AN
New chapter! Sorry for the delay, for some reason, my creativity was completely lacking this week and I am behind on writing. I am excited for you guys to read Chapter Twelve though!
I was talking to a close friend (@averyclements, to be exact) and realized, there is a divide between who Marjorie should be with. A love triangle... if I do say so myself. She likes Petyr best. And what say you, dear reader?
Like always, the orange morning sun slowly rose above the horizon and showered the Village in a warm, welcoming glow. Marjorie liked mornings best. It was the only time where every inch of Core seemed like a fairy tale come true. Harsh shadows and mud-spattered snow now glimmered with an apricot shine, as if the sun had brought a new beginning to the land it shone on.
The first glimmers of light pushed in through the wooden shutters of her window. Although it crawled up Petyr's broad back, he did little to acknowledge the new day. For the last hour, he numbly stared at the dead gray embers in her fireplace, accepting their new fate together.
"Are you going to wish goodbye to your family?" Marjorie asked in a gentle voice. While he waded in silence, she sat at her dining table and fed her raven pieces of dried fruit from her hands. The bird was clueless to the tight tension trapped in the room, instead it happily dove its black beak against her palm and ate its fill.
"No," Petyr said. He wanted to say more, she could tell by the angry crease caught between his brows. But his jaw was already set.
Marjorie turned to her Devilhair. It hung in strands from the rickety railing of her staircase. The red was a welcomed contrast against the earthy tones of her home. She touched the thin leaves dangling off its thick stem and frowned at the damp surface. When the river water finally dried from her harvest, she could mash it into a paste and boil it down to a thick concentrate for Sicily.
"They are leaving soon," Marjorie said.
For the past half hour, soldiers knocked door to door to offer help to anyone who may need it. They loaded up their boat full of miscellaneous items—from livestock to furniture, the villagers were unsure what would hold value in Beyond. Half the soldiers were assigned to man the ship. The remaining would lead the villagers through the forest with Vivian as their brave shepherd.
"Good," Petyr told her. "The more ground they can cover during the day, the less likely it is for the Wolf to kill."
Marjorie opened her mouth to speak, but her words were stolen by a rapid, loud knocking on her front door. Her raven jostled up at the movement and clapped its wings out and up, pushing itself into the air.
"Calm now," she attempted to soothe the bird. "It is unlocked, simply come inside," Marjorie shouted to her unexpected visitor.
Instead, the knocking only continued, this time, increasing in volume
She abandoned the upset raven and rushed to the door. The young woman twisted the silver knob and swung it open, blind to whoever stood on the other side. She prayed for a nameless soldier, it would be easy to decline his offer. But if it were Petyr's mother—or his grandmother—Marjorie's tongue turned dry at the thought.
She was taking away their only son.
On her porch stood a tall, willowy figure, like one of the trees from Mirkwood. Whoever it was looked as though they belonged to the forest.
The Wardeness.
Against the backdrop of her small, wooden porch, the woman seemed larger than Marjorie expected. She wore the same silver armor as the night before. Her limbs were long and slender, but underneath the tailored cut of her gambeson sleeve was evidence of strong, lean muscle.
"Hello, children," Vivian stood so close to Marjorie that her warm breath traveled through the cool morning air and heated up Marjorie's cheeks. Her breath smelled of metal, like blood. "I am looking for two villagers."
"We are two," Marjorie said.
She was at a loss for words. Standing so close to the Wardeness sent Marjorie into a frenzy of nervous energy. This was the woman who promised to lead her Village through the dark depths of Mirkwood. She was their champion, a hero to the people of Core.
"The butcher's boy," she said. Petyr shuffled from beside the fireplace at her words. She narrowed her dark eyes and turned her attention down to Marjorie, who appeared tiny compared to the towering woman. "And you must be the orphan."
All of Marjorie's life she had worn that title, never able to grow out of it. It stung to hear the word come out of a near-stranger's mouth. She pushed down her bitter rage and nodded.
"I am she," she confirmed through gritted teeth.
"But she goes by Marjorie," Petyr said from behind her. He clapped a heavy hand on her slender shoulder—Vivian's words must have caught his attention... and his anger. As he spoke, his dark gaze turned dead and cruel toward the woman.
When they were children, he used to do the same thing. He spent most of his youth defending Marjorie's honor with his own fists. Almost every time, it resulted with a split lip or black eye. But even after all the fights, he stood beside her, each time more loyal than the last.
At the memory, a pit grew in her stomach. How had she not seen his true feelings?
"Marjorie," Vivian curled her lips around the name as if she tried to keep a glass of curdled milk down. Coming from her mouth, it seemed off. "And you are?" She leveled her intense eyes with Petyr's and let the question dangle in the air.
"Petyr," he said without a smile. That was uncommon for him.
Marjorie leaned back into her friend. Something about Vivian must have unsettled him, something she couldn't quite place but understood.
The woman seemed to sense the unease and softened her unusual facial features. The hard edge of her lip turned into a gentle, red smile and her thick, straight eyebrows turned up, as if she tried to communicate empathy.
"Petyr, your father tells me he expected you to join our journey," she said. A hand, one with soft, pale fingers wrapped in thin, dainty pieces of gold rings, reached out to touch his wrist.
He snapped his hand away before she could reach him.
"We are not coming," Marjorie said.
Vivian narrowed her eyes.
"What do you mean you are not coming?" her voice was rich with disbelief. "You will not accompany me to Beyond?"
