Unbidden guests Are often welcomest when they are gone.
-William Shakespeare
Chapter One: Visitors
Perched atop the stool, little feet standing on the tips of their toes, a young girl peered over, scrutinizing every binding on the shelf. Rows upon rows of books stretched out in front of her, and yet, she took her time in examining each one, occasionally picking one out to peruse it before deftly slipping it back in its place. Small "hmm"-ing sounds escaped her mouth as her forehead creased in concentration.
Nergal glanced up from his compendium every few seconds, a twinge of amusement apparent on his face. The girl looked like him: the same dark eyes, the same pointed nose, the same tanned skin tone. The only feature setting them apart was her hair- springy light brown waves falling down her back. Luminous, they gave her an extra dose of innocence, not like the deep purple tones of his own hair.
"Stella," he finally spoke, "if you don't choose a book soon, you'll go home with nothing accomplished."
Stella turned to shoot him a dirty look. "So?"
Nergal turned back to his page. "So, I don't want you whining the whole way back that you didn't get to do anything." A brief flash of indignation sparked in her eyes, and she swiveled back to the books. Choosing the heaviest volume at eyelevel, she hauled back her chosen tome and dropped it on the table.
The legs shuddered under the sudden weight. With a determined look in her eye, Stella pulled up a chair and flipped open the cover. At nine, she was a precocious girl, a mischievous girl, and a real bratty one too but not a particularly tall one. Her distinct attributes were all squeezed into her petite figure, and at any moment, they threatened to burst free of their bony barriers in a massive display of fireworks.
Nergal could not help but laugh at her choice of books. "Are you sure you can read that?" Stella scowled.
"Yeah. Easy."
He leaned over to look at the chapter she was reading. "Can you tell me what pulmonic means?" She stared at the word, fit into a sentence strung with other complicated words, but being the proud child she was, she pretended otherwise.
"Pfft, that's one itsy-bitsy word. So what?"
"Are you certain you don't want to find an easier book?" he chuckled.
"I'm quite fine, thank you very much."
Nergal leaned back, his lips twitching upwards. His sister was an obstinate child. Though he could recall back those six years when he was her age, he wondered if he had been anything like her to the casual observer. Intelligent, yes, but since he lacked an older sibling to feed him books, did he have the same hunger for them that Stella did? Daring, perhaps, but he didn't have that girl, Aly, at the farm supplying him with fresh ideas. He never thought of himself as spoiled as she, though he was guilty for most of that.
He continued with his volume, which described the growth patterns of certain species of exotic plants in a brief but inclusive passage. Every so often, he peeked over at Stella to see if she was really reading. Each time she appeared to be intently staring at her page, flipping it once every ten minutes as though to prove her worth. Still, by the way her forehead bunched and fingers drummed, Nergal knew she had not comprehended a word of it.
After a considerable time passed, Nergal looked up at the clock, hanging crooked off the wall. He swore.
"Come on, Stella," he said, gathering up the books in his hands. "We have to go. Mother will make a fuss if we're any later." Stella slid off her chair.
"Alright." She tried to sound disappointed.
Nergal placed the books back in their respective shelves and hurried out the door of the town library; Stella lagged behind. Outside, the afternoon sun greeted them lazily. The cool air nipped at their cheeks; Nergal wrapped his scarf snug around him, checking back to see if Stella was appropriately garbed. Her scarf dragging out of her pocket, Stella kicked stones across the cobble street and waved to her friends. Insistent on making it back before their mother erupted, Nergal scuttled ahead.
A friend, Missus Smithson, stopped them before Nergal rushed by. "Why hello there, boy!" she exclaimed. "You look in a hurry."
"My mother hates for us to be home past four. It gets dangerous on the road."
Stella caught up and grinned brightly at Missus Smithson. "Hello!"
"Hi sweetie." To Nergal, she waved the thought aside and assured him "she won't mind. I was just there; she has some men over. Friends of your father, bless his soul in Elysium. I think they're just tying up some loose ends."
Nergal nodded. "Thank you but still, I should be going." He was moving before Missus Smithson bid him farewell
"Oh alright," she sighed, "don't sprain anything, now." She patted Stella on the head. "Goodbye now, Stella. Take care of that boy of yours."
Stella began to amble backwards, waving at Missus Smithson. "Bye!" She turned and sprinted to catch up with her distant sibling. "Don't go so fast. You heard her; Mother has some boring old men over."
"They were friends of our father; they're not boring old men."
"Uh-huh."
Nergal stared down at Stella, almost with sympathy. Just a year before, their father passed. Though they owned and maintained a few fields, their father primarily took care of a merchant business, handling the crops of several of the country farms. The Hudson and Waverly Steads had relied on him for transporting their goods to other towns, and now, afterwards, the two families took in the widow and her two children.
Nergal ruffled her hair. As an instant reaction, Stella batted his fingers away.
"What was that for?" she asked.
Nergal shook his head. "Nothing."
