Noctisardor Bypass teil eins

it had been five days since mahler had gone into seclusion.
the cough had not gotten worse, and neither was it accompanied by any other maladies.
he had experimented with several types of mint in the meantime, seeking anything that might soothe the roughened pressure at the back of his throat. another week, and the graf suspected he would be able to rejoin the rest of rivenwood. by then, he would know himself not to be contagious.
but until that time, the gargoyle kept to the far fringes of the bypass, hunting small game and allowing long stretches of sleep. it would be a quiet time for the man, before he came back to the pack and picked up the planned threads of his journey with phaedra.
today he lay chin across forelegs, lilac gaze watching the thin trickle of creekwater that he had found ekeing away from the lagoon @Laurel had named.

Laurel had not seen Mahler much since their trip to the Grotto where she had broken down. Seeds of doubt had sown in her head and she was very torn: between wanting to see if she could make him into something that she could use — to destroy Merrick, to avenge Indra — or if she should stay away from him because... We both know where manipulating men has gotten you in the past, don't we, my dearest? Torn in indecision, her fear had made her pick the latter path. She hadn't noticed that he had been secluded because she herself had avoided him mostly.

As she made her way towards the river along a creek leading through the territory, she did not initially see Mahler laying there. Laurel approached the creek from opposite side, and only when she was almost there did she notice Mahler laying there. She startled visibly as she suddenly noticed him, and cursed her senses that they had not warned her earlier.

Sorry, I didn't see you there, Laurel said with an awkward apologetic laugh. Instinctively trying to make smalltalk to avoid the bigger subjects — such as her breakdown — she said, I met your son the other day. He's a little uncertain, but he has his heart in the right place. A thing she would not often say about men, positive as it was; although, perhaps, in the presence of other men, a thing she would say slightly more often.

she had kept from him, and mahler had put it up to embarrassment that she had shed tears in his presence. laurel was not an individual who showed so much of herself. his mind swept sidelong to wylla, always, always; he pictured the curve of her mouth and the set of her jaw, and how hard, how hard her one sunglow eyes had been, biting into him goldspear.
and how even now he loved her for it, and even now he marvelled at her omniscience in his world, how each day his step felt heavier for he did not know where she had gone. and how he would not call her back, now.
i'm done. she had said more than this, but those words clutched into the back of his skull and he was helpless. 
a hesitant footfall, the doelike starting of laurel suddenly nearby. he had lifted his head at the first sound of her, and now found himself ashamed to exist slovenly. the shadowpriest came upright at once, a single wave of his tail greeting her sudden words.
thade. he wanted to comment back, and to agree, but precautions first. "it is good to see you laurel. however i am afraid that i must ask you to keep a distance from me. a spring cough," mahler assured, for that was all it had seemed. he was reminded of liri.
"thade's heart is alvays vhat leads him home," the gargoyle commented softly, bringing to mind of his boy and then of phaedra and then, inexorably, wylla.

Mahler asked her to keep a distance and she recoiled as though she'd seen a snake right in front of her, hackles pricked and ears folded back. Even she was not sure why she did it on a conscious level: Was it that she was afraid he thought of her as willing or needy that she was so close to him, that he asked for distance; was it that he did not trust himself so near to her? Don't flatter yourself, dearest, came the harsh voice. Soon Mahler confirmed this; it was only because of his cough.

Laurel was not too worried about that sort of thing. She wasn't often sick, and she did not expect to catch it. But it was a tool to keep a distance between them and she accepted it readily with a nod. She would keep distance, glad to know that he would, too.

Mahler continued on the subject of his son, and Laurel nodded. Then, after a few seconds of silence, she said, solemnly: He said that you would kill Merrick for me. Not those precise words, perhaps, but he had suggested that he could not, but his father... The one who killed my sweet Indra. Laurel's eyes never left Mahler. There was something dominant and forceful in her gaze. Beneath the hardened gaze she sent him there was something else; something nervous, something pleading. She needed him to die, she needed him to suffer. Knowing he lived in their old home day in and day out was too much for her to bear anymore, and now... now, perhaps she had allies who could help her.

