t focus on herself; she had to take care of him. And at last, he raised his head and growled for more food.

The following meal was a medium-sized dog, which howled and tried to bite until Vagabond calmed and soothed it. Her heart, built on eons of canine-human relationships, refused to let her order its death, and she looked pathetically at her eldritch horror of a friend until he sighed and gestured for her to turn around. She did so, covering her ears, but still heard the poor animal’s yelp and whine as he ate it alive. Finally he spoke. “Turn around, it’s gone.”

She obeyed. They regarded one another for a few minutes. Vagabond was the first to break the stillness, averting her gaze and swallowing heavily. She didn’t want to ask. She really, really didn’t want to poke that sleeping bear. Or, well, deer. But she needed to know if he understood any more than she did. “So, um… what happened?”

His lower jaw shifted and she heard the faint sound of grinding teeth. “I am not entirely sure.”

She hesitated. “You… you said…”

“I know what I said.” His eyes flashed and he raised himself higher. Vagabond realized his issue and sighed, sitting down on the step below him so the King didn’t have to look up at her from the floor. She had no problems degrading herself, after all. Her friend settled and thought for a moment, then continued slowly, “I was ready to die… and I wasn’t. She wanted me to die, and she didn’t. And then you were there, and you… didn’t.” The brilliant green flares dimmed and turned introspective. “I was unraveling,” he murmured with a rising lilt, as if unsure. “I tried to hold myself together. For her. For you.” He leaned forward to brush his bony muzzle against her arm, and she rubbed the side of his face. “But I… couldn’t. We waited too long.”

Vagabond swallowed hard again. For some reason she couldn’t push past the knot in her throat. She tried to speak, but he beat her to it. “And then… I saw it.”

“Saw…?”

“What you were trying to tell me,” he said quietly. “All along. Strings.”

Her hands tightened on his face. An indescribable feeling writhed inside her, hot and cold and shocked and relieved, all at once. “You saw them? You saw…” She bent down to rest their foreheads together, feeling dizzy with shock and… she wasn’t sure what she was feeling. He saw them. He’d seen them; he’d seen what plagued her vision her entire life, what she’d always run from and shoved into the back of her mind until they faded into near-nonexistence… until she’d met him, that is.

“You saw them,” she breathed.

“I did. And now…” He raised his head and rested his chin on her shoulder. “I understand.”

She hugged him tightly, trembling. There were no words to describe the emotions coursing through her. He knew, he understood; finally, just like she’d finally understood him after she’d been released from her tortuous hell.

He was, once again, the first to break their comfortable silence; nestled against her so closely, she could feel his deep voice in her bones. A voice that spoke with soft, but firm, command. “Dearheart.”

“Yeah.”

The Nowhere King was a pathetic half-formed mess, but he still managed to maneuver her; he pulled out of her tight embrace and sat her up against his back half, wrapping around her. He cupped her face and tugged until they were eye to eye, and said, “Tell me.”

“Tell…?” Sitting up made her sway with the lightheaded dizziness of her relief. He waited until she could focus, holding her gaze.

“Tell me,” he reiterated, slowly. “Tell me everything.”

I was looking at your scars.

Vagabond tried to pull out of his grip, but he only tightened it, and went on, “Do you remember the talking horse?”

She squinted at him, wracking her mind. “...Oh. Um, yeah.”

“She was in my mind.” His voice lowered into a growl. “I would have kept her there forever. Forced her to endure everything I had. The loneliness. The madness. The despair. But she woke things in me that I forgot even existed. Memories I buried for their pain; for the reminder of the things I could have had. That I did have.” He stroked her cheeks coaxingly, and beneath his voice she could hear the humming. That song, once of quiet love from mother to daughter, was now one of hatred and silent stalking death. Somehow, it brought her even more comfort than it  had in years past.

She was really fucked up.

“So I let her go.” The skull tilted slowly, eyes needling through her own into her mind, pulling at her heart. “Because as much as I hate her for it… she was right.

“So tell me.” He sank back and tucked two of his sets of legs under him, using the foremost to pin her against him as if to keep her from escaping. The very idea was laughable, but she wasn’t in a laughing mood. Instead she leaned back against him and tilted her chin up to avoid his gaze. He let her.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said finally, staring at the ceiling.

“We have all the time in the world, now. Start anywhere.”

Vagabond closed her eyes. Anywhere. For a few long minutes she sorted through her thoughts, and the magic that thrummed between them. The Nowhere King would not be denied, of course, and she had made that deal with him.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay. I guess… I’ll start where I grew up.”

~

She sensed them coming one scant minute before they burst into the throne room. Pressure suddenly gathered in her ears and she yelped, startled out of her exhausted fugue. Her friend responded immediately to her distress, lunging to his feet and growing more to keep himself steady. His long body trailed on the floor and the sudden movement seemed to trigger his illness; he retched and she winced as some of what she’d strove to get him to eat splattered out in streams of liquid rot.

He raised his head just as the doors slammed open and reared up threateningly, pools of tar rippling and minotaurs bristling for battle. Vagabond stumbled to her feet and he flashed out one leg, shoving her bodily towards the back of the room behind him.

“Really?” said a voice that she’d heard before. She craned her neck to see past the bunching minotaurs. “We’re gonna do this? We already kicked your butt.”

All of a sudden a face poked up above them, cherry-cheeked and smiling, on a bright yellow neck. It rose even higher, saw her, and cried, “Horse! Aww, look, he has a friend!”

“Psht, yeah right,” someone else said, almost too low to hear across the hall.

“Let them through,” the Nowhere King rumbled, grudgingly. The minotaurs parted and Vagabond wrapped her arms around the leg that hovered near her as if she could stop him from going on a rampage.

The collection of beings that made their way down the hall made her duck her head to keep her smile from insulting them. She didn’t mean it in any derogatory way, but they were just so bright and… and cartoonish. She’d almost forgotten what centaurs were like. They were, frankly, a sight she welcomed in this dreary world.

The Nowhere King certainly didn’t feel that way. Vagabond could feel his disgust and whirling hatred in that black hole he’d become. His desire to rip them apart was palpable and she patted his leg, hoping he’d hold back if only for her presence. He didn’t relax, but he did push into her just a bit in what she hoped was reassurance and not shut up and stay out of my way.

Looking back at the group, which had stopped just in front of them, she abruptly recognized the leader. The round gray horse… thing looked at her for a brief second before training her gaze on the towering demon before her.

“Well?” she demanded without further preamble. “What’ll it be? Forever war? Is that what you want? How the fuck are you alive?”

The giraffetaur gasped, putting his hands over his mouth, which required him to almost double over. “Horse!”

“Babygirl,” the fluffy pink alpacataur likewise fluttered her hands like an affronted dame. “There are children here!”

Vagabond wrinkled her nose and looked between them. She didn’t see any kids.

“Oh please,” a diminutive being perched atop the giraffetaur’s horns snorted, “he’s in his room, and he’s like, almost forty.”

“Don’t insult my baby b—”

“Enough.” One hoof slammed on the floor and his tenuous hold on his temper frayed. Vagabond grimaced. She understood why they came as a group, but honestly, if they just came to talk, it was better on his psyche and he would have been far calmer if only one had arrived. Though maybe the mere presence of numbers was what gave him pause on immediately slaughtering them. He was, after all, still weak.

A heavy, cold silence. The group didn’t seem to even breathe, and a few of them glanced at her. Vagabond avoided their eyes, staring at the ground. She couldn’t control him, she could only hope he wouldn’t make her watch them die. But he didn’t move, glaring down at them and filling the room with the sound of grinding teeth. “Why,” he said after a moment, when he seemed calmer, “are you here.”

“Because,” Horse replied bitterly, “you’re still here.”

“That’s my fault,” Vagabond heard herself say. Everyone’s eyes turned to her this time, even Elk’s; he twisted his neck around to blink at her. “I… I-I’m not sure what I did, but I know I did something.” She looked back at the floor. “He was gonna… she was gonna. But it didn’t work. Because of me.”

“Yeah I don’t think so, you don’t get to blame yourself,” Horse said, snorting; the King whipped back around. “I think we’ve all had enough of people shouldering the blame for things he did.” She looked back up at him, ears flat. “You didn’t answer my question. Haven’t you had enough of this? I thought you wanted me to finish what you started!” Her round sides were heaving, and Vagabond recognized the signs of someone trying to keep themself together. Horse bared her teeth, pinpricks of shifting colors appearing in the corners of her eyes. “What’ll it be? You gonna keep killing? We’re gonna have to lock you up? Get the Princess in here to put you back together? Again?”

“That,” he growled, “is no longer possible.”

The centaurs whispered amongst each other. The minotaurs shifted threateningly and the group crowded closer to the alpacataur, who bunched her hands into fists, pink magic flickering. The Nowhere King’s green embers flashed in response and, in an instant, they were surrounded by tar.

“Don’t,” he whispered, and for a moment Vagabond could barely hear a note of pleading. It vanished as he continued. “One wrong move, and I will finish what I started in the Rift. And,” he added, tilting his head in a way that made him look like he was grinning, “I’ll enjoy every moment.”

Horse took a deep breath, dashed her rainbow tears away with one hoof, and planted it back on the floor. “We’re good,” her voice raised a bit to make sure her herd was listening. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” Squealed a… whatever kind of centaur that was. She—he—they? Grabbed their ears and yanked down so hard it was impossible that it wasn’t painful. “Big bad gloopy goo-man is gonna eat us all!”

“Tempting,” the King admitted.

“Ooookay,” Horse turned to her friends. “Maybe you should all wait outside.”

“What, no!” the alpacataur folded her arms. “Last time you were alone with him, you almost never made it out!”

“That’s right, we’re staying right here,” the zebrataur man folded his arms across his bare, muscular chest. And then bounced his pecs. Vagabond’s lips twitched. They were ridiculous and wonderful and she already liked them. Then again, she’d always liked centaurs.

Horse huffed out a breath, but she was smiling too, warmth blossoming in her eyes. “Okay, you guys win. But let me do the talking, okay?” Without waiting for them to respond she turned back to the Nowhere King, whose patience was clearly running out. “Well,” she went on, studying the dripping creature in front of her, “I’m glad you’re not immediately trying to kill us… but you’re not in the clear, yet.”

“Neither,” he replied, “are you. And your position is doubly precarious.”

“Answer. The. Question.” She stomped one foot. It made an adorable squeaky-toy noise. “My Rider almost died. She could still die. I need to get back to her. You know she’s the most important thing to me in the world and the only reason I'm here is to make sure you’re not gonna try to finish the job!”

“No promises on that,” the King hissed. “It is likely that the General is still out there, as well.”

“Fine. I’ll find him and I’ll kill him myself. And end you.”

“I told you,” his hooves scraped stone in his irritation, and he lurched slightly towards her, jaws opening a little before snapping shut and grinding together again. The centaurs squealed and cringed back, bunching together even more tightly. He ignored them. “That is no longer possible, you stupid, foolish little horsie.”

The mare’s eyes bugged nearly out of her head, she turned beet-red, and she began breathing so loudly and forcibly Vagabond thought she was going to explode. She opened her mouth to interject, to hopefully sidetrack the violence that seemed like it would break out any moment, but the alpacataur rested a hand on her chest and the tiny birdtaur flew down to sit on her head. Horse inhaled, exhaled, closed her eyes and said quietly in defeat, “How did you get out of dying.” 

Somehow, that seemed to set him off. “Get out of—do you think I wanted to live?” His unexpected words sent knives through Vagabond’s chest. The King’s body rose, hovering a few inches above the floor as his feet lashed the air. “Do you think I want to continue this vile, putrid excuse for an existence? I could be at peace. That’s all I wanted. That’s all I ever wanted!” He punctuated the last word with all of his hooves slamming the floor. The knives twisted and Vagabond pressed her hands to her ears, feeling the ache of a throbbing migraine begin.

“You,” he rose, and Vagabond hissed as she felt her magic and energy suck into his void, fueling him; “were supposed. To finish things!”

Vagabond staggered, feeling once again utterly useless. Horse didn’t dare look away from certain death now hovering in the air, but her eyes flickered at her low sob. “Don’t you blame me,” she retorted, still keeping her calm tone, but clearly leaning on her friends. “Don’t you dare blame Vagabond, or the Princess, or the General, or anyone else but yourself.”

Vagabond had never heard anyone but herself talk to him in such a way. Of course, no one else would dare willingly stand in his presence. “That,” Horse continued, “is what brought us to this. Isn’t it, Elk.”

The Nowhere King shuddered. Suddenly, he dropped, splashing down against the floor and leaning over. He heaved and vomited, but—Vagabond couldn’t believe it—turned his head so he didn’t cover Horse with his putrid rot. From what she could see of Horse’s expression, terror and relief aside, she didn’t believe it either. For a moment their eyes met. Horse managed to smile a little at her, but Vagabond was too out of it to respond in kind.

“I don’t know,” the King murmured, finally, now staring off into space with vacant sockets, “what I am going to do.”

Horse didn’t relax. “There is still hope,” she ventured at last, a little more timidly. “If I could find a place I belong, maybe you…”

He snorted. “Spare me your pathetic drivel.” Retreating from her a few steps—which, before all of this, would have been unheard of—he hissed with finality, “Leave, before I make a meal out of you. I am very hungry, you know.”

“Eh-heh,” Horse cleared her throat and darted another glance to Vagabond. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

“It never is.”

The minotaurs parted to let them through, but Horse didn’t move immediately, still looking at the scruffy woman sitting on the steps and staring dully into middle space. “Vagabond. Hey, hey. Can I uh… talk to you? Maybe?”

Vagabond barely heard her. Just as the words registered the King spoke for her, bristling and possessive. “Don’t you have a human to get back to? This one is mine. Now get out.”

Horse backed up a few steps, eyes going from human to monstrosity, then heaved a deep sigh and muttered, “Okay guys. Let’s go.” They struggled back across the tar and filed out, the doors booming shut behind them. And then she was alone with her friend once again—well, as alone as they could be with the guards rattling around, armor echoing in the long hall. Vagabond let herself fold back up into a fetal position, pressing her face to her knees and shuddering.

His breath made her aware of his proximity. Vagabond couldn’t stop a choked sob from escaping her throat, and wound up tighter, away from him. Too much. It was all too much.

“Dearheart,” his voice was as gentle as he could make it. “It is not your fault.” He sloshed around her, forcing tendrils squirming between the space of her torso and legs, wrapping around her hands and neck and cupping her cheeks. A pause as he carefully unfolded her again despite her struggles.

“But it was,” she croaked. “It was. If I wasn’t there…”

One leg curled around her waist. Her old friend tucked her against his side, where she huddled, sinking into his abyss and trying to get ahold of herself.

“We have no way of knowing,” he said, firmly. But she did. She knew. She swallowed hard and he added softly, “I told you to be selfish. And you were. And… I was glad. That you were there.” He leaned down to nuzzle her hair. “You returned to me, like you always promised.”

“But you said—”

“I know,” he replied sharply, “what I said.” He tightened his leg’s hold and she gave up, closing her eyes and letting that old feeling of safety creep up on her, quieting her heart and slowing her breathing.

“I felt,” he rasped at length, suddenly, rousing her back into full waking, “every torture I put myself through. Did you know that?”

“No,” she whispered. Oh, that made so much sense. She knew they were the same person, but hadn’t been aware of just how melded they were; from what he was saying, they still shared a consciousness.