Their cottage waited on the outskirts of town. They wandered out onto the main road, pausing for only a second so that Stella could stoop and examine a patch of multi-colored wildflowers. Nergal tried to urge her faster; he wanted to meet these friends of his father. At the moment, he was the man of the family and the brightest member too, though he was not impertinent enough to brag of it to his mother. He had heard stories of men who took advantage of lonely widows, and he did not want the same fate to befall her.
His thoughts turned to his scholarship and departure in the coming year. He wondered if Stella and his mother would survive his leave; they would be without the protection of any men, and although he was sure the townsfolk would watch over them, he worried that, with their home situated so far away, it would be difficult when vagabonds wandered into the area.
When their cottage came into view, Nergal heaved a sigh of relief. Stella merely panted.
"You walk too fast," she pouted, leaning against the garden fence to catch her breath. Nergal pushed the splintering gate open and briskly walked up the stone path between the beans and the squash. From the porch, he could hear voices inside: two men, by the sound of it, and the warbling tone of his mother. He opened the door.
His mother stood upon his entry. "Ah, there you are. I was beginning to worry that wolves had eaten you. I might live cheaper by it, but I won't mistake it for good fortune." His mother knew perfectly well that there were no wolves in this region.
The fading daylight squeezed out of the cottage as Nergal shut the door behind him and Stella.
"I'm sorry, mother. Missus Smithson had pulled us aside, and I didn't want to be rude." Nergal inclined his head humbly. Stella made a distinct "pfft"ing sound but did not utter a word.
"Mister Kristoph, Oaks, these are my children." Nergal's mother gestured towards the two. Both men nodded their heads, acknowledging their presence. After a terse moment, she hissed, "Don't be rude! Introduce yourselves."
Nergal stepped forward. "My name is Nergal, and it is a pleasure to meet both of you. Goodwife Smithson said that you were friends of my father; that alone proves you are of decent character." One of the men, a stocky red-head with freckles striping his face smiled at the statement.
"We were…acquaintances. I always admired Benson for his business tact, and I can see that potential in you. I'm Cadfael Kristoph; I manage the bank over in Pensborough. This here is my colleague, Radek Oaks." Radek stood shorter, plumper, with a ring of silver hair crowning his head. "You look to be a bright boy; perhaps, you will carry on your father's business."
His mother shook her head. "My boy isn't going into business. Professor Afa offered to take him on as a pupil. He's leaving in a year." She arched her back and puffed out her chest, as though her son's accomplishment's proved her own.
"Well, congratulations Nergal. You're on your way to be a scientist or writer." A teasing glint took place in Cadfael's eyes. "Hear the Church hates those."
Nergal saw his mother stiffen and her narrow; her previous proud stance fell away. "Why would he be hated? He's a God-fearing lad; he knows better than to meddle in that murk of heresy and witchcraft."
"Duly-noted. It was a joke, madam; I didn't mean to offend." Cadfael cleared his throat and looked around to escape the sharp glare of the woman. He spotted Stella. "And who are you?" he asked, grinning down at her. Nergal recognized the comely childish mischief in her eyes, a daunting flame that ignited in Stella. She bent her knees in a small curtsy, never breaking eye contact with the men, a move her mother would have called insolent.
"My name is Limstella, but you may call me Stella." Cadfael laughed, quite taken with her charm, but Radek's face hardened, if anything. Nergal guessed that he did not like children.
"Well, then you two run off now. We have some business to-" Nergal's mother began, but Nergal cut her off.
"With all due respect, ma'am, I'd like to stay and speak with these men." His mother's temper shook her body. He continued before she could argue back, "I'm old enough to be involved with these affairs, and with Father dead, I have the responsibility to."
His mother's fist curled in an attempt to keep from slapping him. Tugging his collar, she pulled him aside and hissed in his face, "Don't embarrass me, boy, in front of company. Such important company too. Now, go up to the garret and stay there until I call you down again. If you don't listen, then you'll be up there until supper tomorrow." She released him. "Sirs, if you will relax; my children are leaving."
Stella clambered up the ladder to the garret, which they shared as a cluttered bedroom. Clinging onto the bottom rungs, Nergal glanced behind at the two visitors- Cadfael with a grave look replacing the merry countenance he carried before and Radek with his unchanging demeanor. A scalding glare from his mother sent him scrambling up to the garret. He shut the hatch, muffling the voices below.
Light still sifted in through the window, but Stella retrieved one of the candles and lit it anyways. Half of the loft was reserved for their living space; two pallets, a dresser, and a desk with a chair filled up this space. The other half held spiced and dried foods for the winter, a collection of old transaction records that belonged to their father, and a few semi-precious heirlooms that could not be stuffed in the room below.
Stella curled up on her pallet, leaning her back against the sloped ceiling. She watched Nergal: how his teeth clenched, how his face scrunched, how his fists pounded erratically on the bed, how his cheeks flashed red. When he lay down next to the hatch, with his ear pressed to the ground, Stella asked what he was doing, though she thought she had an idea.