And perhaps he could show her that he could be trusted, then.

laurel's reaction had caught him unawares; this sight of her juxtaposed against a sudden request for this killing. merrick. thade. "he said this?" mahler intoned, incredulous. had his son been gone so long he had become mercenary? he did not know what to do beneath the pressure of laurel's eyes. normally veiled, downturned, muted, her stare burned with a spearlike determination.
perhaps it was not a mateship or family that laurel wanted. revenge; it dripped bleak in her knowing look and tied his words into something incomprehensible.
this man, merrick, he had murdered indra. indra, whose death rode upon the shoulder of the sister left behind. mahler did not think he had ever known such a sensation before.
mahler, bound forever to what he knew and never to what he did not; mahler stirred to give a shake of his head. "i am no killer, laurel," though he was hesitant. this man had slain. but settling an aged score might bring down a fire to scorch rivenwood, and this he could not allow. "tell me about merrick," the shadowpriest ventured all the same, searching for understanding.

Mahler seemed incredulous that his own son would make such a promise. It was perhaps not truly a promise, but it was a request. Ask him instead. Perhaps a request that he may remain unblemished himself of such sins. Perhaps a knowledge that his father was a warrior. That his father, despite his own words, was a killer. He did, Laurel confirmed, her words curt and sharp.

He had chased wolves from their home for nothing more than a feeling of nostalgia. Killing, then, didn't seem so far off to Laurel. For now her fear had been replaced by hope; a hope that burned within her and that made her more unforgiving and more forceful than she would normally be. That made her more her than she would normally be.

Even though he did not admit to her request he entertained her for the moment. Laurel felt powerful to have him cornered, in a position he was clearly uncomfortable in. The position of potential killer; or at least, the position of being viewed as such by his own son.

When he asked to know about Merrick, Laurel could not help but wonder if it was because he needed to be able to sleep at night. That he'd do it, but he needed to know why. He needed to know it was for the better. Not just for Laurel, perhaps, but for the better of the world. Laurel, for the first time, broke a little as she thought of him, and she looked away. But when she looked back at Mahler again there was a burning determination in her eyes and voice once more. Merrick was my sister's son, she started. This was his biggest sin. Not to be born as her son, but to be able to kill his own mother. My biggest regret in this life is that I did not kill him when he was born. It was too late for regrets, and it showed that she did not truly expect herself to have known the implications of not doing this in the past. It wasn't that easy. But oh, if only she could have.

When he told me that he killed my dear Indra, Laurel began, her eyes shimmering as she spoke and her breath coming out in quivers, His eyes were rife with madness. He often attacked Easthollow, he and his pack of misfits. He killed wolves there, too. He lives not all that far from here. She paused briefly before she added: He's crazy. He's unpredictable. He has a lust for blood. He's not just someone who deserves to die for killing someone who loved him more than anything in the world. Except maybe you, my dearest. Except maybe you. Perhaps that's the sin that he killed her for. He's a threat. Her eyes were sharp as she looked at Mahler imploringly.

She'd started off thinking that she could convince him, perhaps, by being weak and pathetic and afraid. But when she finished explaining why he was not just a threat to her own wellbeing, but to Rivenwood's, there was a fire burning inside of Laurel's soul that showed she was not weak, pathetic or afraid anymore.

the cough came twice in the telling, a fact that angered and subdued mahler. but his attention belonged solely to laurel and to the tale she spoke. her nephew, not only a murderer, but inclined toward matricide. this sobered the man visibly beneath the jagged cut of her eyes, once soft and reticent. 
mahler had not expected this change in laurel, but it was here all the same, all the while. he studied her face, turning over and over again what she had said. despite the fact that his first thought prevailed, the gargoyle put himself up against objectivity. this man was dangerous, and perhaps allowing the presence to continue would bring threat to rivenwood all the same. 
he's a threat.
knowing that further refusal would sour what little trust laurel had built between them, understanding that the omniscience of this merrick was the most keen wound to her soul, mahler did not speak until he had the words to do so.
"vhere does he stay?"
for in the conclusion of this, perhaps mahler might make a better plan. he would bring it to warrior praimfaya, relay what had been said, and observe the more militaristic answer she gave. coldly bemusing, that he should be general beside a captain once more.
"laurel," her name sweeping unbidden and uncontrolled from mahler's throat, rife with warmth and flushed with caution, but nothing followed, for no words came, and he only found himself looking in silence upon her hardened stare.

It was hard to tell whether any of her words were getting through. She noted that he seemed thoughtful, but would he fight for her, like his son had suggested? Or would Mahler be like everybody else and show her that she did not really matter in this life — not to anyone but Indra, anyway. And me, my dearest. Don't forget me. His hiss turned into a threat: Never forget me.

