[013] OOM - Towards the Light of the Inn

[tristranthorn]

Seeing the illumination from the inn fills Tristran with a feeling of happiness and wonderfulness he hasn't felt in a really long while -- not since he'd left Wall so many days ago, and perhaps even the coziness of Milliways, all distant memories now.

The carriage pulls up to the little cottage-like building, and while Tristran immediately begins to unhitch the horses (which he knows must be absolutely exhausted), leading them one by one towards the stables located on the side of the inn, Primus bellows for assistance.

There is a white horse, asleep in the furthest stall, but Tristran is far too busy with other things to pause and inspect it -- the horses are obviously tired and hungry. Even moreso than he is. Anything else can wait.

"I'll groom the horses," he tells Primus. "They'll catch a chill otherwise."

The tall man rests one large hand on Tristran's shoulder, a quiet and subtle smile reaching his face. "Good lad," he says, "I'll send a potboy out with some burnt ale for you."

Tristran nods before Primus disappears, no doubt to organize the details of their lodging, thinking distantly of the star as he brushes down the horses and picks out their hooves. Somehow, in the same strange way he seems to know directions and distances of things he had never seen before in his life, he knows that the star is close by -- he'll see her soon. The thought alone is a conflicting one, bringing both comfort and a sense of nervousness (though he isn't sure why). Once they are reunited, what will he say? What will she say?

His thought is interrupted by the silent entrance of a potgirl, carrying a tankard of steaming wine. "Put it down over there," he tells her. "I'll drink it with goodwill as soon as my hands are free."

The girl obeys, placing it upon the top of a tack box before leaving just as silently. Tristran doesn't have a chance to ponder the girl's silence before the horse in the end stall begins to kick against the door, nearly making the young man jump in his spot.

"Settle down, there," he calls. "Settle down, fellow, and I'll see if I cannot find warm oats and bran for all of you."

Tristran finds a large stone in the stallion's front inside hoof, and with care, he begins to remove it, his thoughts straying back to the star.

Madam -- this is how he thinks he might very well start off their conversation -- please accept my heartfelt and most humble apologies.

Yes ... it sounds polite. Proper. And of course, she would respond with something like, Sir, that I shall do with all my heart. Now let us go to your village, where you shall present me to your true love, as a token of your devotion to her --

There is more clattering -- louder and more powerful this time -- from the end stall with the white horse. Except, Tristran realizes quite immediately, that it is not a horse at all but a ... monster! Or some great beast coming to charge after him, horn lowered. Instinctively, Tristran throws himself down into the straw by the floor, covering his head with his arms, waiting in frozen patience for a moment before slowly looking up. The monster is no monster at all, and is in fact a unicorn.

Tristran watches, slowly getting to his feet, as the unicorn stops before the tankard and lowers its horn into the mulled wine, still steaming and bubbling. And it occurs to him then as he studies the white beast (from some long-forgotten fairytale or a piece of children's lore) that a unicorn's horn is proof against...

"Poison?" he whispers, eyes widening a bit. His heart is pounding in his chest as the unicorn raises its head, looking into his eyes, even through him. No, it...can't be.

Tristran runs towards the stable door, then freezing in his tracks, he pauses for a moment. He fumbles quickly in his pocket, looking for something in particular. From his right pocket, he pulls out the lump of wax (which is all that remains of the rather sad, pathetic candle) and the dried copper leaf which sticks to it. Peeling it from the wax carefully, he takes in a breath, and raises it to his ear.

Comments

[an_evening_star]

The star watches lazily as the innkeeper's wife pads to the door and admits the new - and terribly loud - guest, the edges of the robe are soft against her shoulders and the tea she had been given earlier merely serves to keep her fingers warm.

The guest in question is a tall man who reminds her strangely of some sort of wraith - all long limbs and dark, sweeping materials - and she ducks her chin to listen to the echo of his words.

She's tired. She doesn't particularly want to deal with him herself.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The conversation is an ordinary one for the most part, idle talk and most of it done by the stranger - still in that loud, booming voice.

The offer of wine is turned down politely and only spares a glance for the verboseness of the refusal, the rambling cadence of it oddly reminiscent of some sort of grand delegation. Yvaine nearly rolls her eyes at the unnecessary opulence of it.

"So, mine host," the man continues. "How are your beds here at the back of beyond? Have you straw mattresses? Are there fires in the bedrooms? And I note with increasing pleasure that there is a bathtub in front of your fireplace - if there's a fresh tub of steaming water, I shall have a bath later. But I shall pay you no more than a small silver coin for it, mind."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The innkeeper's wife stands, managing to look rather grand herself in her long red dress.