“I did, you know. I knew what I was doing. The man knew. He felt it, and I felt him.” He pushed his nose under her palm and she obliged, stroking his bony face automatically. What he was describing… It was similar to how she’d tried, for so long, to shove her magic into the corner of her own mind, to ignore it, to pretend it didn’t exist—how twisted, to even think she shared any likeness with the man who tortured her.

His next words drew her out of that horrifying thought process. “I don’t anymore.”

She let the weight of his words settle in her mind. Her gut twisted.

You set me free.

What had she done?

~

Their next visitor was someone Vagabond had expected would show up eventually. Woman looked far more haggard than she had when they first met, and she’d clearly been crying; her eyes were red and strained and her hands trembled upon the reins of her horse. Becky Apples stopped smartly just in front of Vagabond and her guard, eying the minotaur with murderous intent. It was only coincidental that she’d been taking a walk outside when Woman arrived, but she was glad.

“Hey,” she said softly.

There was a pregnant pause. Finally, “Hi.” Woman slid wearily off Becky and jabbed a finger at the mare’s face. “Stay.” A pause. “...If I’m not back in twenty minutes, you have permission to add as many minotaurs to your tally as you want.”

Vagabond winced. Whether or not Becky understood was a moot point; she’d heard from her bison man how dangerous the horse was. Truly bloodthirsty. It was a good thing Elk never got his goopy hands on her; she’d be a force to behold as a minotaur herself.

Then the former princess turned back to the vagabond, and the latter felt her stomach drop. “Are,” she swallowed hard, “a-are you here to finish the job?”

Woman looked past her, through the door her friend had knocked down into the dark quiet interior of a castle that had once been her home. “That depends on what he says.” She rested a hand on her hip, where magic gathered under her cloak. Vagabond knew what lay hidden there. Bringing that thing in the vicinity of the Nowhere King was the most dangerous thing one could do, but she supposed Woman didn’t trust anyone else to hold onto it. Understandable.

They entered the castle, leaving the horse behind, who remained frozen and silent where she stood, watching them go. Vagabond could feel her eyes burning into her back, almost. What a weird animal.

“Go ahead,” Woman said as they passed the stairs, pausing. “I’ll be there in a minute. I have to find something.”

“O-Okay.” Vagabond did as she was told, trotting back to the great hall with her guard, and slipped in. The minotaurs had vacated the room by now; he didn’t need the additional protection anymore. “She’s here,” she announced without preamble. The Nowhere King rose from his crouch, eyes widening and jaws gaping to let out an uneasy breath. “You okay?”

“I… no.” He looked at her nervously, and she crossed the hall to be by his side. His tail lashed and he leaned for her, almost without realizing. She hooked an arm in one leg. “Where is she?”

“She said she had to get something first.”

“Does she have the Key with her?”

“Yeah.”

He made a low, tense sound, hooves twitching. Vagabond had never seen him so jittery. “Um… not to poke a nerve but uh, I thought you wanted to die?”

The skull whipped for her and he stared, wide-eyed. “I-I mean,” she went on, scrambling to explain, “are you nervous because she might do… what she tried to do… in the ravine?”

For a moment he looked as if he might lash out at her, but then he paused and, surprisingly, thought about his response before speaking. He swung his head back into line. “No… and yes. I don’t know what to feel about it.”

It seemed that was all she would get out of him on the matter, so there was nothing more to do than wait. Never had a few minutes felt so much like hours. Vagabond counted her heartbeats for seconds and struggled to keep from sinking into anxious melancholy. Elk needed her to be present, now. She had to stay focused.

The doors opened presently and Woman strode in. She held something flat in her hand and hesitated only once upon seeing the Nowhere King, who took in a faint shuddering breath at her presence. He bowed as she approached, kneeling down upon the floor and letting the point of his nose scrape the stone, staring blankly at her feet. Vagabond couldn’t count her heartbeat anymore; it was too fast.

She reached them. The object in her hand appeared to be some sort of folder; she slapped it down on the floor next to his head in a sharp, furious movement. The small sound was ridiculously loud in the frozen silence. The King twitched, then, slowly, reached out and carefully flipped the folder open. He stiffened—as much as his liquid body could, at least—and dared glance up at her face, then back down. “...Divorce papers?”

“Not divorce.” Her eyes narrowed. “Annulment.”

Vagabond cringed at the distinction and the Nowhere King hissed sharply. Ouch. Woman glanced at her and clenched her fist. At first it seemed like she was doing so out of rage, but then Vagabond saw the minute trembling and the flicker in her eyes. “The entire marriage,” she began, then had to stop and close her eyes and breathe for a moment, “the entire marriage was a lie.”

“You’ve already,” murmured the King, still not daring to get up, “you’ve… signed them.”

“Yes.” She pulled out a pen, the type that clicked. Some sort of Centaurworld device, Vagabond recognized; one of those things that was immediately usable without having to wait for preparation of a quill or creation of ink. Woman tossed it down atop the paper. “There are two. One for me… and one for you, so you don’t ever forget.” Her voice sharpened and the Nowhere King flinched. Slowly, he reached out a tendril to pick up the pen, careful not to get his gunk on the pages.

“You don’t want the General…?”

“Sign them.”

He signed them. The penmanship was shaky at best, but legible. Vagabond remained stock-still and mute as he did so, her mind slowly spiraling. Her jaw and teeth ached and throbbed from how tightly she clenched them. The room was utterly silent and it was as if she didn’t exist, the minotaur didn’t exist; hell, it was as if the huge horror of a demon king wasn’t even there. Woman was frozen and her eyes burned down at her now ex-husband’s festering secret; she was the only person or thing in the room that mattered. It was easy to imagine her as a ruler of the entire kingdom at one point.

The Nowhere King drew back. Woman turned to Vagabond. “Now you.”

Vagabond swallowed and took a shaky step forward; she knew what she wanted. A witness. Carefully she knelt next to him and he passed her the pen. For a moment she hesitated, eying the papers. It had been so long she’d done any sort of writing she wasn’t sure she could sign, anymore, and she’d had so many different writing styles and signatures over the years it almost felt like a lie. Her eyes traced his signatures. He'd written "Nowhere King"... and the General's name, on both. The latter was likely only added for spite, but that didn't matter.

Her friend shifted beside her and Vagabond stilled a slight jump, realizing she’d knelt there a few seconds too long. There was a line labeled “witness” and she mimed signing a few times to get the feel of it, then scribbled her moniker there. It felt weird not having a last name to add, but there was no getting around that, so she did the same to the other copy and slid the one back into the folder to hand up to the previous ruler. Woman didn’t quite snatch it out of her hand, but her grip and movement were sharp. Vagabond picked up the second copy and returned to the throne, where, unsure of what else to do, she placed it on the seat.

The atmosphere was unbearable; heavy and dark. The Nowhere King barely seemed to breathe. Vagabond’s head throbbed and her heart thudded dangerously fast. Woman was letting her eyes roam finally, taking in the disrepair and the overgrowth of her old home. She lifted her chin and looked up at the chair, then beyond, and Vagabond knew she was staring at the old portrait of herself hanging above. Then, lips thinned, she looked down at the silent monstrosity at her feet. “What happened.”

He didn’t respond right away. Vagabond cringed a little, hoping she wouldn’t make her explain, but he spoke up after a moment, not moving from his prone position, his echoing voice low and soft. “Strings.”

Woman blinked. Slowly, she shifted her gaze up to Vagabond, who froze and felt the burning cold sensation of ice prickle over her body. There was a heartbeat of nothing but pounding in her ears, and then Vagabond heard her say, “What did you do?”

It was as if she’d simply punched her straight in the gut. In fact, that would have been preferable. All air left Vagabond’s lungs and the room began to fall inward, collapsing towards her in a rush of absolute horror and panic. The heavy atmosphere broke. Her heart twisted. Her mind cracked. And then she was running, shoving through the servant’s entrance and through the hallways and out the doors and into the forest, magic coursing around her and the trees leaning out of the way to let her through.

She ran until her lungs failed and her body went numb. She ran until her legs folded under her and sent her tumbling down a slope halfway into a stream. She clawed into the dirt and curled into the tightest ball she could, and as the water trickled over her legs she buried her face in her arms and screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Chapter Text

They found her after she’d fallen asleep, weak and empty. Someone scooped her up and held her against a voluptuous breast, murmuring, “I’ve got you. That was quite a spell you wove.”

Spell, what spell? Vagabond didn’t speak, only barely aware of the words and decided after a moment she didn’t actually care. The arms that held her were soft but muscular, and sweet relief against her numbed limbs and chilled skin. It was warm enough out that she hadn’t been in serious danger, but water had a habit of wicking away all body heat. So roused, she became painfully aware of how wet and cold she was, and curled into that welcome softness as she was carried.

“Glendale, baby, we need some new clothes.”

“On it!”

“She gonna be okay?”

“Same as everyone else after a war.”

“I’m not so sure it’s after anything,” the voice replied, and Vagabond recognized Horse at last, cracking one eye open and turning her head to see if she could pinpoint her. The movement and subsequent dizziness made her clamp the eye shut again. “He barely kept himself in line with Vagabond there, and now…”

“But he did. Let’s focus on the good things for now.” The footsteps under her got louder and changed sound. They weren’t in the forest anymore; the sun blasted down at them and made her groan until they were inside again, and the powerful voice spoke directly to her. “Hey, baby. We’re gonna need to change your clothes, okay? You don’t need to do anything, but you’re gonna feel real strange in a minute.”

Vagabond chanced another attempt to open her eyes. Now that her body had adjusted to the changes after being prone for so long, it was easier. “Ihhh… mkay.”

“That’s the spirit.” She was set down on a stool, then the large woman with a very big mouth—hippotaur, Vagabond realized dazedly—twirled her hands. They glowed with a fiery purple that matched her skin and suddenly centaur magic seared her senses. She jerked, trying to hold herself together as her head throbbed, and a slithery sensation spread across her body as her old clothes were whisked away and new ones seamlessly took their place. “Thanks, Glendale,” the woman spoke over her shoulder, then turned back to Vagabond.

“He does not know how to take care of someone, does he,” she huffed after a moment of studying her, planting her hands on her first set of hips. Vagabond blinked, feeling vaguely insulted for her friend’s sake. But the hippotaur was continuing in a no-nonsense voice that made any protest die. “I shouldn’t be surprised, he’s the Nowhere King. But still.”

“He tried,” she mumbled.

“Well he didn’t try very hard. You’re barely hanging on! Your magic is so depleted I’m surprised you can hold your head up. WAMMAWINK!” The human jumped at her bellow. “We need some mama-love in here, stat!”

“Coooomiiiiing~!” The pink alpacataur appeared in a flash (Vagabond jumped again) and did a little twirl, plucking what looked like griddle cakes out of thin air, already slathered with syrup and butter. “Here you go, don’t forget to give compliments to the chef!”

And then they were being shoved in her mouth. Vagabond choked and nearly fell over, mind scrambling to keep up. There was way too much in her mouth and it was so rich she blanked out, trying desperately to mop up the syrup dribbling from her lips. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, mama-Wamma is here to help.” She wiped the human’s mouth with a handkerchief, beaming. Said human blinked rapidly, cheeks bulging and utterly overwhelmed.

“Mm-hmm, don’t struggle,” the hippotaur nodded approvingly. “You need to regain your strength, you hear me? No more of this giving until you don’t got anything left to give.”

Vagabond swallowed a little bit of the mass of sugary goodness stuffed into her cheeks, then a little more. Wammawink dabbed her lips helpfully each time she couldn’t hold it in. Finally, her mouth was empty, and she opened it to speak and figure out what the hell was going on—and Wammawink shoved more food right in.

“Yeah, she’s not kidding.” Horse’s voice floated over from beyond all of them, on the other side of what looked like a cabin. “There’s no escaping the Wamma-mama. But can you guys keep it down? Rider’s trying to sleep.”

“Which is what you need to be doing,” the hippotaur said. “Food and rest.” She tapped Vagabond on the forehead. “You don’t got enough fat on those bones to last you a winter! Into bed you go,” and with another flash of magic—which, to Vagabond’s tender magical senses, was quite painful—she was wrapped in blankets and lying on a bed so soft it felt like she was floating. “All right, Wammawink, let’s go.”

The pink alpacataur patted Vagabond’s lips of leftover residue. “Oh, are you sure? I think I should stay here and make sure everyone’s resting and healing just fine, and keep babygirl company. I mean, she has to take care of second-babygirl, she can’t watch this one too—”

“Wammawink.”

“It’s okay, really,” Horse called, “I think less people is better. I’ll call if we need anything, okay?”

Their words were blurring now; Vagabond’s brain had had enough and was shutting down in earnest. It wanted sleep. Not just the fitful trance she’d somehow achieved shivering half in a stream, body and mind aching; not the drained forced rest she’d endured lying next to the Nowhere King. Though she fought against it, part of her brain knew she was safe enough to let go, and that part was taking over. It was, after all, easier than dealing with… whatever this was.

As she faded into unconsciousness, someone smoothed the tattered hair from her forehead, and for a moment she could pretend it was her mother, one last time.

~

“I don’t think we should bring her to Centaurworld.”

“She needs to heal, and so does Rider. Our magic is stronger there.”

“It’s only a matter of time until he goes looking for her. I don’t know about you, but I’m leaning towards less destruction is better than more destruction.”

“But Ho-orse, if he has his One True Love:™:, why would he want her?” Someone leaned close to her face, and tsked. “Eww, look at her hair. Do you think she knows? I’ll get my mirrors—”

“Zulius, buddy. I love you. But get out of the cabin.”

Vagabond cracked an eye open as soon as the person, quite huffily and complaining the entire time, was shooed away. It was the third time she’d woken. The last two times were full of being made to eat and scolded if she didn’t fall asleep fast enough after that. She was so very comfortable, she didn’t want to wake up in earnest. But, well, she had to use whatever lavatory they had available for the first time since the incident in the ravine.

Horse was across the cabin, facing away from her, and she heard soft murmurs as the other spoke to someone else lying on another bed. Vagabond struggled to free a hand, then the other one, then looked down at the tight wrap of blankets around her. It was tempting to just go back to sleep. Then her bladder complained, and her intestines cramped, and she began quickly unwrapping herself as the urgency began creeping up the rest of her body.

At the sound, Horse turned around. “You’re awake! Uh, you shouldn’t get out of bed, Waterbaby was really adamant about that.”

“I really,” Vagabond panted, “gotta use a bathroom.”

“Oh—”

“Right now.”

“Oh! Right! Okay, hold on,” Horse got up and poked around a bit as Vagabond pushed her way out of the cocoon, then stood back and pointed. “In there, here, let me help,” and together they managed to free the human from the layers of cloth. Vagabond expected the floor to be cold and readied herself, but it was pleasantly neutral. Right. Wood, not stone. She staggered through the door Horse indicated and helped herself to the absolutely enormous toilet, then cleaned herself and poked at the bejeweled sink. Rainbow water splashed out in perfect temperature. She scrubbed her hands and returned to the cabin, where she sat on the cot and pulled her feet up, sitting crosslegged and covering her shoulders with a blanket.

“So, hey,” Horse said after a few minutes, back across the room where she was before, “You… awake for real now?”

“Yeah,” Vagabond mumbled.

“You wanna talk?”

“What is there to talk about.”

“You wanna cry?” Vagabond blinked, looking back up at her. Horse smiled slightly and went on, “I’ve always found a good ugly cry to be pretty good.”