Even the hot breath that she was sure she must be imagining — but it was there, nonetheless — on her ear was not enough to stop Laurel from her determination. Were he alive then Iliksis may have torn Merrick limb from limb instead. It was an ironic thing to think about. Yet in turn, she would be his shackled wife, enslaved and to do as he wished her to around every bend while he continued a trail of savagery all around them. A willing prisoner. Even her revenge was not worth that prize; just the thought of feeling Iliksis' teeth nibbling at the frays of her face made Laurel feel like cringing. No, it was not worth it.

Hopefully the price she would have to pay Mahler for her revenge was much smaller than what Iliksis would've made her pay.

Eventually he spoke again, asking for a place. Laurel felt her heart pound in her chest as she wondered if this meant that he would do it. She did truly think Merrick was a threat. To her, at least, and therefore to any who associated with her. And perhaps even to the little children, for he had shown to be volatile and unpredictable. He and his had killed wolves from Easthollow too, and as far as Laurel knew that was without knowing Laurel lived with them. It was just because he was insane.

Then her name. There was something different about Mahler. The way he spoke her name — it was almost warm, and yet cautious, as if she was a rose to be admired and kept safe, but with prickly thorns that he was afraid to prick himself on. Mahler, she returned calmly but with a tremble of feeling to it; the same caution in her voice, albeit for perhaps different reasons. There was something about him, she realised from the moment they had sat by the lake together for the first time, the first time that her mask her fallen off her face but for a moment. He was like the rose to her, albeit in different ways. She did not know why she sought him out, why she so longed to... well, to trust him, to truly trust him. She wanted to, but she was afraid. So afraid to be pricked.

She swallowed thickly, distracted from this weird moment where time seemed to play no role and she was just entangled with her own thoughts and feelings, unsure what was even going on, truly. The eloquence and fire when she described Merrick earlier had been doused as she seemed to have lost her tongue for a moment. She looked at him, forcing the moment of warmth from her eyes and voice as she said, He lives in Bearclaw Valley, to the south. My... Our old home. Thinking back, she thought to finding Lucas' dead body in the valley. I remember. I was there. She hadn't had time to look at his body, not before Iliksis showed up. Then Nunataq drove him off. Merrick hadn't been there. He must've been so young then. But what if he played a part in orchestrating that, too? It didn't matter, even though it was easy enough to blame him for the death of her favourite child, too. It didn't matter, but maybe it mattered just a little.

She added coldly as she thought this over, and thought of potential children — Praimfaya's, Sequoia's.. hers, maybe — Not nearly far enough away from here.

if laurel meant to move him toward war, mahler felt his shoulders set with resolution. she stood glowing with mahogany-carved spine, those knowing eyes cutting into the viscera of him — yes, this merrick with teeth unknown could descend upon their encampment, and it was his duty as their retired patriarch to search out the danger described by a loyal wolf.
but laurel's passion butted up the natural slow inclination of the gargoyle. it was a trait loathed by so many, and never more than by women left disappointed by mahler's inability to move with aggression toward the heart of any problem. he must decide it for himself, he must study it, he must know it, and then his choice would come. but most did not wait for mahler to thread himself through the eye of the proverbial needle, and for this he meant no blame.
"i vill make a plan, laurel," the shadowpriest said with finality, moving closer in a reassuring way, though he ceased his step quickly, hoping that he would not startle her with his attempt. he would not commit to a conflict, not on her behalf or that of any single individual; mahler was steadfast in this.
but the charred way in which she regarded him quickened his pulse, set the silver-ash upon his hackles abristle; he knew the taste of war and the look of it, and if necessary, would find his glory restored in such a falling.
but mahler knew he only had one battle more left in his ability.

There was a moment of silence before Mahler pledged that he would make a plan. Laurel was not sure what it meant, but in that moment she felt that it was a promise of sorts. Paired with him moving forward, towards her, it was like a promise. Laurel forgot for the moment that he had wanted to keep his distance because of a cough. Seal the deal, then, dearest, was suggested in her head. She felt her heart pound in her chest as her body screamed for her to get out of there, but Mahler ceased his step abruptly as he regarded her. There was something else in his expression, then. It was as if she saw a glimpse of the warlord that he might have been in the past. The warlord that had taken this Bypass. The warlord who might just give her what she so desperately needed.

