Disclaimers: This is for the sake of further protest against having had my favourite character killed off by Diana Gabaldon. When I am writing, it's mainly for my own pleasure. It's what I'd like to see happen so when I reread in a few months, years later, thus I find a story that is completely to my taste. ;)
Genre: G, redemption, sickfic.
Rating/Warning: some adult themes, nothing major.
Set: Briefly after Culloden, showverse. AU from that moment.
Main Characters: Jack Randall and Claire Fraser
Pairing: as canon. So just to make it clear, I will not deviate from traditional pairings, but the focus will not be on Claire/Jamie romance.
Chapter 1: Mutant
The horrifying, claustrophobic, drowning screech of the stones, each one joining in with an additional voice that spread horrors without appealing to any other of her senses than sound, a cacophony of terrors Claire assumed would characterise the eternal damnation of hell that gave the sense of having went on for eternity as well, while she knew it could've only really lasted seconds. They have taken hold of every fibre of her being, tearing, resonating in all directions. It shouldn't have scared her as much as the first time because she now knew it was the time vortex's doing, losing all her senses till it became clear the auditory sensation didn't actually originate from her ears, but the chaotic bizarreness was overwhelming. Her mind, as if protecting itself against the outlandishness, tried to find focus in a world it had no means to grip and so it latched onto one word, the word that meant the most to her: Jamie.
The next instant she found herself outside the stone circle, lying in deep, wet grass, unpleasant enough for her to attempt to shake the time travel sickness and disorientation and roll onto her knees. It was now quiet around her, bar for the natural sounds of the woods in spring. Claire tried to take stock of her surroundings, the trees, the undergrowth, the type of saplings, the age of the wood. Of course, there could have been new trees popping up at any time in history, but this scene seemed remarkably similar to the one Jamie had left her in, with no drivable road to speak of nearby. She couldn't afford herself hope though, it would've been too crushing to find otherwise, or land in a time that was so close but yet so far. Instead, she concentrated on getting herself out the brambles and the screen on nettles and into the direction her and Jamie had come from, although she was not sure whether she should head back to Drummossie where the Jacobite troops had been stationed, Culloden itself or Inverness. Once reaching a clearing, the town she could see now in the distance and judging from that she could be certain she could have not travelled far in time.
The discovery energised her as much as it worried her, though both conflicting state of minds ultimately gave her the strength to be able to run, further and faster than she otherwise would have, wearied and hungry and pregnant as she was. She did not think to stop till she saw another soul, three souls in fact as the case happened to be. Two women of childbearing age and a younger boy, trudging through the undergrowth themselves towards Inverness.
Claire came to a halt and paused behind a larger tree, having had long learnt her lesson that in certain times and ages you make sure those you encounter are friendly before you impose yourself on them. She waited till the company got closer. She could hear them talking, one of the women wailing even as she walked, the other encouraging her with an accent that was clearly from around here and hopefully, from the eighteenth century. Any longer she could not wait to demand certainty. "What year is this? What is the date today?" She bounded in front of them, not minding the musket that was shoved in her face by the young man of the company, or more like a boy, who could have been no more than thirteen or fourteen.
"That's some strange request ye have there, lass," commented the woman she had previously heard talking.
"I am aware it might not be the best starter of a conversation, but believe me, it is really important I shall find that out as soon as possible," Claire tried to talk herself out the pit her rashness caused.
"Are ye on yer own?" The woman peered round, "ye dress Scottish but ye sound English and it's no verra prudent of a Sassenach to gaun an' show hersel around here on her own ye ken!" She nodded towards the firearm rather animosely.
"Nah, I ken her, ma," the young man waved her down and lowered his weapon too, "she's Red Jamie's wife, the beaton, god keep her healing hands. Patrick Dunmaglass, of Clan Chattan's Regiment," he presented himself.
"Aye, and just young enough to pretend ye were never there! Thank heavens yer a rickle a bones that shows for it." The mother admonished pointedly, "now get on wi' it!"
Claire however did not pay attention to her. The time frame had to be really close, or did the battle not even happen yet, "what is the date pray tell?" She insisted.
"It'd be the 19th of April, 1746, why ye ask?" The young man's mother was still somewhat mistrustful and who could blame her.
"I'd reckon it would be the 20th by now," the boy corrected.
"If yer a charmer as they say," the previously crying woman joined in the conversation for the first time to address Claire, "there are a great many needing tending down in Inverness, in secret of course, for the English are scouring the town for escapees."
Claire nodded tensely, more to get on with her questions rather than acknowledge the need, "Jamie. Do you ken if he lives?"
Patrick shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry M'am, I do not ken. The gravely wounded officers were shot on the day, some say it was an act of mercy, some not. Those who would maybe live, they were captured and taken as prisoner, taken in various directions, to be judged or executed, would be hard to say who went where seeing how I was keeping to hiding for the first two days," he appeared apologetic and ashamed of the fact.
"What would become of yer brothers an' sisters without yer help if ye didn't!" The mother would not accept his stupid, manly, Scottish pride that told him he should've stayed with his regiment even in death. "You are the man of the house now that yer father in dead."
"Did you see any of the Frasers or the MacKenzies?" Claire tried further.
"Someone may ken about Red Jamie where we're heading," the mother offered, "and as Nairne had said, she had lost her man, but many be needin yer help down there," she ventured close now, seeing her distress and recognising her being in a similar situation to them, "come along now, ye will be safe wi' us, as long as we keep off the roads."
Claire continued to nod, pensive. In some ways she felt similar to how disoriented she had been after her first time through the stones, even though she had jumped a mere three or four days this time, depending on whether Patrick or his mother was right about the date. It was a pretty pointless jump, going through the horror for that amount of time and in some ways she felt guilty that she had failed Jamie, went against his wishes. But then again, this time travel thing was never in her control. Could she really help it if instead of Frank, her mind drifted to Jamie instead? That must have been how she ended up back here. None of this really mattered though, not if all was lost anyway. Nairne started crying again and Claire felt like joining in.
tbc