“I’ve had a couple of those.” She smiled back, but it felt empty. “Never did me any good.” Her muffled, pleading sobs while locked in the bridle came to mind. She shoved the memory away. She couldn’t, just couldn’t deal with memories right now. But Horse was looking at her like she wanted her to say something, so she went on, “Thanks for bringing me here. I know it’s dangerous. I’ll go back to the castle as soon as I can.”

“You don’t have to,” Horse replied gently. “Woman is taking care of the Nowhere King—”

Vagabond winced.

“—and if she kills him, good riddance. I mean, that asshole made his personal internal struggle everyone else’s problem, and our worlds would be way better off without him around. His other half almost killed Rider, he tortured you, he killed countless people, and uhhh.” She stopped, seeing Vagabond’s face. “I mean. I know he’s your friend and all. But. Ah, nuts,” she muttered, whacking herself in the face with a soft squeaky hoof. “Yeah just forget I said anything, sorry.”

“Maybe I should go back right now.” Vagabond looked around. “Where are my shoes?”

“Glendale probably has them,” Horse pounced on the subject change. “But they were gross anyway. I’ll see if she has anything else in your size.” She hesitated. “And really, you should keep resting.”

Vagabond shook her head. The longer she stayed here, the worse it would be when her friend finally came after her. If he wasn’t already. She shouldn’t have run like that. Looking back, it was obvious she’d been suffering from lack of sleep and food and the pressure of taking care of the Nowhere King while knowing she shouldn’t have. And then the old princess… she rubbed her eyes of gritty sleep. “How long have I been asleep?”

Horse shrugged. “Like a day?”

“How long was I out in the woods?”

“Like, two days.” Horse wrinkled her nose. “Woman called up Waterbaby and demanded we find you. Said the Nowhere King was freaking out, she’d never seen him so panicked.”

Of course she’d never seen him like that. Vagabond snorted. She hadn’t been around enough to see him have any emotion other than submissive, worshipful adoration. No, that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t Woman’s fault, her friend was just pathetic. “Don’t know why, he knows I’ll come back. I have no choice.” That last part slipped out without thought. She froze when Horse turned back to her after checking on her rider, the person Vagabond assumed was in the other cot.

“You have a choice,” Horse said firmly, but Vagabond stared at the bedpost, pretending not to hear her. Horse frowned, but let the matter drop. “Besides, the fact that he’s worried about…well, anyone… is a good sign.”

Vagabond just shrugged and leaned back into the pillows. She expected to feel kind of gross, but it was clear magic had been used to clean as well as dress her. She felt… good, actually. Better than she had in a while. “Who’s Waterbaby?”

“The shaman who cleaned you up. Do you uh… remember?”

“Yeah.” The purple hippotaur, then. Wait. “She said something about a spell I did?”

“Right, yeah, you were really far away from the castle. Way too far, like, you shouldn’t’ve been able to run all that way. Waterbaby led us to where she thought you were, but it took us forever to actually, you know, find you. You were in a spot we looked a thousand times.” Horse looked back to her rider, who’d turned her head and opened her eyes. She was a young thing, Vagabond saw; maybe not much more than fifteen and forced into a world she shouldn’t have had to endure. Horse’s voice dropped into a soft, soothing murmur and she turned completely around, focusing on her completely. “Hey. You want some soup?”

Vagabond swung her legs out from the cot again and used the distraction to pad silently to the door, which she opened and stared across the deck of some kind of boat studded with gems. The centaur group from before were galavanting around, chatting amongst themselves. Wind whooshed past and all she could see was sky. They were, quite clearly, flying.

Nope.

Vagabond closed the door. She was definitely not ready for all that. She was already overwhelmed. Horse had snapped around at the sound, but before she could scold her Vagabond was already clambering back into bed. “Had to see for myself,” she replied to the other’s frown, then rolled over and closed her eyes.

Wammawink or Waterbaby came in periodically, either to hand out “gigglecakes” or check wounds. Vagabond endured this silently. She wasn’t wounded, not terribly; apparently the other human had been run through by a sword and needed more attention. That suited Vagabond just fine. She preferred to fade into the background, and to be honest she didn’t deserve the care she was receiving. After all, they’d been thrust back into uncertainty right at the cusp of their triumph into peace, and it was all her fault. She made sure to tell them they were right in not bringing her to Centaurworld, but didn’t feel like explaining further.

Horse kept wanting to have some sort of heart-to-heart with her, but Vagabond closed herself off; there was only so much familiarity she would allow, and Elk had used up all of it. The others had apparently been banned from the cabin, for as much as they seemed to want to enter, they only poked their head in once and a while. The little birdtaur made it very clear he didn’t care one iota for Vagabond, which was a little amusing, but Vagabond did nothing but nod seriously and roll over to face the wall. She hummed softly when she felt up to it, letting the lullaby coax her into rest. Horse didn’t ask her to stop, but she could tell the tune bothered her, so she tried to keep it at a minimum.

Her rest and the peace that surrounded it ended abruptly. Vagabond floated pleasantly between wake and sleep and half-dreamed of the shore and its soft lapping waves, the sun rising in the distance. But the dawn was darkened, and a droning sound echoed in the empty space above the water and rose into a tangible sensation; the hair of her arms stood up straight. The sun extinguished behind a presence that climbed into the sky and fingers of darkness probed, searching, as the drone sharpened and quickened into notes she recognized. She hummed along and buried her toes in the warm sand, not yet comprehending.

Then two emeralds lit into sparks and a bony white countenance emerged, fixated upon her and growing exponentially as it neared. She blinked upwards as the sea turned black, then lowered her eyes as shame filled her and a deep resonance called out.

“There you are.”

Vagabond jolted awake to the terrified cry of someone out on the deck. “Incoming!”

Scrambling to throw the blankets off, Vagabond tumbled from the cot and lunged for the door. It was just after dawn; the sun had risen halfway over the mountains. Warm air sent trees waving back and forth lazily, sharply contrasting the frantic movement on the houseboat. Waterbaby and Wammawink stood on the starboard side and the others were running around yelling and frankly not helping the situation. She saw a tiny lizard person leap for Glendale, who reared up and spread her first set of legs. A blue oval appeared and the person vanished into it. She didn’t have time to think about that; her gaze was drawn to the castle in the distance.

A black spot had appeared and was growing rapidly larger. Very rapidly.

“Brace for impact,” Waterbaby called tersely, and both she and her pink companion reached out, space rippling in front of them in preparation to shield the boat and its inhabitants. They could see the green of his eyes now, wide and blazing, and his mouth began to open.

Well, this wouldn’t do. Still blinking back the grit of sleep, Vagabond trotted to the side of the boat and, without pausing to consider the ramifications of her actions, hopped lightly over the railing and into open air.

The Nowhere King’s eyes widened even more as she ruined what was undoubtedly going to be a full-on attack, and he changed direction abruptly to catch her, his shriek of shock drowning out Waterbaby’s cry of “What d’you think you’re doing?!” For a moment, she felt as if she were floating, and a laugh bubbled out of her throat as the trees rose from below; adrenaline rushed through her veins and she tumbled end over end. Soon up and down meant nothing. It lasted only seconds, but felt like the stretch of eternity.

Hot tar folded around her. The abyssal form of the King shuddered suddenly and exploded, for a moment losing all integrity. The impact momentarily blocked out all of her senses, leaving her blind and deaf and gasping. Everything came back almost immediately; she lay upon a mattress of squirming ichor. Hands erupted from below and grabbed her, then she was yanked up right and her vision was very suddenly filled with the bony visage of her very angry friend.

“What was that for!” he roared in her face, flecking her with his bile.

Vagabond stared blankly at him for a moment. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and heard her voice say from very far away, “I’m sorry.”

“You could have died!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her mouth had disengaged with her brain and she was babbling and couldn’t stop, half laughing, half sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, you told me to stay and I’m sorry I messed everything up it’s always my fault I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—”

His jaw slowly shut. Hands slid up to her cheeks. “Vagabond,” he said, much more softly now.

“It’s always—I can never—I’m sorr—I’m sorry—”

“Stop. Do you hear me?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook once, sharply. “Stop.” Vagabond sucked at the air, chest clenched and somehow not receiving enough. He shook her again, rattling her head back and forth, until her mind began to clear and breathing became more even. When her eyes could focus he rested his teeth to her cheek and flowed around her, covering her shaking limbs like an undead blanket. Vagabond grabbed at him, desperately, knowing that she sought comfort from a monster she’d made even more powerful than he’d ever been.

A monster that stroked her face and held her as she cried, a monster that hummed her mother’s lullaby until her pulse began to slow. A monster who had committed genocide but who also wiped away her tears; a monster who had once eaten her but now held her against him.

“Why did you do that,” he sighed when she’d calmed. “I barely caught you in time.”

“I just,” she hiccuped and buried her face in his flowing neck, “I-I didn’t want you to h-hurt them. They took care of me.”

“They kept you from me. She told me they’d found you, but she wouldn’t tell me where you were, and they wouldn’t bring you back.” His voice lowered ominously into a growl. “I searched and I searched, but she wouldn’t let me leave, and you weren’t responding, and I…” He faltered, but she realized what he was going to say anyway.

“You were scared,” she murmured.

“They kept you from me. They can’t have you.”

“You know I’ll always come back.”

“You’ve been kept from me before.” His hold tightened, squeezing too much, but she didn't complain. “I had to find you.”

Vagabond fell silent and just let him hold her. She needed the reassurance, and he needed the reassurance, and it was nice, curled up with him in the forest just like they once used to. Sound was returning to their surroundings; birds startled into silence and flight began chirping again, and the trees rustled serenely. 

The rustling became more localized. Vagabond opened her eyes and blinked, and he suddenly tensed and snarled, lunging upright and caging her with his legs possessively.

Horse stood on the rise of a knoll, tense and ready to spring away, but her expression, though fearful, was soft. Her eyes darted between them, taking in the human and murderous demon, and she slowly lifted one leg to point at each of them in turn.

“This,” she said, firmly, pointing at Vagabond but keeping her eyes locked on the Nowhere King’s. “This is love.”

~

He insisted on carrying her back. Vagabond ate upon arriving, for once glad for the bland fare; though she did enjoy Wammawink’s sugary food, it had gotten to be a bit much meal after meal. The Nowhere King hovered over her every moment. It was strangely comforting, or nostalgic, perhaps; a reminder of happier times before he’d lost himself to darkness.

The King himself certainly wasn’t happy. He had people crowding around his castle again and though he clearly itched to do away with them he held himself together shockingly well. The presence of his ex-wife certainly did the work to make him as docile as he could be. He was obviously loath to do anything unseemly while she was there. They all remained outside for a while, though, which Vagabond approved of; despite recent events he was still a tightly-wound ball of seething hatred and violence.

He did seem more aware, however; instead of just staring blankly into space, she caught him more than once doubling over to stare at his own body with a certain perplexed air. Instead of only speaking when she dragged him out of his fugue he struck a few conversations, musing idly here and there about the castle or the state of the forest beyond. “Forgot how big the kitchens are,” he said once, causing Vagabond to grin despite herself. Of course he’d gone to look at the kitchen.

Eventually their alone time had to end. The minotaurs opened the doors and in strode Woman, with Waterbaby and Horse flanking her; the rest of the herd apparently stayed outside.

Vagabond went cold and the Nowhere King immediately bowed reverently, then lifted his head, though he remained on the floor. Magic flickered just out of sight in furious waves in Vagabond’s second sight, just under the older woman’s skin, and there was a red glow under her cloak. The pressure built as they approached, the minotaurs fading to the sides beyond the pillars and tar sliding out of the way before her cold fury. She looked ready to explode, burning with invisible flame, and once again everyone else seemed to disappear in her presence.

She stopped before them and paused a moment, studying them both before speaking. “He explained as much as he could about the threads,” she said finally, inclining her head towards him while keeping her gaze on Vagabond. “Waterbaby and I had a discussion about what it all meant, and we believe we have an explanation.”

The Nowhere King did not interject, staring expressionlessly down at them. Waterbaby spoke up. “Your magic is for this world, and this world alone,” she said. “No wonder you can’t go to Centaurworld for long.”

Vagabond blinked, darting a look between all of them. They must have been able to wrestle information out of her friend. Her brow furrowed and she felt a twinge of mild betrayal, then shrugged it off. In the interest of figuring this out, she could let it slide. And besides, it was more of an explanation she’d ever gotten about it all. It had been clear that Centaurworld’s chaotic magical knots and a land that changed on the whim of its owners were the cause of her pain, but she never understood why. “D’you,” she asked softly, daring to hope, “know, maybe, how I can control it more?”

But Waterbaby shook her head, her frown and tone softening. “‘Fraid not.”

“Oh.” The hope died, because of course it did. Vagabond looked away.

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s all Greek to me. I didn’t even know this world had a magic of its own until you showed up.” She waved a hand at their surroundings, and Vagabond determinedly did not ask how she even knew what “Greek” was.

“Moving on,” Woman continued tersely, “considering the Key is a product of both worlds, and I’ve mastered Centaurworld magic—”

“Mm, I dunno about mastered,” Waterbaby snorted quietly. Woman flashed a glare at her, to which the hippotaur smirked.

“—and you are the epitome of this world’s magic,” she went on, turning back, “and you,” the King tilted his head, “are a creation of both intertwined, it seems like we all had a hand in what happened.” Her expression softened a little as the younger woman cringed back. “You aren’t entirely at fault.”

She was. She was. “But if I hadn’t been there—”

“He would have died. If I hadn’t been there, he would have died. The end was set until we both showed up.” Woman shook her head slowly. “Neither of us could stay away. And the Key picked up on both of us. Mine does what I want it to do. Yours also does what you want, doesn’t it?”

I don’t want you to die.

Vagabond swallowed hard. “You wanted to kill him. And you didn’t.”

“And I wanted to die,” the King rumbled, “and I didn’t.”

“And I didn’t. I… wanted.”

Woman nodded sharply. Horse spoke up suddenly. “Hey uh… sorry if I’m not reading the room, but I’m pretty new to this…” she gestured vaguely, “magic… stuff. Also, heh, sentience in general. Can you explain a little plainer?”

Everyone looked at her. For a moment, no one spoke, unwilling to admit the severity of the situation, then Vagabond put her head between her knees and forced herself to whisper, “He… and the General… aren’t connected anymore.”

There was another horrible, frozen silence, broken only by Horse’s sharp intake of breath. “What,” she breathed.

“He,” Vagabond kept her gaze on the floor. “He’s a separate… person, now. His own person. Not half of one.”

Silence. Vagabond finally lifted her head. Horse was flicking her horrified gaze from her to him and back again, over and over. She took a trembling step back and sat on her round butt. There was a muffled “Hey!” somewhere underneath her, but Vagabond couldn’t see who made the noise. “You mean,” she said slowly, eyes locked on the fierce emerald glow of the Nowhere King, “you’re…”

He stared down at her imperiously. He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough.

“You’re essentially,” Horse’s gaze slowly slid back down to Vagabond’s. “Now unstoppable.”

His maw gaped and he laughed, cruel and bitter.

Vagabond felt her heart stop. There it was, the enormity of what had been done, finally spoken aloud. He was free; free to continue his hateful genocide without recourse. Who knew if he even had a natural lifespan. He could possibly even live forever as he was now.

You set me free.

She couldn’t accept that it wasn’t her fault. She’d been told several times to remain where she was, but had ignored all of them. She’d been the one to link with him via the lullaby. And she knew, deep in her heart, with such certainty it seemed almost spiritual, that if she had not chosen to follow those screams one day in the woods all those years ago the Nowhere King’s reign of terror would have ended in that ravine.