Mahler... she repeated, the word softer this time, with less tremble. Laurel moved towards him, intending to breach the distance between them and rest her head against his neck. She needed to ensure that he understood how grateful she was for everything he did for her, when nobody in her life had done such things for her.

laurel said his name again and stepped forward. disarmed, mahler held himself stunned and still as she approached. he felt first her breath, then the light brush of her delicate head. for a long moment he was only dazzled, that someone so fierce should seek his embrace.
he let it go on, softening beneath laurel's touch; he did not understand the sound of his name in her throat, but it had chased something else through his veins, and it was with a man's weakness that he felt himself begin to respond.
he breathed her into himself; eyelids shut, and muscles tensed as if to sweep her closer.
but he had made a vow,
and if wylla never saw him fulfill it, this mattered not to mahler. for he would know. and he would know if he had broken it, even for the woman with wallpaper gaze shifting to reveal something far deeper than he had realized.
lips to the edge of her cheek; he was still.

There was a great duality in Laurel as she pressed her head against his neck, tucking it into the safety of another wolf, unlike she had in a long time. When she had cried against Mahler it had not been touching nor a conscious choice. It had been something that simply happened. Now it was a choice that she made. She knew what closeness could bring. Oh, dearest, you really have gotten back into playing with fire, haven't you? This is why these things keep happening to you. Laurel ignored Iliksis' voice and instead pressed her head closer against Mahler as he allowed her to get close, drew her in, lay his head against her, too.

Thank you, she murmured against his neck, words barely audible that spoke of the fragility that she had shown before, the fragility that was shattered today, for but a moment, as she found resolve. Her tongue flicked out nervously and her jaw trembled while she carefully chose her next words, whispered for his ears only. You are a good man, Mahler. I hope this place will bring you the peace you desire. Her words were softer and more fragile than before, but they were free of trembles as she spoke. This time she chose every word, knew he needed to know just how grateful she was for his efforts. Her actions were once more born of strength and a will to fight; and Laurel herself amidst all of this? She was entangled. Tangled between the wolf who wanted to say and do whatever it would take to make Mahler kill Merrick for her. Wanted to make him see what lengths she would go, and how worthwhile she could make it for him... And tangled between Laurel, who had unexpectedly found someone who, like her, just wanted — needed — a quiet life, peace at the end of a tumultuous and violent life, simplicity, and who genuinely wanted to give him that, in hopes of finding some for herself, too.

deserving.
mahler had dedicated an entire chapter of his life to contemplation of whether or not he deserved anything. he had decided only through decent works would he achieve peace. rivenwood had meant to be a warrior's place, where the gargoyle could at last take the things that had been denied him.
but no amount of force could bring love, nor the presence of his sons, nor the love of his daughter. nor wylla, who had once more told him in no uncertain terms that his years'-long want for her could not be satisfied with promises or his own language when it came to love.
laurel saw, then, the goodness of exhaustion in mahler, the goodness of a weary man who only wanted to make his handful of amends before death.
wylla, burning with fever.
laurel, glowing with gratitude.
"it can be peaceful for you as vell," he pleaded softly against the round softness of her ear. "this land; it has alvays been a home to me."
a breath, an inhale.
"have children. raise them here. i vill teach them my tongue and my medicines."

Laurel was unaware what value it held to Mahler that she should say that he was a good man. That he deserved the peace that he was so looking for. Perhaps in part, Laurel was trying to convince herself that she deserved such things, too. That if Mahler did, then maybe she... It seemed that he had troubles on his mind, like she did, and perhaps they could both find a way to settle them. Perhaps it was that which she pursued selfishly... or perhaps it was simply her desire to make him feel heard, so that he would do as she pleased. That he would kill Merrick, truly. I thought you had learned away your ways of trying to make men do what you want, my dearest... Iliksis' raw voice crowed in her head, but Mahler's smooth voice overshadowed it.

Peaceful for her as well. He played into what she wanted most in the world — Peace, dearest. — and she wanted to believe that it could be. But could it ever truly be, if she were below a man again? She and Indra had said that men were the worst and they would never fall for such things again. Yet, Laurel had given a chance to Xan — to trust him, after he worked hard for it. Yet, she realised in that moment, she was slowly giving a chance to Mahler — could she ever trust him, too? She played it off as trying to get what she wanted, but what was it really about?

Laurel did not find answers. She found herself aflush as he murmured his sweet words of peace and home. Home... After a broken, scattered childhood, Bearclaw Valley had been the closest to a home she had ever had, now desecrated by her villainous nephew. Could this truly become a home? Did she even know what home truly meant?

His breath sent a shudder down her spine that was uncontrollable. You like it though, don't you, dearest? She hated that she liked it, that it sent a burning feeling from her chest through her stomach that she could not control. She needed so badly to control, and yet everything inside her wanted to give in to this feeling of... You know what it is. Whatever it was. Desire. No! She wanted to shout it, but grit her teeth and pressed against Mahler closer to quell the voice that dripped poison over everything in her life.

