The Other Sort

by moon-soon

Founder story- he never founded anything. but his life was so entrenched in theirs it was easy to blur the lines. History will not remember him, or the role he played, and for this he is glad- a different look at the founders through another's eyes.

A man's called a traitor - or liberator
A rich man's a thief - or philanthropist
Is one a crusader - or ruthless invader?
It's all in which label
Is able to persist
There are precious few at ease
With moral ambiguities
So we act as though they don't exist

Joel Grey - Wonderful

I had once been a man of no real importance. I had once for the happiest time of my life, lived in a small little no name village on the cusp of a valley that surely one day will not exist, if it does or doesn't anymore I can't be sure.

The land had always been a shade too green; people lived in dark stone houses, and most were friendly and hopeful to those around. If they lived a meager existence they did not let on, they always held themselves with pride.

I was liked well enough; I had a lovely wife and a child on the way, a few friends, and one in particular my best friend Gregory the barkeep, a fine man who slipped me the occasional free pint. My wife was a woman whose name could be whispered for days, eyes like the night sky, Marjory and her hair paler than the moon itself. She was the proudest and most beautiful women I would ever have the pleasure of meeting.

I owned a shop then, the only shop. It had been Marjory's daddy's until he died of old age six or more seasons ago. It was a busy life that I shared every minuet with my wife, we worked the shop together she would make lists from the demands and I went to market twice a month, to collect goods to sell. Marjory's belly had swelled to its double and would sit down a lot sighing, we were both nervous, my baby was sure to be the prettiest babe in this no name village.

"Golly mate, she's sure getting big" Gregory remarked one day, he grinned and flicked the froth of my drink at me, "I pray you kind sir," I grinned through my drink. "To keep your prying eyes from my wife, she may be the catch of the town but she wears my ring and that should keep you at bay."

He snorted, "I was merely observing, Victori'd have my hide if she thought I'd caught a case of the roaming eyes." I nodded, Victori was a strong woman, determined and fierce, I'd always thought she might be happier with red hair rather than brown. "I suspect she'd be waiting for you to ask for her hand?" he nodded gravely, "and she's determined, says I should beg the moon and stars for her hand, and finds me a pig that I haven't had the decency to ask."

"Well I heard you too were destined for marriage since she was but a babe and you a young lad clutching to your mother's skirt." He nodded, shooting back "though their not always right, every one had pegged old Tristan Monday to catch your little Marjory until you showed up a few years back." I remembered Tristan Monday, a cranky, pompous man six years her senior. It had taken very little to win her affections, but he had always felt bad for him… that was until he saw the cad wooing Marjory's licentious cousin Laurie.

"Where were you before then? I remember asking before but it still remains allusive in my head" I hadn't answered immediately, Gregory sure knew how to ruin what had shown to be a good evening. "I came from behind me, Gregory surely you know that" I received a frown but he daren't question the matter further, it had already put me in a more dangerous mood.

I had preferred not to think about what had laid behind me further then my last footsteps, my home had rejoiced in my departure, easily shown the door by my father. My mother daren't look at me, in case I had looked to her in any support.

My brother put his hand to my shoulder, "I will call for you one day my brother" it lit me with hope; I had been an outcast in my family always and foremost, not like that of my handsome and respectable brother. I should have know though, my brother has always been cold to his teeth but warmed at his toes. He is rash an unpredictable in all but one way.

My brother is a man of power. He is powerful in his words, as he is powerful in his thoughts. And his plans to be powerful, in way that I am sure our parents would simultaneously approve and disapprove of. He was nothing like me, he hopes he will one day be remember for as a great man as apposed to myself who does not feel the need to be remembered at all. And why would I, I showed a great deal of potential with none of the pay off and I caused shame to all of those around me.

Not Gregory though, he looked at me slightly worried, smiling in a way he only did if he notice me swimming against current to depressing thoughts. He played with his drink and then took a guilt swig as if he felt he'd cause my sudden melancholy. He had not. Though it mattered little, I though taking a deeper and harder swig than first intended when I had received the drink, his guilt would insure the next drink would not be on me.