“The elktaur is well and truly dead,” he rumbled, bringing her back to the present. “All that is left are shattered pieces of a broken mirror.” He paused, then bowed slightly to Woman. “I am sorry, my love.”

The magic simmering just out of sight exploded. Vagabond yelped as Woman stiffened, ramrod straight, a crackle of brilliant red energy snapping over her body. “Don’t you ever,” she snarled, taking a step forward, the space between them alive with lightning, “ever call me that again.” The shadows her magic cast grew and she ignited in her rage, pulling out the Key in one smooth movement. The Nowhere King reared from his crouch, hovering in midair, tail lashing behind him. Waterbaby yelled, but Woman flicked a hand, sending her and Horse flying backwards. “Do you hear me?!”  

He propelled himself backwards, lowering one leg in front of Vagabond as if he could protect her from his ex’s rage. Vagabond was of course already looking towards the exit, but her feet refused to move, desperately wanting to stay by her friend’s side. Her body screamed to bolt and she grabbed the proffered ink-black leg to keep herself rooted to the spot.

“I hear you,” the Nowhere King said, softly.

Woman’s hair billowed and her teeth were bared. She was the center of a blazing sun, a forsaken goddess in all her former glory. She stepped forward, the Key gleaming cardinal and lengthening into a staff. She placed the end of it on the stone in front of her, and her voice echoed like the King’s himself. “Fancy yourself a king, do you.”

The lullaby stirred and rose. The tar that had pulled aside at her approach became an ocean around them; he was prepared to defend himself this time. That in and of itself was a marvel: he did not want to die, at least not here and now. Vagabond felt it catch hold of her own in response and she pressed her cheek against her friend’s leg. He curled it around her. Woman stepped forward again. The sphere in the center of the Key was spinning, faster and faster, and Vagabond’s breath stalled in her chest. This time, the one reaching out through the lullaby was not the Nowhere King. It was the woman, seizing control of both of them.

The threads in her mind’s eye wove and twirled in the grand hall, far more tangible than they had ever been; beyond Woman, Vagabond saw Waterbaby and Horse gasp.

The Nowhere King’s broken connection hung silent and useless from him. Woman’s eyes narrowed and she stared at it, then lifted her staff towards the silver thread. “Then,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “be a king.”

She swung the point of the Key towards the thread, and the spinning sphere caught it, spooling like a loom. Woman yanked it towards her, and he cried out, writhing in the air and nearly knocking Vagabond over. And then in one swift, fell swoop, Woman flipped the staff over and jammed the point towards the ground.

He fell to his knees with a deep bellow, mouth open and gasping. This time Vagabond was indeed thrown to the ground at the movement and scrambled at the steps to keep herself from breaking her neck. She couldn’t breathe, her eyes stuck on Woman, whose magic was reflecting a brilliant cardinal red in her eyes as she stood over him. She was no princess then, she was a feral, displaced queen, lack of coronation notwithstanding. Vagabond’s head rang with the intensity of it all, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

The tears in Woman’s eyes showed she still loved the severed half of a man, but she blinked and they were gone, and her voice filled the hall. Her words were the roar of a lioness who had tired of the destruction the warring twin kings had wrought, and who was now going to fight and protect both her pride and her territory. “You are tied to this land. You will take care of it and its people, as a protector, as the king you wish to be. Should you harm your kingdom you will also harm yourself. Should your kingdom prosper, so shall you.” 

The Nowhere King bent his head, pressing the top of his skull to the floor. His tail lashed, then stilled. His hooves clawed at the stone, then splayed limply around him like a dying spider. Everything was vibrating so hard Vagabond felt wetness drip from her nose and tears gush down her cheeks. Somewhere, something glass shattered.

Woman’s lips pulled back in a snarl.

“I never,” she growled, “want to see your face again.”

She yanked the spear from the ground. It had, Vagabond realized, somehow sunk into stone, and pulled cleanly free, as if it had phased straight through to another dimension. Perhaps it had. The silver thread remained stuck, pulled taut.

“You never thought you belonged in Centaurworld,” she continued, her voice rolling like distant thunder. “Well, I’ll make it official. You do not belong in Centaurworld.”

The Nowhere King didn’t move. The heavy thrumming began to fade and reality came further into focus, not that Vagabond could, in fact, focus. Woman stepped back and the spell broke; Vagabond collapsed onto her side and curled up, ignoring the bruising impact of her humerus against the rock.

Heavy silence descended. Vagabond’s head swam and she barely heard the swift but purposeful stride of their visitors departing, and honestly dared not look up even if she could. Eventually the doors boomed shut and the noise coincided with the dizziness fading; she felt along the Nowhere King’s leg and followed it up to his chest, then his head. He was still lying with his face prostrated against the floor. She collapsed against him, unable to comprehend the past few minutes.

“You okay, big guy?” she rasped finally.

He didn’t move, or speak for a while. Finally his voice filtered back to her: “I am not.”

Vagabond grunted. Yeah, she wasn’t either.

She needed a drink.

Chapter Text

She found the wine cellar. It was full of bottles that had been smashed and cabinets that had been ransacked, but among the rubble were miraculously unbroken, perfectly sealed jars. She painstakingly unwrapped wax paper, broke through the seal, uncorked an intricately designed bottle and chugged half of it in one sitting. It was the driest wine she’d ever tasted, but that was probably because she hadn’t had any in gods only knew how long.

Her first foray down there found five bottles. She stumbled upstairs and tossed four of them, rapid-fire, at her friend, who snapped them up without opening or asking about them.

“Can you even get drunk?” she flopped on the nice cool stone and took another swig.

“Let’s find out.”

“Sounds good t’me.” She drank until she couldn’t remember her birth name. It was just as well. She couldn’t really remember the voices that spoke it anyway. He joined her, and when she was too drunk to get more he sent a minotaur down to find some. They came up with seven. Vagabond chugged another whole bottle, started on the second, and only stopped when her stomach began to ache. The Nowhere King crushed the rest with his teeth and tossed the contents back along with the shards. At that point Vagabond had blacked out, waking only to heave. Armored hands held her hair back and a cool compress patted her forehead.

The hangover was incredible. When she was finally able to walk she had her bison man help her outside and into a stream, clothes and all.

“Did the King get drunk?” she mumbled at him. He blinked at her with those dumb bovine eyes and shrugged his massive shoulders noncommittally. “Fuck. Missed it.”

She took a nap back at the castle, drank more water, and eventually wandered outside for a walk. It still wasn’t safe, given there were still soldiers galore out there, but she no longer cared. By the time a minotaur found and carried her back, Vagabond felt like an empty shell, her body moving with no mind attached. They barely got any food in her before she fell asleep.

“How’s it feel, bein’ the king,” she asked him when she was capable of coherent thought.

“I’ve been king for some time now.”

“Yeah but like. You know what I mean.”

“Infuriating,” he replied, more harshly than was comfortable; she winced and didn’t probe further.

She wandered again. Her feet took her further than before, and eventually a minotaur that sniffed along the ground found her, followed by the bison, who picked her up and brought her back. The other one bounded alongside in a strange loping manner, and when she got a closer look she saw a canid face behind the visor. Scented down by a dog, she realized with vague amusement. At least, as close as he could get to one.

“The Nowhere King, vanquished,” her friend grumbled later; she patted his leg.

“You’re not vanquished, you’re still here,” she soothed. “You have power.”

“And I am not allowed to use it for destruction. Do you know what it’s like, to not be able to follow your own nature?” He snapped his jaws shut the moment the last few words left them, as if realizing what he’d just said. Vagabond looked away. “No… no, I should not have said that. Of course you do. I am sorry.”

She shrugged and walked away. This time, her drunken wandering took her clear around the mountain. Not that she remembered; she eventually fell asleep and woke only when carried back. When she fully came to, she was tucked against the King’s side and her head throbbed from exertion and dehydration.

“Y’know what I wonder,” she mused when she had, for the most part, recovered. He didn’t respond, but she didn’t bother waiting for his acknowledgement. “I wonder who sent that guy. That soldier, y’know. Who told you where I was.”

“Go ask him.”

It took her a full sixty seconds to catch up with his words, and she slowly sat up from leaning on his side. He didn’t look back at her, peering down at an old map he’d had brought up to him, only half paying attention to her. “‘Scuse me?”

“Ask him. He’s down in the dungeons.”

“Excuse. The fuck. Outta me what.”

“What.” Annoyed at the interruption, he turned slightly to get her in his sight. “He’s in a cell.”

Vagabond rocketed to her feet so fast her brain couldn’t keep up and she fell over. Her minotaur didn’t catch her in time, and her friend didn’t bother trying, so she tumbled right back to the stone and groaned. “Ow, damn… what do you mean he’s in the dungeons, I thought—”

“I told you, he sold information for his life.” He flicked his tail, clearly amused.

She was not. “I said I thought you’d turned him into a minotaur and you didn’t even correct me!” Dragging her fingers through her hair, Vagabond struggled back to her feet and leaned on her minotaur’s arm, which he was holding out helpfully. “What the fuck, man!”

“Relax, he’s been fed—” but she was already following her minotaur down the hall at a run.

The dungeons, which she’d avoided during her stay at the castle, were just as dark, damp and dingy as she’d expected. Perhaps once upon a time they were kept clean and dry, but those days were gone; Vagabond shivered as they moved through. Despite her aggravation she couldn’t help but imagine a talking elk shoved in one of these tiny cages, with no hope to see the sky…

The soldier was, fortunately, in one of the first cells. The iron key hung from the opposite wall; her minotaur took it down and unlocked the door and, ignoring her fear of being trapped, Vagabond rushed in. He lay huddled against one of the walls. In one corner sat a full chamber pot. The stench was incredible. She crouched next to him, softly shaking his arm. He lifted his head, slowly, and blinked at her, then his lips moved, tracing her name.

“Yeah, it’s me.” She tugged at his arm again. “Come on. Get up. You’re getting outta here.”

He blinked blankly but rose obediently; she helped him out. “Pick him up, we’re going upstairs,” she ordered the bison man. He moved to do so and the man sucked in a terrified breath, stumbling away. “No, no, it’s okay,” she soothed. “It’s okay. C’mon.”

“I-I can walk,” he whispered, shrinking away from the hulking monster. Vagabond hesitated, then shrugged. They’d just go slow.

It was, indeed, a slow walk. She instructed him to save his breath for the stairs; he learned what she meant the minute they had to ascend. By the time they made it to the doors of her room he was shaking with the exertion, but honestly Vagabond figured pretty much anyone not used to the endless flights would be. She even wasn’t entirely up to it still, sometimes.

The minotaur filled the tub with water he heated over the fire, though the man insisted on undressing and getting in himself. She spent that time rummaging around for clothing that fit, and passed them to him through the doorway. He looked like a new person coming out, but Vagabond knew better. His haunted eyes were so very similar to her own.

“I,” he swallowed, “I… th-thanks. I don’t…” He faltered, and her heart went out to him. “Can I…”

“You can do whatever you want,” she interrupted firmly. “There are only a few minotaurs left.” She gestured to her bison man, who stared at them from near the door, then hesitated before powering grimly on. “He can’t make more, and um, the General… it’s… it’s complicated. But the King, he, he doesn’t need to keep killing. Um.” She fingered the hem of her shirt. “I mean. Not that he doesn’t want to.”

“So he won,” he replied dully. “The Nowhere King won.”

Vagabond hesitated. No one had won, not really. No one had gotten what they wanted. No one but her. Guilt dragged her gaze down to stare at the floor, and hot tears blurred her vision, which she angrily dashed away. She didn’t deserve to cry. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I thought he’d made you into a minotaur, yourself. Um… you can leave whenever you want. I walk you down. Oh, do… do you need something to eat? I can…” she felt her way to the side table where she kept snacks, eyes still downcast. “I-I, here.” She grabbed a leather pouch she’d found, cracked and dry but serviceable, and shoved as much as she could inside before passing to him. “Thanks. For. For saving me. It took a lot of guts to talk to the… to him.”

“I didn’t mean to be captured,” he mumbled, taking the bag, eyes distant. “I just… didn’t wanna die… I’m not a hero. I’m not your hero.”

“Still. No one else woulda done that.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Any of it. No one else was gonna help me. You told me you would. And you did. Thank you.”

She turned away, continuing before he could speak. “C’mon. Let’s get you outta here before…” She trailed off, and he followed as she led him out. She half expected her minotaur to stop them, to take him back to his cell, but he was silent and unobtrusive.

It was a long, tense walk back down the stairs. Vagabond’s heart pounded as they walked, but no one appeared, and the halls were empty of the Nowhere King’s ragged breathing. They reached the broken door and he perked up, stepping nervously onto the slab that had fallen, and darted a look at her. She nodded.

He was gone in a flash, charging out into the thicket, stumbling in his haste. She didn’t blame him. It was the same response she’d had upon seeing the forest after believing she never would again.

Standing there, staring blankly into the late spring, Vagabond remembered with a jolt the train of thought that had led her to him in the first place: she hadn’t even asked who’d sent him. She looked up at her minotaur, who had followed them quietly, and asked, “Know if there’s any more wine down there?”

He shrugged one massive shoulder.

“Let’s go look.”

~

Her next wander lasted almost an entire day. She didn’t remember when she’d started, and frankly didn’t care. She drank riverwater and when it started getting dark she began looking around for an easy tree to climb. But, this time, it wasn’t a minotaur that came upon her first.

The swoosh of wind stirring treetops directed her gaze upward. The glimmer of jewels flashed dully in the remainder of light still present. Disinterested, Vagabond kept walking, then realized it was hovering over her. She could barely hear a voice yelling as loud as it could, but through the wind couldn’t tell what it said.

After a moment, Horse appeared in a flash of light, wide-eyed. “Holy shit, I did it,” she gasped, as Vagabond scrambled behind a bush. “That was… awesome.”

Not sure what to think about this, Vagabond peered at her around her bush as Horse reared up and waved up towards the treetops. “I did it! You guys! I did… can you hear me?”

A much louder voice bellowed back, and Vagabond recognized Waterbaby. “We hear you, babygirl! Good job!”

“Wooo!” She fell to all fours and bucked happily, saw Vagabond and reddened, quickly sitting and cleared her throat. “Ahem. Sorry, that’s… this is the first time I’ve transported myself.” She raised her voice again. “I’ll catch up with you guys! Keep an eye on Rider!”

The houseboat whooshed off. Horse looked back at the bemused human. “Eh-heh. Sorry. I just… I wanted to talk to you?” Her voice lilted upward hopefully and Vagabond stepped from around the bush, adrenaline fading and settling back into vague interest. She shrugged in response, not sure what to say. Horse’s brow furrowed and she stepped towards her, a touch more hesitantly than before. “I just… I guess I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m doing.”

“The Nowhere King said you’ve been gone a lot. No, that’s…” She hesitated. “He said you like to go for long walks. There, that’s more accurate.”

It was Vagabond’s turn to frown. “Since when…?”

“Since you started going out for long walks,” Horse replied dryly. “You’ve been gone so much I kept missing you. But I’m glad that I caught you out here on your own, he can be really…” she trailed off. “Protective. It’s weird seeing him like that.”

Vagabond stared at her, an unknown emotion creeping up her body. Horse had been inside the King’s mind. This stranger, a creature warped by Centaurworld and who had only relatively recently achieved any sort of sapience, had done what the Nowhere King’s best friend had been unable to. Had done what she’d worked towards for years. They’d shared something powerful and intimate; enough so that it had straight-up changed his mind. And Horse now knew him enough, in those short few hours or however long it had been, to know when he was acting weird. What was she feeling? Jealousy, perhaps? It was gross and made her drained and miserable and vaguely sick. What was wrong with her?