"Our beds are good," she replies in her husband's stead. "And I shall have the maid make up a fire in the bedroom for you and your companion."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The man nods in a nonchalant manner before removing his black cloak and hanging it by the fire, ignoring the fact that it is leaving droplets of rainwater on the floor and making a bit of a mess of things.

As he draws his hand back, it lightly grazes a lady's blue dress -- still damp, by the look of it. Then turning, he notices a girl, one who can only be the owner of the dress, sitting by the table.

Raising an eyebrow, he scrutinizes her for a moment. "Another guest?" Not that it matters, of course. "Well-met, milady, in this noxious weather."

There is no time for any sort of reply before there is the sound of a loud clattering from the stable next door. "Something must have disturbed the horses," the man thinks aloud, concern in his voice. He only briefly thinks on his young companion.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Perhaps the thunder."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Aye, perhaps," the man agrees half-heartedly. There is something else suddenly occupying his mind.

The girl. There is something odd about her. Something he can't quite --

Ah.

Walking towards her, he stares into the girl's eyes as though he might be trying to extract some secret from within her heart. It lasts for only mere moments before he clears his throat.

"You..." Trailing off, he tries again. "You have my father's stone. You have the Power of Stormhold."

[an_evening_star]

That thing.

She feels very sorely temped to throw it at his head - see how he'd like it. Miserable bit of glitter. He's welcome to it - completely and utterly useless, as far as she's concerned.

She arcs her eyebrow for a moment anyhow, blankly inquisitive before sky-blue eyes narrow into a heated glare, "Well then, ask me for it and I can have done with the stupid thing."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The woman hurries over, fingers scraping the wood as she takes her place at the head of the table, eyes narrowed sternly. Possessively.

"I'll not have you bothering the other guests now, my dearie-ducks."

The pet name, somehow, seems entirely unbefitting the sharp tone of voice.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The man is about to open his mouth to protest the fact that he doesn't mean any harm by his words when his eyes happen to cast downward at the table.

There are knives -- several, in fact -- on the table's surface, quite easily recognizable to him. He remembers seeing them in precisely drawn pictures on the tattered scrolls, hidden in Stormhold's vaults. They have names and descriptions; they are old things belonging to the First Age of the world.

...What could this simple innkeeper possibly be doing with such ancient artifacts?

[tristranthorn]

Tristran is breathing deeply, practically heaving, as he wrenches the front door of the inn open and bounds inside. There is a resounding slam as the door hits the wall, and several faces, including that of the man's, turn in surprise.

"Primus!" he calls, his hair dripping with rain, his clothes rather drenched, and his face red. "They have tried to poison me!"

[an_evening_star]

Her head whips to face the door - eyes widening and lips parting, half in some pleased shock and half in irritation, before the fire catches on the sharp metal twisting into the woman's hand.

The star flinches backward instinctively and as the man reaches for his weapon she lets out an aborted gasp of warning.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

Her head doesn't turn in any sort of shock or surprise, eyes instead narrowing further and lips curving as suddenly and as sharply as the blades at her fingertips.

The longest of the knives slides easily into her hand, poised and coiled easily to strike. The blade of it sweeps in one smooth, practical motion unhesitatingly across the skin of the man's throat.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

No matter how quickly Primus tries to move, his hand reaching for his short sword, it is too late.

The witch-queen is too fast for him. He hesitated. He hesitated and now he will pay...

The man crumples to the ground, holding his throat for a moment before his eyes slowly roll upwards.

[tristranthorn]

It goes by like a blurry flash of images for Tristran. He can barely think with everything happening in a matter of seconds before his very eyes.

He had entered the room, expecting to find Lord Primus, warn him, and leave as soon as possible.

His mind only vaguely grasps the fact that he sees the star, the innkeeper and his strange family, and Primus, all congregated by the fire. And then ... blood, so much of it, spurting in the firelight, like some terrible fountain of crimson.

Tristran remains frozen in his spot, his heart pounding loudly, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Get him!" the woman calls, blood staining her forearms as scarlet as her dress. "Get the brat!"

A second's breathless pause and the world starts dizzily again - the star clatters to the floor wide-eyed, the innkeeper and the pot maid start toward Tristran, and the door slams open once more to the clatter of hooves.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The unicorn rears up on it's hind legs, eyes wild and a single blow from one sharp hoof sends the pot maid flying in a tangle of useless limbs.