He looked down, never looking at me directly, preferring to watch the swaying amber liquid push dangerously close to the edges of its thick glass prison, seeking its freedom. He drank slowly now like a man living above his means and class for the first time in his life, he relished the taste, the sensation and the company.

Gregory had always live this way, as though he were above his means and unworthy, relishing every seconded he lived. He was the first good person I had ever come across, and if my loving Marjory was my sun, and my unnamed child would be my moon, than Gregory was the brightest star. In my travels he had appeared in dark sky my first bright star, changing my eyes so I was ruined for the content feeling I had once felt in the pitch blackness of my existence.

Even so, he still looked down, as did everyone. None dared look into my eyes. The gift had been the promise that my parents had searched for, my curse. To be locked into someone's eyes, it could happen in a second. I viewed a small snapshot of their soul, I could tell intentions and thoughts with the merest look. It bothered people so much that I felt at time they would prefer me blind. Even when they knew what I was, they could still feel the invasive probing on their soul. Like an itch impossible to scratch. It had caused me trouble in finding friends, only the purest were not bothered. The purest being my beautiful Marjory. In her eyes I see not wrong. I see nothing for she is blind, cut off from my 'talent,' and I only see her in a completely human way.

I looked at the door, it was still bright, but I downed the dregs of my ale, and stood placing the change of my drink from now and the one I had not paid for a week prior. No need to stay and let my head become heavy and groggy while my friend's wallet dented to a misshapen form. After all no one likes a misshapen wallet.

"My friend," I had asked in a questioning tone as I straightened my coat, "the day seems so long, and through the window the sun is still prevailing over the shadows of night." He laughed at my pretty words, he was a much simpler man than I. Though that wasn't uncommon these days, in these parts and they all tended to scoff when I romanced and courted words that they best thought forgotten.

"Well look at you, forgetting that today is the longest of all days, why! The witchy women up north are probably already dancing naked in a field." I shuddered at the realization.

The solstice.

I hadn't even noticed, though in all honesty I really should have. I had been a fool. And I am forever haunted by my own foolishness, by my incredible stupidity. It was summer, so I hadn't really felt the effects before now. At least I wouldn't for another minuet or two when the sun finally sets. No time left at all, I felt the gains of sand slipping as I sat their dumb and unmovable with the knowledge.

I regained myself and I stood suddenly, Gregory jumped back from behind the bar, as if there hadn't been the strong piece of wood between us. It was starting to hit, the feelings, sensations, everything was radiating in amplification. Magic. It ran through my veins, sparking like fire, swimming like water and whipping like wind. I was mostly useless at any other time of the year, besides my parlour trick, I was a resistant a squib. But not this night.

This night I was dangerous, and now it was much too late.

I reached out with my mind, oh how it hurt. I could feel everything and everyone. The flowers whispered secrets, wall groaned and complained, animals felt pain and joy of such terrifying intensity. And the people. God! The people were the worst. I could see every tarnished mark on the conscious, every daydream and hope every nightmare and reality. No wonder I scared people. I scared myself.

I reached to Marjory but couldn't find her. We needed to leave, get away. I couldn't leave her not with the baby so close, but I had to get away, before he came. My brother was a man of power, and twice a year, when the moon bathed me with light, I was the most powerful force to exist in this time.

My eyes fogged unfocused. I felt. oh God! I felt pain. Her pain. Oh blood. So. Much. Blood. No my sun! No my moon! Oh my vert sky was cracking. What have you done! I can feel the smirk as if it were from my own face, I feel the barbaric hunger, his blood pulses through my veins. He is seeking me out. His mind was open and waiting to me, greedy and hopeful and calling to me. To this power. This 'gift.'

I knocked over the stool and gave no word to a now very worried bartender; there was no time for a star now, now when I could feel my sun dieing. Turning red and bursting with fleeting energy before burning into nothingness.

I knock over poor Geneva and Catharine at the door, Geneva clutches her dress, her mind is on her intended marriage, she's only fourteen and terrified of her soon to be husband and is too intent on a drink to worry of me. Her sister Catharine however, she is furious, she radiates it and it burns against my skin, she's not angry at me, she was already in a state, but it burns all the same.