She was a useless friend, that’s what was wrong. And she always had been.

“Hey,” Horse said softly, and Vagabond snapped back to the present, realizing the little gray thing was much closer. She took a half-step back, then stopped herself. “It’s okay, really, I…” she trailed off as if not sure what to say, then continued quietly, “Everyone’s really worried about you, you know.”

Vagabond turned away.

“No, wait, come on,” Horse galloped in front of her, stumbling backwards as Vagabond walked on. “Listen, I really… I know how you feel. No,” she corrected suddenly, and grimaced at Vagabond’s expression. “No, I guess I don’t—oh man, I’m really messing this up, aren’t I. Um, maybe Rider would be better able to talk with you.”

Vagabond thought about having one of the General’s previous warriors trying to have a heartfelt conversation with her and suppressed a grimace of her own. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? She knows what it’s like to be betrayed by—”

“Had the General told her to,” Vagabond kept walking, lengthening her stride and forcing Horse to move out of the way, “she would have put me in chains, too.”

Horse fell silent and into step with her, lowering her eyes, clearly troubled. She knew it was true, Vagabond thought with satisfaction. And it wasn’t as if she would have blamed her for it. Rider was just a starry-eyed kid taken in by the General’s wiles, just like everyone else had been. Just like that young soldier who had solidified himself so violently in Elk’s memory. But it was true nonetheless; what he’d said. It didn’t matter that all she did was try to help… because all they would ever see was a treacherous enemy of humanity; an ally of the Nowhere King.

“I saw what he did to you,” Horse murmured after a blessedly silent minute. “In… his mind.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Iron, burning and cold. Silenced screams and cracking teeth. Fading tears and empty dreams. She moved faster.

“Okay, maybe not right now,” Horse trotted to keep up, “but you gotta face it at some point. You can’t run forever. Isn’t that what he tried to tell…” but her voice was fading, drowning in the keening of anxiety; Vagabond hummed to keep calm and broke into a trot. The lullaby wrapped her in its soothing notes, and on the other end, a dark mind shifted.

“Vagabond! Come on, I might not understand what you’re going through but I’m here for you, we all are, you don’t have to just rely on him, you know! In fact you really shouldn’t!” Horse’s voice was muffled but kept rising above her attempts to ignore. Vagabond’s chest clenched. 

“Leave me alone,” she whispered. The sky darkened and thunder rumbled. His presence clawed and crawled along the strings, following them to their source.

“And we need you too! We need to make sure he doesn’t plan anything crazy or evil or—”

Vagabond laughed suddenly, the sound ripping from her throat and the lullaby now continuing without her. She tried to catch it again but it faded and rippled and the strings of space and time twitched and spasmed and vibrated. Of course, no wonder they wanted to talk to her without him around so badly. “I should have guessed.”

“What?”

Vagabond spun, feeling her mouth widen in a wild grin, and spread her arms out, striding backwards. The earth pulled to keep from tripping her. Droplets of water started making their way through the canopy. “I shoulda guessed! That’s why you’re here.”

“What do you mean that’s why… oh. Oh, no, Vagabond, that’s not…”

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ spy on him for you!” It was dark enough that she could barely make out the round creature’s form; wind began to pick up and branches lashed at them. “I’m never gonna betray him, so keep your little plots away from me!”

“It’s not betrayal, we talked about it!” Horse ducked and moved easily through the sudden chaos. Round and ridiculous-looking or not, she was a warhorse. It was easy to forget. “Listen to me! Please! I’m here because everyone’s worried about you, I swear! You need help!”

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Vagabond spun to find an opening and broke into a run. Lightning cracked and the downpour increased. She threw herself to the storm, gasping out with painful laughter until her diaphragm hurt. The lullaby darkened along with the sky and suddenly he was there, following her silent screams and desperate cling to their song. The lightning lit him from behind as she darted into a small clearing, his fury crackling in tune with her wild hysteria. He was here! He was here and she was safe.

He lunged. It was hard to tell his eyes from the storm; his flowing darkness from the clouds. Vagabond stumbled in the slick mud as he rushed past her and laughed with relief, the deep thrum rattling her brain. The Nowhere King’s roars and Horse’s cries faded into the storm and then she was alone in the rain.

But only for a moment. He spun around her, his presence a stain on reality itself. Vagabond spun with him and it seemed, for a breath, that they stood still and the whole world was that which moved. Lightning cracked and exploded, sand solidifying into glass; a tree engulfed in flame. The chaos startled her into flight and she laughed again, breathless, darting through falling water and imagining being able to dance between the droplets. He followed, writhing, spinning, eyes locked unblinkingly upon her.

She was coming apart and spun faster; he wound tighter, the premaxilla of his skull half a meter away; his maw opened, ropes of drool sloshing from his bottom jaw. He was danger, he was death and though Vagabond feared many, many things she did not fear when he reached out and caught her by the throat and yanked her towards that empty oblivion. Instead, she pressed her hand to his, and laughed away those horrible memories, her mirth and her sobs burning her throat. He was here and she was safe because no one dared ask her questions or force her to relive things while he had her in his deadly grip.

Another bolt struck and this time arced through his antlers. He twitched and his jaws pinched her shoulder, bottom incisors and upper ivories tightening painfully over her skin. They dragged up to her chin, then her cheek, then he pulled her in and tucked her under the hollow of his own throat. She could hear him humming there; feel it in her bones. Tendrils wrapped around her body, pinning her close. He’d taken control of the lullaby, of course, and slowly began to choke it out as he gently, carefully increased pressure on her windpipe.

The sky was lighter now. The rain was slower. Vagabond struggled to breathe, resting her fingers lightly on the sludge that had solidified around her neck. There was nothing she could do even if she wanted.

She wasn’t aware of them moving, but the sounds of rain faded and his movement echoed in stone halls. The lullaby had slowed and so had her heart. They settled in the throne room and Vagabond tried to push away, assuming he’d let her go, but he only tightened his hold. Stars flickered in front of her eyes. She stopped struggling.

“Elk,” she managed to croak.

“Hush.” But he let her sit on the ground and turned so one blazing eye stared back at her, still firmly holding onto her neck. “They can’t have you.”

She nodded agreeably. She felt like she was floating. 

“You’re mine.”

She nodded again. Her adrenaline was running out and she was beginning to crash.

“But,” he murmured, finally loosening his grip just a little and turning around entirely to study her, “I can understand their concern.”

“I’m fine,” Vagabond replied. Her voice sounded far away, even to her.

“You are not.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re more than tired.” He was giving her a look she couldn’t decipher.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I never want to hear you say that again.”

Vagabond blinked at him, blearily, then turned and snuggled into his gelatinous form, which was nice and warm against her rain-chilled body. She didn’t know what to say, then. Horse was right, she was spiraling out of control, but there was nothing that the other could do. There was nothing to be done but run, run, run.

“Are you friends?” The words left her mouth before her mind caught up. “You and her.”

“The horse?” A faint snort met her ears. His chin rested on her shoulder. “No.” A pause, and then an edge of sly amusement entered his voice. “Why? Jealous?”

She ignored that. Her eyes had closed and it was a struggle to pay attention. He pushed further in, his teeth brushing her ear, then she felt the heat of a single tendril drawing across her face. It overwhelmed the tears she hadn’t even known were there. “Vagabond…”

“I’m not okay,” she whispered.

“I know.” His goopy fingers ran across her jaw; her neck. Vagabond sank further into him. He let her, oozing darkness enveloping and closing in around her body; the lullaby hovered just under his words. Safe, she was safe. “Now… hush, little one.”

That damned, blessed lullaby. It followed his body’s example, surrounding her, soothing her tattered mind. It was only temporary, of course. Later she’d drown herself in whatever alcohol she could find. Later she’d walk until she collapsed; until her friend sent someone to bring her back. Or until, uncaring and unseeing, she walked off a cliff.

“Elk,” she murmured, surrendering into sleep. “Is… is this…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t remember what she was even going to ask. Somewhere outside, thunder rumbled softly. The Nowhere King hummed and the echoing whisper sang his deadly song. His lower incisors grazed her lip.

She dreamed of a river deep in the woods. It was a beautiful fall day. Someone was keening to the wilds, screaming their agony for anyone to hear, pleading for help.

No one answered.

~

She tried to stay inside for a while. He’d assured her they’d escaped his wrath, but she feared that the herd would find her again and was somewhat ashamed of her response to Horse’s approach. But the season was heating into summer and the cool of the forest’s shade was too great of a temptation to resist. So she walked until her legs shook and she was forced to lean upon a tree, pressing her forehead against the bark.

I’m not okay, she thought dully, digging her fingertips into the wood until it shoved uncomfortably under her fingernails. I’m not okay. Horse was right. I need help. She was right.

She doesn’t understand.

“Vagabond?”

Adrenaline sent her shooting up the tree before she could think, a thrill of panic prickling her spine. Safely above the ground, she realized very suddenly that not only had her proper name been used, the person who’d used it was also up a tree. The man blinked at her from a few meters away, she blinked back, and in unison they both grinned; the man in amusement and her in nervous relief as the panic began to fade. “Um, hi,” she tried, trying to calm her heart.

“Hey. It’s… it’s me.” At her furrowed brow, his grin faded slightly. “Yeah, I don’t b-b-blame you for not recog—recognizing me.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Oh,” she said softly as her memory struggled. “Oh. It’s… it’s you.” She studied him up and down as much as she could in their current positions. He was older, obviously, and had a beard now, but the stutter was a dead giveaway. “You’re alive? You’re alive.” She shifted to sit normally on the branch, taking deep breaths. Her heart began to slow its frantic race.  “Holy shit.”

“You too.” He leaped off his own perch, so smoothly and lightly Vagabond was a little jealous. It felt like her achy, abused body would never be able to achieve such movement again. “I hoped he’d find you. Thank you. Thank you for-for-for sav-saving him.” His voice thickened and his stutter became more apparent; Vagabond peered closer and saw his shaking hands, which he shoved in his pockets. “I… I thought I’d l-l-lost him for good.” He blinked rapidly.

“Oh…” Vagabond whispered. “Of course, right, well, he saved me first—” Then the meaning of his words finally hit her, so hard she nearly tilted off the branch. He stepped forward as if to catch her, but she righted herself and grabbed another limb, head spinning. Panic aside, she was also still a little unsteady from her latest binge. “You! You’re the one who sent him!”

“Well, yeah…” he paused, looking around. “...You mind if I come up? If the minotaurs find me…”

“Oh, right, yeah.” She wanted to tell him not to worry but honestly she didn’t know if that were true just yet, so she waited until he’d hauled himself up on a limb next to her and relaxed a bit. “Better, thanks. So uh, you told me not to trust the General, and… he s-seemed like a good guy, but… then you weren’t a-a-accessible. And then I…” he faltered, and his face paled a little and he looked away, “I… saw things. That he did. You were right. So I took the band deeper into the woods. I g-g-g-got reports of,” he paused to settle himself, “you. In chains. And every time I tried to verify you were gone. And, um. My boyfriend told me things about the monster. About you. He wanted to help so b-b-bad.” He blinked back tears and took a shuddering breath. “So he… posed as a soldier. They… They weren’t asking questions about anyone. He worked his way up. Last report was-was-was that he found you, and then… nothing.”

Vagabond was at this point also trying not to cry. She bent her head, vision blurring, and pressed her face to her palms. “It worked,” she mumbled. “He did find me. And… then he was taken.” She told him, haltingly, about what the Nowhere King had told her; about how a strange soldier had bargained information for his life, and how her friend had come to find and save her. “It was one hell of a gamble, but it worked.”

The boy—no, he was a man now—smiled in genuine pleasure, his eyes distant and warm, and her heart ached at the sight. What was it like, for someone to look at her like that? To look like that when just thinking of her? She’d long forgotten how her first real love’s face had looked before it had fallen apart. “He’s the smart one out of the both of us.” Then his face sombered. “He said the Nowhere King’s alive?”

“He’s alive,” she confirmed, looking away and picking at the bark. “But… um… war’s over. I think.” Come to actually think about it, she hadn’t asked him. She’d been too afraid to ask.

“So…” he leaned forward, eyes wide and fearful and eager. Vagabond glanced back at him. Well, she could understand his mix of excitement and trepidation. The chance of finally not having to worry about an army of monsters slaughtering them at any second was news worth celebrating. “D-Did the General accept it? There’s peace?”

She jumped down from the tree, stumbled, caught herself and backed away as he did the same. “The Nowhere King won,” she said tightly, “I don’t know what he’s gonna do. I’ll ask him, okay?”

He blinked at her and she backed away further. “Look, I… I’m really glad he’s okay. Your boyfriend. Well, I mean,” she fumbled, “he’s probably not okay. I get it. He got off light but, but that’s cold comfort, right? Um. I’ll, um, I’ll meet you at the northern entrance at sunset. I’ll tell you his answer. How’s that?”

“Okay—” but she turned and fled, stumbling through the brush and trusting her feet to carry her in the right direction. They did; she eventually crossed the threshold where the minotaurs were slowly heaving the thick door back into place, and headed for the throne room.

She procrastinated as long as she could. She did not fear the Nowhere King’s rage, but she didn’t want to trigger him to go on some sort of ridiculous quest to find and bring back a man she’d released. There would be no sense in doing so, but it wasn’t like he did things that made sense. Eventually, though, she grudgingly made her way to the throne room, where his huge goopy body trailed on the floor. One minotaur turned and walked away from him as she approached and his eyes turned to her pensively, raking his gaze up and down.

Vagabond slumped on the lowest stair and rubbed her face, back to him. She didn’t like how he was studying her. “You know I let that dude go, right,” she said bluntly. There was no other way to go around it. “In the dungeons.”

“Of course. I figured you would.” His tail flicked, slapping her with some tar. “He wasn’t worth the argument. I upheld my end of the bargain.” He tilted his head, antlers swinging slowly over them, and his voice lowered into a growl. “Though it was so very satisfying to teach one of his little soldiers there were far worse things than death.”

“Don’t worry. He wasn’t a soldier and you didn’t show him mercy.” Vagabond rolled a loose stone back and forth, ignoring his grumbling. “He was only pretending to be one.”

“Oh?”

She told him about her conversation in the woods. The King listened intently, his skull creeping closer and closer to her as she spoke. Used to this, Vagabond idly ran her fingers over the lines of bone. He got a little too close to her face and she pushed him away, or tried; he caught her wrist. “So…” he murmured, ignoring her attempts to free herself, “You formed your own family, away from me. How appropriate.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She’d mentioned it before, but hadn’t lingered on the subject. “If they were out there I didn’t wanna sic you on ‘em. Listen, he wants to know—”

“You smell like alcohol.”

“—no shit—he wants to know if the war—”

He snorted and released her, lifting his head away. “I thought we ran out of wine.”

“I found brandy. Would you fucking listen? He wants to know if the war’s over. I wanna know if the war’s over.” Vagabond chanced a peek up at him, trying to assess his mood.

He clicked his jaw. “They’re not soldiers, then.”

“No, they’re not—they’re survivalists, I told you I—fuck’s sake, Elk, answer the question!”

“Annoying, isn’t it.”

She stared up at him, took a deep breath, and folded her arms, trying to think of a comeback. There wasn’t one, and the way he was looking at her made it very clear that he was smirking. She couldn’t even be mad about it; could only glare as he continued calmly, “That’s what I thought. Now, as for your little friend… I believe I have use for him, as well as the rest of your clan.” His head sank onto his bulbous neck. “Bring him here.”