The innkeeper follows soon after, running headlong at the unicorn as if to butt it with his forehead and the unicorn lowers his head in turn, the long spiral of his horn making short work of the man.

"Stupid!" the woman's voice screeches, shrill above the clash of hooves, advancing on the unicorn with a knife in each hand.

[tristranthorn]

All the while, Tristran had thrown himself to the floor, out of harms way and crawls beneath the table, eventually reaching the fireplace.

The sound of violence and movement sends fear coursing through every part of him -- he isn't used to any of this, just being a simple farm-boy -- but there is a part of him that remains focused, clear-headed even.

"This had better ought to work," he mutters to himself, opening his left hand for a moment, revealing the lump of wax he'd been using to get here in the first place. It is soft and easily malleable from the heat of his palm.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

There continues a rush of activity.

The shuffling of hoofs and the pained scream of the unicorn fill the air, muffling out any chance of quiet, as it regains its footing then is knocked once more out of balance, battling the witch-queen.

[tristranthorn]

Part of him can hear what is occurring from behind, but there is another part of him focused on his task at hand.

Tearing a piece of lace from his jerkin, he begins to close wax around it, working carefully but quickly -- as quickly as he can.

The heat of the fire warms his face, reddening it further.

[an_evening_star]

The star closes her eyes as hard as she can manage, steadies her breathing and nearly wishes herself deaf. It's horrible - it's - she can't.

Another shaky gasp of air and she crawls her way over to Tristran, ignoring the sharp pain that shoots up her leg in protest to the motion.

"What is happening?" she asks, careful to keep her voice from shaking.

[tristranthorn]

He doesn't notice her at first, but eventually once he's finished with his lump of wax, he turns to her.

"I don't really know," he admits. "I was -- I don't know who that woman is, but the pot-maid tried to poison me."

Clutching the wax in his hand once more, he lets out a breath. "Are -- are you all right?"

[an_evening_star]

"I am -" her eyes are dark and shuttered and they refuse to rise from her lap. Her voice is oddly quiet and she flinches when the screaming starts again. "She is going to hurt him."

And they can't fix it this time.

[tristranthorn]

He turns to glance briefly over his shoulder, at the courageous beast's attempts to protect them.

"Yes," he says, nodding his head solemnly. "The same way she ..."

Because of the woman, Primus is dead. He didn't know him very well, but what Tristran knows of him, Primus seems a decent fellow.

He can see the dark, lifeless body of the mysterious coach-man from across the other side of the room, blood staining the floor, and pooling around it. Tristran turns away, focusing his gaze on the star.

"Who is she?"

[an_evening_star]

Seemed. He seemed - even if he was loud and she hadn't been excessively polite to him.

She hadn't been polite at all and now he was dead.

"She was nice to me. She -" she blinks upward, eyes wide and horror-stricken. "I mean, I was cold and wet and I - I didn't know."

[tristranthorn]

He nods. He isn't going to reprimand her for running away from him. After all, it isn't as though he was quite aware that ... any of it was occurring at the time. Milliways can be such a strange place.

And besides, telling her she shouldn't have run off isn't going to solve anything.

"Whoever she is, I think we're seeing what she's really like," he tells her. Which could mean real danger for them.

[an_evening_star]

She rubs the skin on the inside of her wrist self consciously, tugging the robe closer to herself and one eyebrow arches delicately, bordering somewhere upon the region of 'you must be kidding me' - she may be lost and she may be frightened, but she is still Yvaine.

There's a resigned sigh and the star opens her mouth around what might have been an apology had the sudden howl of the witch's voice not pierced the air. All that makes it's way out of her mouth is a ragged gasp, head turning and forgetting very suddenly just how to breathe.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The witch-woman's scream stabs through the stillness just as surely as the long spiral of the unicorn's horn stabs through her shoulder.

The beast's head rises triumphantly, pulling her body along with the motion and preparing to hurl her to the ground and dash her to death with its sharp hooves - when, impaled as she happens to be, the woman manages to swing herself around, point of the longer rock-glass knife plunging into the unicorn's eye and far into its skull.

[tristranthorn]

Tristran turns when Yvaine does, wishing he really hadn't upon the sight of murder.

There is blood. Everywhere. More blood than he recalls seeing when Primus was killed. The beautiful white skin of the unicorn's head is stained red with it, dripping from its eye like tears of crimson death.