"I'm not a kid anymore, Stella, and Mother refuses to acknowledge that. You see those fools-" by fools, he meant the twins that worked on the Waverly Farm-" who are a year younger than me and treated with more respect by their drunken father than I am by my widowed mother. I'm the head of the household now, but she still won't let me help her. For a woman so dependent on her late husband, she seems awfully self-reliant." He looked up at Stella. A strange confusion welled up in her eyes.
"What do you mean?"she asked.
"Nothing, Stella. Don't worry about it."
"You shouldn't be eavesdropping."
"Shh." He held up a hand to silence her. A few strains of their conversation wafted up through the floor, and Nergal could make out a few stifled words.
"…we've extracted from the accounts already standing…"
"…until the harvest…little interest…"
"…that much?"
"We're afraid so. But we realize your situation and are willing to…"
"…you're coddling…"
After several minutes, Stella whispered, "whatdya hear?"
"Not much," said Nergal, pushing up from the ground. "Never mind; this isn't going to work." He returned to his bed, shoving a hand into his mop of hair. Swinging his legs over onto the thin mattress, he shut his eyes.
He thought only a second had passed, but when Nergal opened his eyes, he discovered that night had fallen. Stella, balled under her blanket, was oblivious to his waking. Rubbing his eyes, he realized his clothes were still on, right down to his shoes. He kicked them off, too groggy to care at the moment. He shrugged off his shirt and tried his best to ignore the rumbling of his stomach.
How unsurprising: his mother had forgotten to wake them for dinner. He contemplated going down to get a biscuit to sate his ravenousness, but the room was pitch dark. The candle had been snuffed, and without daylight flooding in through the window, he would have to grope his way down. No, that would be too noisy and would wake his mother.
Nergal wiggled under the covers. He closed his eyes, determined to fall back asleep. However, his stomach protested too loudly to make that possible. He twisted in his bed, only to have a sharp pain rip through his side. When had he eaten last that day? The only thing he remembered consuming was a tart he split with Stella that morning; Baker Hills offered it to them in gratitude for the patching work their mother did for him.
Now, he was more awake than ever. Could he possibly sneak down with raising a ruckus? Perhaps. He had done it before, though he almost broke his neck in the process. He crawled out of bed towards the hatch and opened it slowly so that it didn't creak. One leg lowered itself, searching for the rungs down. His sole pressed against the bar. The other foot moved down after it.
With a sigh of relief, he reached the ground with making hardly a sound. The front windows that peeked into the kitchen let in a little light, silhouetting the entire room with shadows. He could see the door to the right leading to his mother's room, the square table with the broken leg, the iron stove, and the pantry. He inched open the pantry door.
A tremor rattled the earth. A screeching roar ripped through the air. His ears strained against the high pitch and low growls of the cacophony . Nergal dropped to the ground. He waited for the quaking to cease. Immediately, the door to his mother's room flew open, banging against the wall. The earth stilled. Nergal clutched to the surface of the table and peeked over.
Candle in hand, she saw the orange glints off her son's eyes peering over the table. She walked over to him and pulled him up, slapping him across the face. Nergal's hand went up to hold his stinging cheek.
"What are you doing down here?"
"I was hung-"
"What did you do, you insolent boy! You-" Another roar, this time louder, clearer. Whatever made the noise ventured closer. The woman's lip stuck out, quivering. "Do you think it could be-" she said, her voice naught but a whisper. She shook her head waving the thought away.
"What? What could it be?" Nergal pressed. In the flame's light, he saw his mother's face pale. This countenance that twisted itself on her face- the eyes widened, the cheeks sunken, the mouth trembling- was one she reserved for religious superstitions and damnations.
Her response came in a raspy whisper. "Dragons."
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Author's Note: I was going to wait until after I finished The Deal to post this, but after two rewrites of the last chapter, I've decided to mull over that story a bit longer. There's plenty on Nergal in this fandom, but few things on his past. We know he was once a good man and most likely a family man, but few give him credit for that. This will be a chronicle of his life, to beyond even when he is driven mad. Beware the character deaths.
Yes, her name is Limstella. Get over it; it won't be the last of it. She'll be a brat, but if I can pull this off right, you'll love her anyways. Yes, she does have a real purpose in this story; I didn't throw her in there to be cute.
To clear some things up, this chapter takes place several years before the Scouring. This will become apparent in the next few chapters, but I am simply stating it to sate curious minds. So yes, Dragons and Humans still live together, though not quite in harmony. This story will also be assuming that certain theories about Nergal are true; if you do not know about these theories (of which I believe are true but I have seen debates), then you will find out, but not for a while. Also, I realized Nergal's physical description does not exactly fit the one in the game; once again, there is a reason for this, which will surface later.
Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always. Constructive criticism is loved.
Thanks to JSB for betaing.