She stared at him. “Uh. No?”

His eyes narrowed.

Vagabond ran her fingers through her hair, shocked he’d so much as utter such a thing. “I’m not gonna ask him to come in here! What makes you think he’d walk right into the lair of the Nowhere King? Not to mention you tortured his boyfriend!”

“Oh, I did not torture him. Have you forgotten what torture is?”

“Fuck you, I’m not gonna be a part of this.” Vagabond shoved herself to her feet and headed for the door. Tar surrounded her and in a flash snagged her arms and legs, and the Nowhere King curled lazily above, hovering just over her head.

“You’re already a part of this,” he said, amused, “and have been for some time.”

She struggled for a moment. A flash of old anger rose to a simmer, the same anger that had driven her to confront him months ago. A vine twitched, sprouting a new bud. But just as quickly it died, and defeat took its place, and she slumped in his grip. “...Yeah. Look, I… I told him I’d tell him your answer at sundown. I’ll let him know you wanna meet with him. Is that enough?”

He tilted his head, studying her sharply. “...Hm. Very well.”

“Let me go.”

The tar fell from her limbs. She brushed herself off, scowled at him, and continued her trek to the door… only to stop when she felt his rancid breath on her back. “What.”

He gently bumped her with the tip of his skull, huffing softly. “I did not tell you my answer.”

“Your non-answer was good enough,” she snapped, rubbing her head. She needed another drink. Hair of the dog, they called it. “You’re just gonna—”

“The war is over.”

She turned slightly to look at the bit of bone jutting over her shoulder, gut suddenly churning, unwilling to let hope seep into her voice. “Yeah?”

“The war is over, and the Princess has given me a new purpose. I hate it more than you can imagine. But I will do as she commanded.” He slid forward a little more, cupping her opposite cheek to press her against his molars. “This man is one of your clan. As such, I do not wish for his death… much. At this time, I only want to speak with him.”

Vagabond felt the hot rush of relief loosen her muscles and, suddenly, it became that much easier to breathe. “Okay,” she whispered.

“All right?”

“Yeah. All right. Okay. Thank you.”

Once more, he released her, and once more, she headed for the door. And though her feet felt a little lighter, her gut a little less twisted, the tortured woman couldn’t help but recognize that she was once again failing to keep the creeping darkness at bay.

Chapter Text

They met at sundown, near the northern entrance, just as they had agreed. And Vagabond told him the news, softly, as shadows deepened and the sky turned purple; the man let out a breath that held the weight of the world and leaned weakly against a trunk. She let him have the moment, watching the dull light of his war-weary eyes brighten with the hope of a future, and then gave him the second half of the Nowhere King’s declaration. She averted her gaze so she would not see the hope be replaced with terror, and murmured, “He has promised not to harm you. He only wants to talk.”

“I,” the man swallowed hard past a throat clearly dry with trepidation, “I-I-I-I—” he had to settle himself for a solid minute, white-knuckled fists clenching, and continued, “I will… th-think about that. I must speak to my, my, my people.”

Vagabond nodded, knowing what that meant; he needed to prepare them in case he did not return. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow at noon. I’ll meet you here.” He darted his glazed eyes up to hers, and pleaded, “I-If I meet with him, will you… will you be there with me?”

“I’ll be there with you,” she promised, nodding, then they departed. She returned to the King and informed him of the other man’s agreement, to which he nodded and reached out to pull her against him despite her protests. He did not let her go that night, and the minotaur brought her food and water to consume by his side. When she became aggravated he hummed softly, and his power over the magic coursing through their lullaby kept her quiet and still through the night.

Vagabond couldn’t stop him. Even when she allowed herself to be pissed enough to try and send her magic to vibrate the threads that wove in her mind’s eye, he smothered her with his own power. The control he had over her was honestly terrifying, and he clearly had no problem with wielding it.

The next morning was a blur. Vagabond hung out near the northern entrance. She wasn’t entirely sure if the man would come back, to be honest, but counted on the fact that willfully refusing the Nowhere King was a bad idea.

Evidently he felt the same way. He approached directly, feet crunching with reluctant deliberation on leaves and sticks. His face was pale and sweaty and his arms folded, hands gripping his own forearms to still the trembling. Behind her, within the castle, the shadow of the King lurked, ready to emerge. Vagabond gazed over at the man and raised an eyebrow. He nodded, and she turned, gesturing.

The Nowhere King slid from the castle’s innards like a snake. He rose and stared with cold flame at the man Vagabond had once saved from his grasp as a boy, a hoof brushing the ground as he emerged. For a moment he simply studied the shaking human, who stumbled back, then his sonorous voice rolled out: “What is your name?”

Vagabond blinked, feeling suddenly guilty. She honestly hadn’t even thought to ask; had been too wrapped up in her own mind. Once upon a time she’d known it, but it had been lost sometime during her incarceration. She turned to him, noting he looked faintly green, as if he were to be sick; the man gulped in a little more air and whispered, “P-P-P-P—Pi.”

“Pi,” the Nowhere King repeated, flatly.

“Sh-Short for, for, for, for Pioneer.” His voice squeaked a little and his face reddened, “I, um, um, made the m-m-mis— mistake of calling us pioneers when, when you…” he faltered, “Took over. A-And it s-s-stuck.”

“I see.” The King glanced at Vagabond. She shrugged. She didn’t remember that part.

“It was after you disappeared,” Pi said abruptly, glancing at her. “I kinda… s-said it was like we were p-p-pioneers. I dunno, I-I-I was a dumb kid, but it worked, I guess?”

Vagabond nodded, looking away. “Good for you.”

“You are their leader, then. Excellent.” The King leaned down a bit, his skull looming closer, and Pi’s eyes widened, though to his credit he planted his feet and refused to back up. “I am glad you spoke with my dear friend. As she has told you, the war is over. The old Princess—I am sure you remember her—has abdicated her throne to me.”

A look of horror passed over Pi’s face and he glanced at Vagabond again, who nodded slightly, keeping her gaze on the ground.

“Yes,” he went on, a trace of sadistic humor in his voice, “terrifying, isn’t it. I am the ruler of these lands, both by war and by policy.” He tilted his head slowly, creaking even closer, brilliant emerald gaze locked on the man in front of him. Vagabond peeked over. Pi was shaking unabashedly now, but his own eyes were steady and unblinking. “And that means I am obligated to protect my people.”

There was a pregnant pause. It took a moment for Pi to realize what was being said, then he jerked minutely as the meaning hit him. “But,” the King purred, seeing this, “you are not my people, are you?”

Pi slowly opened his mouth, then closed it. “What,” he breathed, “wh-what are you saying…”

“It would be so much easier, and safer, for you, wouldn’t it. If you were mine.”

It was Vagabond’s turn to open her mouth in protest, alarm bells ringing, but his magical undertone shifted, the tune vibrating through her own skull. Quiet…

“I don’t understand,” Pi said, numbly, white-faced again. “Are you ask—” he swallowed. “Be your p-p-p-people. You’re… You w-want our l-l-l-loyalty. To, to, to you. The N-Nowhere King.”

“Swear fealty to me,” the demon confirmed, pleased, “and you will have me as your King, to rule and protect. I will regrow this kingdom. I will keep it, and you, safe. I will bring prosperity and life back to these lands.” The tip of his muzzle hovered a single handwidth from Pi’s face now, keeping him fixated, and Vagabond wondered vaguely if he was using his magic to work on the man’s mind. Could he do that, to someone who was not connected to him in any way?

Pi stared blankly at him, pupils blown in fear and fascination, his breath coming quick and shallow. “I,” he began softly, “I-I… need to talk to… everyone.”

The Nowhere King held his gaze for another few seconds, then slowly withdrew. “Do so,” he said simply. He turned his head to the side and tilted it away, so that his teeth seemed to curve upwards in a grin. “I hope you will see the wisdom in my words.”

Pi swallowed. The demon kept him frozen in his cold stare for a moment longer, then turned and slipped back inside. The man slumped immediately onto a log, then slid to the ground, pressing his hands to his face. Vagabond sat next to him on the fallen trunk and picked at the flaky bark, watching insects scurry as she unearthed them and waited for the man to gather himself.

“I almost peed myself,” he said finally, in a tiny voice, face buried between his knees. Vagabond snorted and choked on unexpected laughter, patting his shoulder. “Oh my god. I’m alive.”

“You’re alive,” she confirmed, letting herself smile. “And you did great.”

“And I didn’t pee.”

“And you didn’t pee.”

“Does he mean it?” he lifted his head abruptly to stare at her. “If… If we were to b-become… his. Swear to him. He’ll keep, keep, keep, keep us safe.”

Vagabond nodded. “The Nowhere King is many things, but he isn’t a liar. He means every word.” She hesitated. She felt compelled to give him another choice. “But… until now, the only enemy has been him.”

“Yeah,” Pi mumbled. “But… to regain our numbers…” he drew his knees up to wrap his arms around, frowning. “If we have his protection… th-th-th-there’s always been the threat of rogues. Lack of food. P-Permanence.” He shook his head slowly. “You remember that real bad winter we had, w-way back?” His stutter was dissipating a little now as he calmed, became more focused. “So many people l-l-lost fingers, limbs, lives.” He chewed his lip, eyes distant. “If… we don’t have to worry about all that…”

She nodded again, understanding. The boy had indeed grown into a man; one who worried for a people he loved. He was far more adaptable than she would have given him credit for if she hadn’t seen for herself. Already he was seriously considering the impossible—allying himself and the others with the deadly, hateful Nowhere King. She felt the warmth of pride in her chest and immediately squashed it down. She wasn’t allowed to feel pride. She didn’t do this; he had.

“I’ll,” Pi said slowly, standing and brushing himself off; he paused to lean against a tree to regulate his rapidly changing blood pressure. “I will be back. I.. don’t know how long.”

“Okay.” She watched him walk away, then chose a direction at random and wandered off, herself, not wanting to go back quite yet. Her minotaur followed until she darted into the underbrush and easily lost him.

The days passed at the blink of an eye. Vagabond wasn’t paying attention anymore, having slid back into that emptiness that had plagued her during each imprisonment. But this time, the imprisonment was one of her own mind, and the only way to escape was to just keep running.

She could feel him checking in on her every once and a while. It was strange and intimidating and weirdly comforting and she ran from that too; it reminded her too much of the General’s guards keeping an eye on her. His presence hung heavy in the promise she’d made to him once, and she knew without a doubt that if he tugged even a little she would have no choice but to obey. But he didn’t impose, just flicked his mental gaze over to her from time to time. 

Pioneer was at the entrance one day. He was pale and his lips thin, but set. Vagabond hesitated before approaching, then asked, “Ready to go in?”

He shook his head, clearly not trusting himself to speak, then gestured for her to lead on into the lion’s den. Vagabond obeyed, walking the familiar path towards the throne room, and paused at the doors to give him a moment to gather himself. He took a few deep breaths, then nodded.

It was as if she was meeting the King for the first time again; the long hall stretched imposingly towards him and once more his head tilted downward to track their progress. Vagabond gave their guest time to adjust to his miasmic presence, moving slowly.

They reached just in front of him, and after a moment, he lowered himself to settle on the floor. It was likely to help Pi relax, and it seemed to work; his aura was just as menacing but the gesture did seem to give Pi a little more courage. For a moment man and monster regarded one another, then the man took in a shaky breath and murmured, “Sire.” He ducked his head, to which the skull inclined slightly in acknowledgement. 

And suddenly something tunneled into terrible pinpoint focus. Pi was continuing, but his words were muffled, and Vagabond darted her gaze between the two of them. The man stepped forward, towards the King, who tilted his head at the motion and settled even further down, tucking his feet under himself—a reward for the man’s bravery. In this, Vagabond was not needed. Her existence here, now, was not necessary. 

She was nothing. Nothing and no one. 

The emerald gaze of the Nowhere King flashed towards her and she averted her own, turning away. She couldn’t face him right now. She felt… empty. Her head buzzed with numbness. Her lips and tongue felt like cotton.

They continued talking. Vagabond shifted towards the columns, fading into the background, tinnitus blocking out all other noise. She had never really been necessary in this tale. No, the people who had actually done anything—Horse and her herd, the old Princess, Pioneer and his boyfriend, who she still hadn’t asked the name of, what was wrong with her—had been the main performers. The elktaur. The elk, the man; the Nowhere King, the General.

“Vagabond.”

This was their story, not hers. She was a support character and nothing more; a side actor in her own life.

“Dearheart.”

The entire narrative had been directed by others she’d met in her life. Not once had she made any decision that had positively affected anything. 

The threads yanked as taut as a leash. Vagabond snapped back to reality and gasped, stumbling forward and looking around. Pi was gone. No sun made its way through to the throne room, but she got the sense that it was much, much later. Her head spun. The Nowhere King hovered over her and Vagabond felt her breath hitch as she realized what was happening. He was learning how to use the magic of this world. Her magic.

He carefully drew her closer and she gave in, reaching for him. He folded his legs around her then floated backwards towards the dias, pulling her along; she obeyed and felt her way up to his head. Her fingers curled into one eye socket, but he didn’t seem to care. Vagabond held onto him for a minute, considering asking him to put her under again, but suddenly, inexplicably, she couldn’t bear to be so close. She started to pull away and the King extended his neck to curve around and look at her fully. He studied her for a moment, watching her struggle, then asked, “Have you been drinking again?”

“Why do you care?” she mumbled, tugging at his ichor.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she snarled, magic flaring in response to her sudden anger, “do you not approve of my coping mechanisms?” Tar slipped from her skin to the floor and her head throbbed. She stood in the middle of the room now, away from him. Tears stained her cheeks. He uncurled from where he’d crouched and rose into the air.

“My friend,” he said, quietly.

“Would you rather I turn to genocide? Would that be more acceptable to you, my liege?” She backed up, her magic keening in preparation to be unleashed if he so much as twitched in her direction. When he didn’t move she spun on her heel and fled. He called out to her again, but the doors slamming open at their own accord drowned him out. A part of her begged for him to chase her, pull that leash, give her the stability she needed. The rest of her cried out that it was wrong; wrong and sick and she was fucked up for even thinking such a thing.

The latter won. He didn’t follow, pulling back from the lullaby and her mind to let her leave. She couldn’t tell if that made her feel free, or if it made her feel worse.

~

Summer was thick and humid and oppressive. Vagabond became intimately knowledgeable about the forest that surrounded the mountain castle. Her only relief was the forest’s shade and the odd thunderstorm that rolled in with a blast of cool air. Other than that, everything was a blur, days melting together in a mess of time that sped up and slowed down as if on the gods’ whims. Pi and his people dipped in and out, and she avoided them; they didn’t need her anyway.

When it all became too much she drank to numb the fear and pain and desolate emptiness inside. When she broke down he would come and find and soothe her as she shook and heaved in silent sobs of existential terror. He brought her to the castle and held her and hummed, smothering her into sleep, and for a time she’d let him keep her under in blessed oblivion. She’d feel better after that for a little while, then she’d have a nightmare and the urge to run would start the cycle over again. The only thing that truly helped was to move, move, move.

“Vagabond,” he asked her once, with uncharacteristic timidity when she’d woken from her latest forced slumber, “do you love me?”

“‘Course,” she replied, and for a bit she could push her feelings aside and cuddle him the way he wanted to reassure him of her affection. And then a report came in that more supplies were needed somewhere, or something, and his attention shifted, and Vagabond faded from his side back into the wilds.