Tristran's heart is pounding uncontrollably in his chest. He can't look away. He can't even move.

[an_evening_star]

Yvaine can't move. Yvaine can't move or think or breathe or even scream and - and she killed him. Right there. She killed him and though Yvaine knows that her hands are shaking she can't feel it at all. He was hers and the woman - all sweet words and soft fingers - she had killed him.

The fire roars behind them and all the star can think is that she is freezing and that the unicorn is dead and that he hadn't wanted to stop here.

The crash as the heavy bulk of the unicorn's body hits the floor wrenches a desperate noise from her throat - wild and terrified as the blood pools along the floorboards, life draining utterly with the spread of crimson.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The floor is covered in so much blood. The unicorn's tongue protrudes from its mouth, spotted and lifeless as the rest of it, blood slowly seeping from its side and its eye.

The witch-queen ignores all this, pulling herself from the horn casually, one hand gripping her wounded shoulder while the other refuses to let go of the cleaver.

And then she turns her head, scanning the room for what she'd cleverly devised this entire inn stage-set for, her eyes alighting at the sight of the young man and his star huddled by the fireplace.

A slow smile appears on her lips, splattered with drops of blood, and her grip tightens around the hilt of her knife.

"The burning golden heart of a star at peace is so much finer than the flickering heart of a little frightened star," she says, as though reading from a text. Her voice is cold, distant.

"But even the heart of a star who is afraid and scared is better by far than no heart at all."

[tristranthorn]

The very fact that the blood-splattered woman in the red dress is moving so quickly sends a new wave of fear through Tristran. Instinctively, he grabs for Yvaine's hand in his right, clutching it.

"Stand up," he tells her.

[an_evening_star]

Her heart?

How does your heart feel?

It's all about that - all about people looking for her and her heart catches in her throat again, fingers locking tight with Tristran's as she watches, still frozen.

"I cannot," she replies simply, hollowly.

[tristranthorn]

This is not the time, Yvaine, to be uncooperative with Tristran, as much as you mean to.

"Stand, or we die now."

It honestly comes out a little more harsher than he intended, but there isn't time to apologize. He starts getting to his feet, his left hand clenching on the lump of wax.

[an_evening_star]

The stunned paralysis snaps at the unexpected vehemence behind the command - for it is one and she listens, obeys, really - that strange, unwanted feeling tugging at the edges of her once more, stutter-stopping the beating of her heart.

(Now is not the time for this.)

She nods instead, awkwardly pulling herself upward, leaning her weight rather heavily upon him and trying to stay upright.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Stand or you die now?" the witch queen echoes, voice burning with violent laughter. "Oh, you die now children, standing or sitting. It is all the same to me."

That vicious smile widens and she takes another slow step forward.

[tristranthorn]

He can't quite believe what he is about to do, but it must be done and he doesn't think about it very much, what with impending doom looming over them.

"Now," he says, gripping the star's arm and trying to help her keep upright, "now, walk!"

Taking a step forward, he thrusts his left hand, holding the makeshift candle with what is left of the wax lump, into the fireplace, flames quickly licking at it.

The pain and burning is immense -- almost unbearable, so that he might scream as loudly as he could -- but he is filled with adrenaline, and panic and fear. It keeps him silent.

The witch-queen raises an eyebrow, staring at the pair incredulously, her expression changing as though she might laugh.

But then the improvised wick catches, and slowly, a blue flame begins to grow.

"Please walk," he begs the star, his voice gentler this time. The world around them, it might be noted, begins to shimmer, almost becoming an unreality. "Don't let go of me."

[an_evening_star]

Her eyes widen again, grip tightening on his arm and gods he's insane - he's got his hand in the fireplace and there's nowhere to walk to.

And yet she trusts him.

It's crazy and impossible and she trusts him - and when they take their first stumbling step forward the whole world seems to spin wildly around her, the inn disappearing in some lurching forward motion and the witch-queen's screams ringing in their ears.

[tristranthorn]

The pain sears through his skin, and he feels like it might even be melting the flesh right off his bones, but he refuses to move a muscle, lest the beautiful blue flame die out.

They walk through a wet underground cave before the images around them flicker, and they walk through the desert, white sand, bright and dry in the moonlight, blow past them.

By their third step, they are high above the earth. Tristran only vaguely notices the trees and hills and rivers below, like small little toys, before his energy depletes and the last of the wax drips over the side of his very burnt hand.

The flame slowly puckers out, fading forever.