Children. He asked for children.

His children? Though it was perhaps left in the middle, up to interpretation, Laurel did not find any other ways to interpret it than that. It was not unreasonable, Laurel found herself thinking. Blood on their claws, bodies ripped apart to provide the solace that they so sought, and in return... New life. They would kill Merrick's child and in return she would receive back Indra. Could it truly be?

Peace... she spoke quietly into his ear, a bit behind on it all. I wonder if such a thing is possible for me. Her quiet voice trembled; suddenly small and fragile again as she lay her soul bare against his neck.

Then she said, a little stronger, but still in a tone that made it clear these words were for his ears only: I will do it. I will carry children, and they will be strong. Thank you, Mahler. Thank you for making sure that they will be safe. I can't say how much it means to me. A few careful nibbles at the frays of his ear were placed to show that perhaps she could not truly express how much it meant to her in words, but there were other ways that she knew.

something about the way that laurel spoke to him sent a glissade spreading through his hips. it felt as if she repeated some inward mantra for him now, secretive and hinting at unspoken wants. he did not consider that laurel had thought he meant himself to father her brood; he prized his directness, and would have said as much.
the irony, now, that in being so indirect he opened such a window.
her breath upon him, and all he could think was how accursed his flesh and his soul and his body, and how even if he did choose to embrace her, he might not rise to it.
the weight of the air around them, and how warm laurel draped against the length of his tall horrible and haunted figure; how easy it would be, the sly devilish tongue curling that he was wanted, he could take a wife swiftly and begin another frayed attempt toward —
toward what? selfishness? the last unfulfilled notion of husbandly respect and need for a wife?
well that had died with wylla's most recent words to him. 
mahler felt himself desire fiercely to stay as he was, as laurel's lips explored the curve of his ear. heart thudded powerfully, throat constricting; to take and to give — mind insisting it had been too long too long too long since he had touched another in this way, or been touched.
he forced himself back, mouth near her own, granite ears back so that the conflict within his stoneflower irises was clear. "you are desirable. i am unable, i —"
"i will keep them safe. and you." nonsensically; he must leave now, before the vow he made in heart and in love be threatened by his own dangerous weakness.

For a moment he stayed in place as she nibbled gently his earlobes, a light tremble in her touch. It had been very long since she had touched another in that way; if she ever had, at all. With Xan, it had been a playful bout that had turned into something more, but they'd skipped right past the affections and when finally he opened his eyes and realised that he loved her too it had been too late; she'd been broken. With Iliksis, it... She swallowed thickly as he pulled away, not because of him but because of her thoughts hissing, hot breath at the back of her own ears. She wasn't sure which of this she was doing of her own volition, which she was doing because Iliksis goaded her on, which because she wanted to repay him, truly, and which... which for the sake of regaining a semblance of control. Laughable, Iliksis confirmed.

One of her fears was that he would see her as desirable, despite her own intentions towards him. To be an object of a man's lust terrified her, and it was what had kept her away from him. Perhaps she knew long before she knew. She also knew he was unattached. Yet what he said next soothed her soul and confirmed to her only that it would be right to have children with him. He was unable. He would not take her, and she relaxed visibly. One might interpret it as deflated rather than relieved, all of the tension seeping away, but this made her more sure and determined. She smiled, understanding.

She could not trust men, but perhaps she could trust Mahler.

A promise to keep her and them safe. Another confirmation, for Laurel. Thank you, she murmured, seeing the haste in his eyes, knowing he must go. She could not help but wonder what had scarred his soul that he should leave so rapidly, just like all of the things that had scarred hers and kept her away from men for so long.

I will find you, she promised. Laurel gently booped the side of her muzzle against his before she withdrew further away from him and turned away; for now.

she would find him.
he watched her depart, tormented; he decamped from himself, even as haunches settled weakly to the earth.
surely laurel did not mean for him to be any part of this, but he still burned from the touch of her lithe body.
it aggravated mahler, maddened him; his flesh still so weak despite the urgent love of his heart, as if skin worked from organ and both disconnected at the soul.
i will find you
his mouth paled to sawdust. lips suddenly dry; he stood, weaving.
mind refused to shape a single thought.
the remainder of the day would find mahler kept to the borders, patrolling until nightfall, avoiding the ember of lust in him that refused to die.