She relearned her old habits, climbing trees and foraging and avoiding a bear when it chased her from its cubs. Her hands itched to do something in particular but she couldn’t remember what they used to busy themselves with, so she stripped dead plants and made twine, then rope. Some time later a heat wave swept through, along with a thunderstorm. The wild weather sent her outside, and when it lulled she climbed a service tree to harvest the berries. It wasn’t a good idea. She slipped on wet bark and went tumbling to the ground.

The berries scattered around her and her pained panting became crazed giggles as she stared up at the sweltering, windless canopy, drenched in sweat. Eventually, the laughter died, and she lay shuddering as waves of agony rippled through her body. When her vision cleared she was in a fetal position, trying to keep as still as possible. Nothing had broken, but she had definitely wrenched something in her back and heavily bruised her shoulder. She lay there for a while, letting her mind wander; every so often the pain made her gasp. The Nowhere King seemed distracted at the moment, given that he wasn’t immediately responding, but that was okay. She preferred it that way. Before he showed up she’d always been in charge of her own injuries.

Each wave became further apart and dulled, until she could move again; Vagabond carefully got up and took a few minutes to reorient herself before setting off. Her wounded shoulder needed ice; there was none in the castle, but it was safer than lying in the forest injured. Not that she really cared if she died.

It was slow going, and she strove to keep her thoughts as calm and pain-free as possible to not alert her friend that something was wrong. It turned out she was focused on the wrong thing, because the flicker of magic behind her went almost unnoticed. The crunch of footsteps alerted her to someone approaching, and Vagabond froze in sudden fear.

“You’re not gonna freak out again, are you,” Horse said, deadpan; Vagabond heaved a relieved sigh, turning to face her. A bright pink bow now adorned her mane. It was adorable.

“I like your bow,” she replied, then turned back around to continue her careful trek.

“Thanks, me too. Uh, you don’t look so good. That’s one crazy bruise.”

“Really?” she said vaguely, “Already?”

“What happened?”

“Tried t’pick berries. Tree was wet.” She started to say “don’t worry about it,” but the words failed in her throat and she just kept walking. Horse’s squeaky footsteps got closer.

The longer they continued on together the more aware Vagabond became of something nagging at her conscience, and finally said, without preamble, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Horse replied quietly.

“For…” Vagabond hesitated at a large fallen tree, decided against trying to climb over it, and started around. “For freaking out. Last time. I…” she faltered, trying to pinpoint her emotions on the matter. It was hard. She didn’t feel much of anything anymore. “I didn’t… mean to overreact. Or sic him on you. I just…” her words trailed away.

Horse’s footsteps paused, then jogged to come alongside her. “It’s okay,” she said, “he just chased me away a little. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that, it’s my fault for not stopping.”

Vagabond grunted and winced when a misstep shot daggers of pain through her body, and grabbed her wrist with her opposite hand. Horse studied her for a minute, then asked very carefully, “I’m not so good at healing magic yet. But if you want, I can try to…?”

The thought of centaur magic invading her body made Vagabond shudder, then cringe as the shudder sent spikes through her muscles. “N-No thanks.”

“Okay. Then… you want a ride?”

Vagabond glanced over at her, blinking. Horse was, well… a horse, but she was tiny, and she had serious doubts about her ability to carry a grown woman. “Uh…”

It was like Horse read her mind. She rolled her eyes, snorting. “Oh come on, I carry Rider around all the time.”

“She’s a kid.”

“You’re not much bigger than—okay that’s it, get on.” The round creature trotted ahead and planted herself in Vagabond’s path side-on. “You can apologize for last time by not insulting my strength, thank you very much. I’m a highly trained warhorse, ya know.”

Vagabond blinked down at the smooth gray back and felt the corner of her mouth tug into a smile. “Okay, deal.” She hesitated a moment, trying to figure out how to get on without jarring her now-throbbing shoulder before Horse realized what the problem was and knelt down. Vagabond sat carefully and swung one leg over, grabbing a handful of bouncy mane to steady herself when Horse rose to her feet.

For a few minutes they walked on in silence. Progress was slow; Horse was clearly trying not to cause her more pain. “So,” she spoke up finally, and Vagabond sighed a little, opening her eyes; she wasn’t surprised to be drawn into conversation. “I was serious, uh, last time. We’re all really worried about you. Me, Wammawink. She gets really into the mom thing. Waterbaby feels really bad that she can’t help you. The Nowhere King, obviously, though,” she snorted, “he really sucks at this. You did a much better job with him, and look at how useless he is with you—”

“I did not,” Vagabond mumbled. “I failed.” She always failed.

Horse pinned her ears. “You did the best you could.” Before Vagabond could interject that her best had clearly not been enough, she continued, “Even Rider feels bad. I… didn’t tell her what you said, but I think she knows.”

“Really don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Okay, fine.” Horse paused at an incline and tested her footing before starting down. “But… listen, I… I’ve been where you are now. When I was separated from Rider, I… got to a real dark place. I even had a shaman swallow me alive so I didn’t have to feel anything.” She started up the other side. “And you know what forced me to come out?”

Vagabond grunted.

“My friends. They went right on in after me and dragged me outta there and made me feel things so I could find the strength to keep going.” She turned her long face to one side so she could look at Vagabond in the corner of her eye. “We wanna do the same thing with you, you know. We’re trying. We want to be your friends.”

“To get close to the King.”

“No, ugh, look,” Horse stamped her next footstep and Vagabond hissed in pain, “sorry. Everyone’s scared, you know? I know what Woman did but no one trusts it. As far as we know he’s gonna just keep his war going…”

“The war is over. He told me so,” Vagabond replied wearily, wishing she’d just stop talking. “The war was between his two halves and they’re not halves anymore.”

“He’s still the Nowhere King. He’s a being of hatred,” the warhorse pointed out. “And we don’t know where the General is.”

“I know. I know. ” The woman cringed at the mention of the General. She’d been trying not to think about him. Her stress was beginning to get a little too loud; too much of that and the King would notice. She took a deep breath and forcibly pushed the thought of the General out of her head. “There’s nothing else I can do. I can’t control him, okay? I…” She tightened her hold on her ride. Her hands shook. Horse stopped short. “I failed,” Vagabond finished brokenly. “I failed at everything.”

“No, no, hey,” Horse’s voice softened. “C’mere.” She sat so Vagabond had to slide down and the woman stumbled off, grimacing. Turning, Horse stood on her hind legs and carefully wrapped her in a one-sided hug.

Vagabond slumped in her embrace. She felt like she was back in the cold grip of iron, unable to cry, empty and emotionless and so broken there were barely any pieces left to put together. Horse held her as tightly as she dared. The talking animal may not have been through exactly what Vagabond had, but she had been hurt by the Nowhere King too; she’d fought his forces and faced him down more than once with nothing but her friends at her back.

“You didn’t fail,” she was saying quietly. “You’re not at fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were just trying to help someone who was hurting.”

You and your helping. You and your promises.

“And it just… got out of hand.”

You see what they have wrought?

The sky darkened. Vagabond sucked in a breath. She’d forgotten to pay attention to what he was paying attention to. “Horse,” she whispered, but the other was pulling away with a gasp, and suddenly the air was alive with movement. Hooves slammed into the ground around her. She tried to lunge to her feet and black ink snatched at her, keeping her down. She winced in pain. “No—Elk, don’t—”

“Just how stupid,” he snarled, “do you have to be. I told you—”

Magic whirled. Vagabond flailed, trying to see what was going on, and doubled over as she was once more painfully reminded of her injured shoulder. “Elk!” she screamed over the sudden chaos. To no avail. The magic and movement only increased and his tar held her in place.

“I’m trying to help her!” Horse was crying out. “You know, how you’re failing to!”

“She. Is. Mine!”

“Are you insane? What a dumb question, of course you are, look at her! Look at what you’re doing to her!”

“She is safe with me—”

“You’re killing her!” Horse bellowed, “I can see it, Waterbaby can see it, everyone can see it! She won’t last much longer this way, you have to let her heal!”

Vagabond shuddered. It was true, she realized in the split second between each shouted word. She was being crushed by the same darkness that had birthed the Nowhere King; he’d fed on it, let it fuel his lust for revenge and destruction of all who had rejected him, but she was not the same. She didn’t fight. She didn’t hurt people. She ran, and now she couldn’t run, and it was slowly doing her in.

“Elk,” she whispered into the sudden silence. “Make it stop.”

He crouched around her. His legs were trembling. Or perhaps that was her. Perhaps it was both of them, together.  His ichor loosened and slid up; she felt his hands on her cheeks. “Dearheart,” he said, and no, it wasn’t just her; his voice shook and his rage faded.

Vagabond broke down, her sobs dry, collapsing against him. “Make it stop,” she repeated, choking, her breaths cracking her throat. “Make it stop, make it go away, please, please.” It was as close as she could get to asking him to finish her for good, do what Horse had mentioned and swallow her whole and finish the job this time, let her sink into peaceful oblivion.

“Vagabond, no,” she heard Horse cry. “I told you, that’s not the answer—”

“Quiet.” The King held her to him. He was very still. His jaws were so close to her face. For a moment, she could feel him consider it, drool dripping on her forehead and aching shoulder. She heard Horse suck in a sharp, horrified breath, but otherwise all was silent. Then his maw closed, and the moment passed, and he carefully picked her up. She hissed in pain even so.

“You promised,” he said slowly, rearranging to avoid hurting her, “to always come back to me.”

She slumped, closing her eyes. It was true. She couldn’t fulfill her promise if she was dead. And that was the most important thing, because her word was the only thing left that was hers and hers alone. She nodded. He shifted and his voice hardened. “Do not interfere again.”

Silence. Vagabond could feel Horse’s angry glare. The Nowhere King was still, waiting for acknowledgement, and he of course won the battle of the wills. He always did. “She needs—”

“I know,” he snarled, “what she needs.”

“But—”

“This is my kingdom. You will either do as I say or never return.” He was rising into the air, and Vagabond pressed her face into his flowing neck. She tried to cover her ears with her hands but pain kept her from it and he did the job for her, sealing her away in silence. She could feel the deep vibration of his voice through her; feel the impression of his whispered echo in her mind, but it was too faint to listen in, which suited her just fine. Just let her disappear. Just let her fade into nothingness, and let her ancestors bring her home…

The tar drained from her face. They were inside. He landed and shifted to bring his face close to her. She gripped bare bone where there should have been fur until her fingers ached, trying to anchor herself to reality. It would be so easy to just let the lullaby sweep her up; dissipate her into nothing.

“I can’t,” she managed to say, “I can’t do it. I’m not strong like you, I-I—”

“You don’t have to be,” he replied, interrupting her mumbled plea. “I know… I know what you need.” She’d not heard him falter or stammer since before, when they’d first met. There was a short silence as he gripped at her with the same desperation that she held him. Finally, he whispered, so very quietly, “You need to run.”

“I,” she mumbled, “I need to…” Realization came slowly. “Oh,” she breathed.

“I tried,” he said. “I really did, I promise I did.”

“Yeah. I… I know.”

He pulled away a bit and prodded at her injured shoulder, gently. Vagabond sucked in a breath. “Then,” he went on, soft and subdued, “as soon as you are ready, you will go.”

Vagabond swayed, lightheaded with this new development. Ready? She was never ready. Not once had she ever been ready to flee, and that had been the excitement of it. But now the very thought was terrifying. There were so many things to consider; she could no longer simply throw caution to the wind and walk away. She was too known. “I… don’t… but… the General…”

“I know where he is. Your clan has been very helpful in keeping eyes on him.”

She blinked. “Oh.” And then she rearranged herself against him and he called a minotaur to help with her injury. There was not much to do, of course, but they surprised her by producing a poultice and wrapping it against her skin to help with the pain. It was a mixture she’d shown the people she’d saved long ago–from him, in fact—how to make; she recognized the very particular blend. How weirdly appropriate, that it had come full circle.

She slept for a while. She was so tired nowadays. Every tiny interaction was exhausting. She couldn’t even fathom how she was going to travel like she used to. He had to have been out of his mind to even suggest it. That was it, she decided later, when her friend carried on as if they’d never spoken about such things. He was crazy, after all. Her crazy, evil best friend. She couldn’t blame him though; she was no better. Someone who helped an evil overlord bent on destruction had to be evil too, right?

The heat wave passed finally and on its heels was delightfully cool, much drier weather. Autumn had finally arrived, and it was a welcome change. Vagabond wandered in and out, though this time the Nowhere King kept a much sharper eye on her; she could feel his presence winding a web, aware of every tremor she made upon it.

It was comforting. It was terrifying. It was safe. It was stifling. She shouldn’t want it. She did. Was it his mind telling her these things, or hers? Had the General been right all that time ago; that he was using it to control her? Did she even care?

“I don’t know how I’ll survive out there,” she confessed to him, when he came to find her when she was gone too long. She sat on a rocky outcrop and looked over the treetops. “I… I don’t know if I can anymore.”

He was silent. She looked up at him. “Do not tempt me,” he said finally. “Do not tempt me to keep you in the castle forever, because I will. I will, and I’ll never let you leave.”

She shuddered.

“Exactly,” he said. “You do not know how much I yearn to take you over, to make your pain go away. I can, you know. It would be so easy.” He lowered his head to meet her on eye level. “I could fill you with my will.” One neck-hand separated to brush her hair, having grown through the seasons, out of her face. “You would be so happy.”

Vagabond stepped away from him, not because she was disgusted, but because what he was saying was so very tantalizing. She returned her gaze to the horizon, trying to avoid even thinking about it. And she couldn’t deny that the very thought of walking away from all of this had pulled her out of her funk, just a little. Her heart yearned to be free and she ached to see and experience things again. “Tomorrow,” she said, the word falling from her lips without thought. “I’ll… go… tomorrow.”

“You had best get a bag then,” he said, and his own words sounded forced; for the first time, it was him who avoided her gaze when she turned to look back.

She didn’t sleep that night. Her heart thudded too powerfully; her mind raced too quickly. She stretched her sore shoulder out and thought about all the places she could hit up first. Somewhere she’d already been was the best bet. Somewhere they’d be happy to see her; where she’d made friends.

The Nowhere King did not come to see her that night, even though she was sure he knew of her sleeplessness. When she tried to check up on him the way he had she only met a blank wall. It wrenched her heart.

It was pre-dawn when she couldn’t stand it anymore. Her limbs itched to move. Wanderlust burned so fiercely her whole body tingled. She padded down the stairs, followed by her bison-man, and gestured for him to bend down so she could give him a hug. “Thanks for looking after me,” she whispered, and he carefully wrapped his enormous armored arms around her for a brief embrace. And then Vagabond stepped outside into the dark, cool air, and waited. She wouldn’t put it past her friend to not want to see her off, but she wasn’t going without his blessing. Eventually his ragged breathing met her ears, and she looked up to see him oozing out of an opening, yanking his antlers through with a sharp, irritated movement. He looked down and saw her and slid down the wall reluctantly, neck extending to ridiculously long proportions as he neared.

They regarded each other for a minute, neither of them wanting to break the silence and start the journey. Presently he turned his head aside, staring into space. “I found,” he began, faltered, then set himself on the ground and held out a tendril holding a simple canvas bag. Blinking, Vagabond took it and peered inside.

A leather journal met her eyes. Slowly she pulled it out and flipped through it. It was old, but recently cleaned and conditioned. Its pages were crackly but serviceable; a few were torn out of the front. It had clearly been held in a keeper box since the Nowhere King had overtaken the castle. Traces of his goop flecked the cover, but most of it was on the bag itself, which she assumed was why he used it.