"I have duties I must tend to here," Marjorie said. She didn't want to share the truth of why she truly stayed. The hungry look in Vivian's gaze told Marjorie everything she needed to know. The woman wanted them to come, no matter what stood in their way.
Petyr caught onto her quick thinking. "Next winter, our work in the Village will be finished, and then we will brave the Passage together."
"Petyr is the strongest Woodsman in Core. There is not a finer man who could lead me through Mirkwood," Marjorie assured the Wardeness.
"I've an army of two dozen men to lead you through the dark forest," Vivian reminded them. "There is not a finer woman who could guide you through."
"Then it is a true shame that we must decline your services," Marjorie's rushed words now held a threatening note. Petyr stepped closer to the threshold of the door. The size of his broad shoulders and height filled up the frame and blocked the woman from coming any closer.
The Wardeness dragged her eyes down Petyr's body and then, up Marjorie's. Vivian's rolling gaze dissected her until those strange, dark eyes suddenly stopped. She stared at the jewel laying flat against Marjorie's collarbone.
"What is that you wear around your neck, girl?" the Wardeness asked. Her once calm, perfect smile split into an uncomfortably wide grin. She looked hungry.
"A gift from me," Petyr answered.
Before Marjorie could wrap a protective shield over the red gemstone, the woman snapped her fingers forward and grabbed the necklace. She yanked the chain down with a brutal hand, but the silver was equal parts stubborn and strong. The necklace stayed where it should, fastened around Marjorie's neck.
Marjorie stumbled over her feet, shocked at the strength behind Vivian's sudden grip.
"I apologize, I simply wanted a closer look," the Wardeness said. But her apology was nothing but hollow words. "I have never seen something so finely crafted before. That jewel, it could earn you riches in Beyond. It could bring you both comfortable lives."
As she spoke, her eyes remained stuck to the pendulum, as if the shine of the raw stone trapped her in a trance.
Marjorie wrapped her fingers around the jewel and pulled it away from the woman's piercing gaze. An alarm echoed in her head—something was off about this Wardeness before her. No longer was she just otherworldly, now she seemed unnaturally beautiful in the morning sunlight.
Like Fenris.
The thought of him made Marjorie tighten her grasp.
Whatever he was... Vivian belonged alongside his kind.
A sudden blur of black and feathers overtook Marjorie. Her raven, still upset from the knocking, flew forward and into the face of the woman. Its echoing caw was a wild, desperate call into the cool air.
"Little flying rat!" Vivian shouted in annoyance. She drew her hand toward the leather belt around her waistline, reaching for her sword.
The air in Marjorie's chest tightened at the movement. Before she could think, she placed both of her hands flat against Vivian's hard, silver chest-plate and shoved with all of her strength. The unsuspecting Wardeness flew backward from the sheer force.
Watching Vivian fall was like seeing an ancient tree descend through the air. Her limbs splayed out like split roots, wild to grasp any firm hold on the surrounding broken soil. She landed with a heavy thud against the wooden porch and an echoing crack.
The raven dove down once at the woman and dug its sharp, black claw above her left eyebrow. Vivian screamed out in pain. A long line of crimson remained where its hooked nail dug through her pale skin. The grit of her teeth and the rage in her dark eyes revealed a desperate desire to snap its tiny neck. The Wardeness reached a swift hand up to wrestle the little bird back down.
But the raven flew skyward in a wild flurry of black feathers. Its beady gaze turned to Marjorie, as if saying goodbye to the young woman, and then, shot up. The raven continued to climb higher into the orange sky until it was nothing but an inky dot.
"Whose little beast was that?" Vivian said through gritted teeth.
Her dark hair no longer resembled a smooth silk curtain. Instead, strands were pushed out of place, a thick piece hung from her between lips. She lifted herself up from the ground with a grunt and glared into Marjorie's eyes. "Was that your little beastie?"
"It was mine," Petyr said. He slid between the two women, his body forming a wall between them.
Vivian pressed a palm on the torn skin above her brow. A trail of crimson dripped down the bridge of her nose. Her nostrils flared, and her chest moved as she took a deep breath. For a quick moment, Marjorie swore she saw a snarling snout in its place.
"You smell," she spat into Marjorie's direction. "You smell like dog."
Marjorie tried to keep her face blank at her words. Could she smell the Wolf on her skin? She turned away from Vivian and brought the collar of her dress to her nose. At her deep inhale, she found nothing extraordinary— hints of sweat, earthy hints of dirt, and the peppery scent of Devilhair.
"The beast will come for you both," Vivian seethed, but she did not say it to Petyr. Instead, her eyes fixated on Marjorie. A thrill traveled through the young woman.
Every word the Wardeness uttered was a threat.
"Let him come then," Marjorie said.
Vivian pushed herself flush against Petyr, and then—she moved him. Her hands wrapped around the collar of his linen shirt and she ripped him away from the door's threshold. It had to be impossible—not even the Woodsmen, who were taller than Vivian and twice as thick—were strong enough to bend Petyr to their wills.
It left Marjorie defenseless against the woman. She leaned forward. Blood trickled over her eyelashes. With so little distance between them, Marjorie realized the delicate strands were pale and blonde.
The dripping red reminded her of the forest—how the Devilhair clung to the shallows, stealing nutrients of surviving plants to build a strong, hard stem for itself. She wondered if Vivian's spine was shaped the same way, rigid and straight.
"You stink of blood," Marjorie whispered, careful not to let her words tremble. "Even before any was spilled."
Why?
AN
What!
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