“Oh,” she said softly. This was what had been missing. Her hands itched to write. It had been so long that she hadn’t even realized. It would feel so good to try and get all her thoughts, everything that had happened to her on paper. “Oh, this is… perfect. Thank you.”

His hooves twitched and clawed at the ground. He made a low sound, still not looking at her. Vagabond swung her pack to the ground, wincing, and opened it to rearrange a few things so the journal could fit. The bottle of brandy she pushed in further so he couldn’t see. Then she closed the pack and stood. “Elk…” she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Can you…”

He didn’t respond, and she coughed, forcing the next words out. “C-Can you get me started?”

A heavy, deep breath released from his jaws, as if he’d been holding it. He leaned forward and scooped her up, then rose into the air and hesitated. “Southeast,” she said.

He flew. Neither of them spoke as they curled through the sky over the treetops. Vagabond stroked one of the tendrils holding her, hoping it would ease the distress he was clearly feeling. Her stomach churned with nerves. Trees whipped past and she closed her eyes, filling her lungs with cool autumn air.

They landed. He set her down gently. “This is as far as I can go.”

“Okay.” She looked out into the distance and reached a hand up and back to rest on his face. He leaned into her touch. “I’ll come back, you know,” she said suddenly, wanting to reassure him. “I promised. I have no choice. I’ll be back.”

For a moment he didn’t answer, then a goopy hand rested atop hers. “Dearheart,” he murmured. She made a soft sound in acknowledgement. “I want another promise.”

Vagabond stiffened and, slowly, turned to face him. He met her eyes finally. Fear gnawed her insides. She couldn’t give him anything else. Everything she’d ever had had been stripped away. First by others, then the rest, by him. She stared at him, tense, until he went on gently, “Promise me you won’t suicide.”

She froze, breath catching. “Don’t,” her voice shook, “don’t make me promise that.”

He leaned forward, slowly, and rested his forehead to hers. “Promise me,” he repeated. She clenched her teeth and winced as cracked enamel grated. She was wrong; he wanted to take something else from her. This time, it was control over her own life. Her eyes darted over his face, and she made as if to pull away, but he tightened his hold and stared unblinking into her eyes. He wouldn’t let go until she did as he said. Vagabond worked her jaw, the uncomfortable silence stretching on, until of course, he won. “I promise,” she mumbled, numbly. “I-I… promise…” every word was painful. “Th-That I won’t deliberately cause my own death.”

“Good.” He pulled away slightly, his hand still holding hers. “Then I release you from your promise to always return.”

She jerked. “Wh-What?” Wild-eyed, she searched his immobile face. “I—you—why would you do that?” Tears pricked her eyes. “Don’t you want me to come back?”

“I want you to come back. But,” he faltered, looking away briefly before meeting her eyes again, “I… want you to come back because you want to come back. Not because you are compelled.” He lowered his head to point to the ground, wearily. “I have taken everything from you. Even now. I am a selfish being and I will never not be. I want you to survive because I was forced to. But the least I can do is let you have the opportunity to not just survive, but to live.”

She was shaking. There were no words. She was free. She could walk away now, and this time she never had to return; she could continue her journey to figure herself out and meet new people and maybe even fall in love for real. That last part seemed impossible; there was no way she could know a person as intimately and closely as her beloved Elk. But… maybe… maybe.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He released her abruptly and floated backwards, his grand antlers gleaming in the early morning light. “Farewell, dearheart.”

She managed to crack a small smile. “Deer heart.”

He snorted, but had he lips, she could tell he would have smiled back at her. Then he was gone, whipping over the landscape as fast as he could away from her.

She turned towards the rising sun. It was going to be a cool, bright, sunny day. The perfect kind of day to travel. The scruffy vagabond shifted her pack off her sore shoulder and moved into the shadow of a tree as the sun pierced her eyes. Then she kept going, one step after the other, the castle now a faraway silhouette and the beam of light from the Rift reaching to the skies beside it. And, softly, she began to hum.

Chapter Text

Mist rolled lazily across the landscape as the warmth of the sun heated cool spring dew. It lingered over a body of water that could either have been called a large pond or a small lake, and on its shore a weary figure sat on a boulder, head in his hands. His armor was dull and dinged, and his hair and beard unkempt. As the sun climbed and its rays touched his skin he raised his eyes to stare blankly ahead of him, at the rippleless water and still reeds across the way. A song thrush whistled softly and puffed out, shaking droplets from its feathers in preparation for flight.

A rustling sounded behind him and the man leaped to his feet, grabbing the handle of a giant mace beside him and swinging it up effortlessly with one hand. He blinked, then lowered the end as soon as he realized who’d come calling. “Ah, sorry.”

“Jeez,” the masked woman muttered, having jumped back warily. “I know you’re a soldier but chill, I made sound on purpose.”

“I know, I know, sorry.” The mace dropped back to the earth, the point at the top digging into wet dirt. “Old habits die hard.”

She shrugged but didn’t come any closer. “You’re the one who called us here, so, what’s up?”

“Us?” the man asked suspiciously, glancing around.

“Yeah, us. We don’t go anywhere alone.” It was hard to tell expression past the wooden mask, but she definitely rolled her eyes. “So what do you want? Something about passage?”

He sighed, giving up his search for her comrades. These people were experts at hiding and survival, which was why he’d made contact in the first place. “That,” he replied slowly, “and knowledge of any groups of soldiers still out there. We’ve been scattered, but if I can reunite with those still loyal…”

“The war’s over, ya know.” She put her hands on her hips. “The King won.”

A short hesitation. The man looked away, wearily, shoulders drooping and gaze heavy. “...Yeah.” He closed his eyes briefly, took a steadying breath and let out, opening them again. “I just need to get with my people. It’s all I know. I can plan my next step later.”

The other hesitated, and for a moment, darted a look into the trees. Whatever she found there seemed to harden her heart and she turned back, her voice firm. “Okay, well, I’m not here to talk about motives. There are some groups left up north.” She gestured to the opposite bank. “We can take you there—”

The man turned to look, taking a single step away from his mace.

“—but we’re not gonna.” Her voice rose into a bellow, a split second before he made the connection, startling birds to flight and piercing the thick air. “He’s here!”

He spun, too slowly. A lasso whipped out from the brush, looping around the handle of his weapon and pulling taut. He made a grab for it, but it yanked just out of reach, and in the space of the extra moment he took to look a bolas made its entrance, swinging around the entirety of his torso and knocking him over. He collapsed to the ground with a cry, and was immediately beset upon, people leaping from the trees and pinning him down as his arms were pulled sharply behind him.

“What,” he gasped, “what is the meaning of—”

“Good job,” another man’s voice called out, “that went p-p-perfectly.”

“Release me!”

They ignored him, removing whatever leftover weapons he had and distributing them among each other. Pulling him upright, he was marched through the woods, dragged when he refused and his ankles hobbled when he directed a dangerous kick towards one woman, who dodged easily. His questions went unanswered and his demands unheeded.

Eventually they made their way to a flat clearing, dirt and dust kicked up from recent battles. A carriage stood out in the open, and the man paled in shock. A huge horned minotaur stood at its shafts where a horse would be hooked up, eyes shining faintly green behind its helm and watching them approach.

“What,” the captive whispered.

Another minotaur slunk from the backside, lithe and lupine. In a last-ditch attempt at escape, fueled by adrenaline, the man somersaulted, yanking the ropes from his captors and whirling around to send them spinning like whips. The people gathered around him scattered, but they didn’t go far; there wasn’t anywhere for him to run. The smaller minotaur was on him before he could blink, leaping from all fours and slamming into his chest, knocking him over. Utterly winded, all he could do was lay there as manacles were forced over his wrists and ankles.

“Why are you doing this,” he wheezed, darting a look for the humans, but all that was returned were flat, hard stares.

His armor was ripped off and tossed aside.

“I was just trying to protect her.”

Unceremoniously shoved into the carriage.

“It’s over. Please, why are you doing this. It’s over.”

The door slammed shut.

~

The fog had lifted by midmorning. The carriage, dragged by the large minotaur and followed closely by the smaller one, trundled along a quiet, peaceful dirt road only just rediscovered by the inhabitants alongside it. It passed a small village where those who lived there ducked away and murmured to each other. They did not question the appearance of the minotaurs. They knew better.

The procession made its way further, past the boundaries where people dared not go, towards the dark and overgrown castle looming in the distance. It passed the main entrance and the minotaur paused only when it had reached a heavily bolted door in the side, guarded by two of its own kind. The locks were removed and the doors dragged open, and silently, the group made their way through.

Only when they had reached the deepest bowels of the castle, at least as far as the carriage could physically go, did they stop. The minotaur slowly lowered the shafts, and they thunked to the floor with a heavy echo. The carriage was opened; the prisoner removed. He looked around slowly, and whatever color was left on his face drained away.

He looked at the humans’ leader. He was the only one unmasked, and his mouth was set in a thin line. Their eyes met, and before he could speak, the other said coldly, “Kneel for the King.”

A staff slammed into the backs of his knees. He let out a cry as they buckled, collapsing to the stone floor. He only had a moment to breathe through the pain before low, rasping breaths met his ears, and the whisper of a dark lullaby hummed in the air.

He closed his eyes. The patter of spattering tar and the gurgle of the most unnatural came closer, echoing in the dark, damp chambers. The masked ones shifted backwards in not so much nervousness as sheer terror, but their leader remained still, giving them courage as the scent of rot overwhelmed all else and glowing emeralds appeared in the darkness. “Oh, well done,” a deep, amused voice said. “I am so very pleased, Pioneer.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“Is there anything you would like to say to our prisoner before you go?”

A pause. Pioneer looked at the General up and down, expressionless, then replied quietly, “I w…wouldn’t even know where to b-begin.”

“What did I ever do to you,” the General whispered.

Pioneer took a deep breath, opened his mouth, then closed it, changing his mind. Slowly, he shook his head. “Nothing. I’m not so self-centered.” He looked up at the Nowhere King, who nodded his dismissal, then turned on his heel. “Let’s go.”

It only took a few seconds for the echo of their footsteps to disappear. Then, somewhere far away, doors boomed and the General released the breath he’d been holding, closing his eyes. The Nowhere King dragged himself from the darkness his skull had appeared from, and the man curled his lip at the squelch of ooze and the creaking of bone. He went to rise, but a heavy armored foot pressed down upon his calves and he hissed in discomfort. His nemesis chuckled.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” the King mocked at last, settling on the floor, elongated legs splayed to the side. He rested his head back against his oversized neck, the antlers they both hated branching up to the ceiling. “Finally. Did you enjoy the relaxing ride?”

“Fuck you,” the man replied with tired disgust. “If you’re just going to gloat, you might as well kill me and end it once and for all.”

“Oh? Now you’re ready to die?” The skeletal head lowered closer to him, the flames that served as eyes burning bright with delighted excitement. “Gone is the one who sent his own men to their death just to keep his own pathetic existence afloat.”

“No,” his counterpart spat, “just don’t want to smell you anymore.” The Nowhere King chuckled again, jaw creaking open, tar slapping wetly on stone, and he shuddered. “Ugh. Listen, you win, okay? You…” his voice broke, and he shuddered, slumping. “You… You win. You won. Just… take it and go.”

The Nowhere King closed his jaw and tilted his head slowly, studying the pathetic creature that had fought so hard for the right to survive as he was, and had he a face, he would have smiled. “And let you get away with all you’ve done to your people? Oh, sorry— my people. Looks like I have quite the mess to clean up.”

“That’s not my—” the General snapped his head back up, ready to snarl his rage at the injustice of it all, and stopped. The Nowhere King gave the distinct impression of raising an eyebrow. He slumped again. “It… It wasn’t…”

“Except it was. You remember our joining just as much as I do.” For a moment they both withdrew, quiet and subdued, until the King continued quietly, “But that matters not, anymore. We are dead. He is dead.”

“She married,” the General mumbled, “me.”

“Still hanging onto that, even now? I’d show you the annulment she signed—had me sign—but I figure you’d only refuse it since you weren’t there.” He leaned forward again, grabbing the man’s beard and yanking it up until he cried out, enunciating each word so there was no misunderstanding. “She rejected us. Both of us. Not just me. Not you because of me. Both of us. And she is not going to return to you, like she once did me. She will not save you.”

There were tears in the man’s eyes, which he blinked away angrily. The Nowhere King watched eagerly, drinking in each change in his expression, each twist of the knife in his heart. It was the most delicious thing, to watch his other half suffer without causing his own anguish. “Finally,” he repeated, “finally you will not have the option to ignore. You will not be able to put our misery in the back of your mind while I am forced to confront it. No, this suffering is for you and you alone.” He leaned closer, tail rolling behind him like a satisfied cat, each word coming more forceful and louder with his excitement. “You will learn. You will endure what I had to,” the man’s eyes widened immediately in horrible understanding, “and also her.”

“Her?” His breaths were coming quick and shallow with anger and fear, “I never hurt—” he stiffened, then tried again to pull away; to no avail. “Gabby.”

“Vagabond.”

“I never,” he shook, clawing at the tar with manacled hands, “I never meant to—I was only trying to protect her! They would have killed her if I didn’t—you know that!”

“I know,” the Nowhere King said, simply.

“You would have done the same thing!”

At that, the King paused. The terrible thing was, he would have. And, before she’d left, he very nearly did. “The difference would be,” he said, slowly, “I didn’t. I chose not to. I could have made her mine forever, and I did not, because to love her is to let her go.”

His eyes refocused on the man. “That goes for our beloved, of course. If only we had learned to let her go.”

“I’m her husband—”

“Was.”

“No,” the General broke, finally, and the tears came then, lips pulling back in a pained grimace. “Maybe you could have, but I got everything I wanted. Everything we wanted, she’s why we did it in the first place, why didn’t you just stay out of my way—” and then the sobs came, no matter how hard he tried to keep his nemesis from witnessing his pain. And the Nowhere King would have smiled if he could have, the glee at the torment he was causing the man who had tortured him so flaring in his eyes.

“You have plenty of time to think about that,” he purred, tightening his grip to pull at the General’s beard and rip some out, just to hear the teeth-clenched gasps of pain, “and you will think about them. And you will suffer,” he let go, and there was no warning before something heavy and metal dropped around his head, “and you will endure,” an iron collar fastened, too tight, around the human’s neck, “until the same darkness that swallowed me whole drowns your heart. Until nothing but the constant humming of your own thoughts drives you mad, and you cannot tell if the voices are yours or if they are memories come to life.” The chain hanging from the collar was fastened to the manacles and he clawed madly at them, eyes wide and wild and horrified, “And you will realize, slowly,” the Nowhere King continued, leaning forward eagerly, “that there is no one coming. No one will set you free. No one will love you, ever again. You will think of me, living in the castle you once did.”

Behind him, the minotaur grasped the front of the iron bridle and swung it down, silencing the former General’s cry of horror and forcing the bit into his mouth. “Don’t worry,” the abomination in front of him went on. “You’ll get it off. Three times a day, for meals. Wouldn’t want you starving to death, after all.” He tilted his head slowly from side to side, drinking in the sight in front of him. “And I’ll come visit. When I remember you exist. Just to see every single stage you go through. I will watch as you come to understand and the light finally leaves your eyes.

“Oh, General,” the King breathed, almost tenderly, cupping his metal-clad cheeks in hands made of rot, “you will bring me so much joy.”