The stones beneath my feet scream as I run. Stay! They scream, don't go that way; there is a monster that way. Were they talking to me? Or about me? I never knew and I did not listen; I was running to the mouth of hell on purpose. My head it filled with so many words, sound sensations that I could not think straight. I could scream, but I can not move my mouth with the effort. So I just run. I had opened myself to this and it had filled me to every inch, I was lead. I was a feather. I was dead and alive and in agonising pain.

All I could feel was Marjory's pain, I could feel my baby's distress, her worry, her tenderness. She was a her. I realised. I was going to have a beautiful baby girl. I hoped.

My neighbours were in the throngs of passion, and I almost stopped out of the crashing feeling of it, I did not want to pry and I did not have the time even if I had been so perverted.

The waves of my wife, my brother, my daughter were crashing on me, drowning me; by the time my foot hit the front step. The door pushed open without me having to raise my hand, and slammed behind me as I ran.

There on the floor, painted in black, blue and red was my poor Marjory. She was twisted in a sick unnatural way, and clutched her stomach; she had fallen on her back to protect her tummy. But it stilled ached and bawled at her effort. Every muscle cried, every bone broken, her eyes focused and so weak she couldn't even scream.

"Yes, I though that might get your attention." I turned, though I needn't have bothered, I knew my brother's voice anywhere. "I wouldn't have gone so far, but you've been such a pain to me in your quick escapes I couldn't take the chance." His voice sincere and beautiful as always. Sweet and sinuous like honey. Like he had not used such dark words to leave my wife in such agony. Like he was not here to destroy my life.

"How" my voice hollow, all life slipping with Marjory's, I could feel every bruise every break as if it were my own only in ten fold. I collapsed under the weight of it all. I could make out my brothers dark sleek shoes and long legs from where I was, and he leant over using his wand like an extension of his hand. Lifting my chin our eyes were locked.

We only shared our eyes. Both Honey and Chocolate like our uncles had been which had always privately worried our father. I could never look him in the eye when we were younger; it hurt like being pricked a thousand times in the eyes. He had so much conflict in his eyes, he could be so genuinely good and then flip so violently, it hurt just to watch him, let alone look into his soul.

Right now he was completely dark, his eyes shrouded in a complete hunger, in desperation. In conviction. Oh brother why do you do this to me? Though I knew why.

"Not how my brother. I always find a way." He stroked my cheek as if under the guise of affection, though he did not love me, he couldn't when he got like this. When he had first seen my magical transformation of the night of the solstice he had been transfixed. He called it beautiful. So. Very. Beautiful. But he said it without love, like he used to speak to me; in that voice that was now only an echo. A painful ache.

"Why do you run from me," he knew why, but he asked anyway, "why do you have to find people to replace what you had." He was speaking of the life I'd left when I came to live with the people without magic. He thought them not worthy of our name. He never did, even when his eyes shone honey and she was pure and good.

He spared a glance at Marjory, "she was beautiful." –was- "But you needn't tie yourself with other people. You have me. And now I have you. And you will do as I tell you. You are mine. At least for this second." This wasn't him but he was so far gone, it didn't matter.

He now gripped my face, white hot and his hand sizzled on my skin as he touched the magic radiating off me. He pulled in closer, not caring from the burn, he almost look sated, he pulled closer still, embracing, tearing and pulling into me so hard I might break. He was draining me. I realised almost too late, a pulled back. His eyes went black.

There were no screams. There was no time. It was all black now all the voices, the feelings, the everything. There wasn't even time to feel the agony, no chance to pass out from pain. I was cut off as if someone stopped halfway through a sentence. And then he was so very there.

And then he was gone as if a shadow. As if he had never been.

I was weak and hazy. White and stark and empty. With only his name on my lips. Godric. Why?

I was out for too long. The shock sent Marjory into labour and killed her. No. She bled out, screaming my name. My dear sweet Marjory, I remember every second, every thought, every agonising, searing detail is burned into me. Your death is with me forever, but I could not describe it even if I wanted to. It is too personal and even I do not have the words.

Gregory was there. Like magic. In a panic. I was screaming and he was the whitest, white I had ever seen. He let me claw into him as he held me and I sobbed and screamed and cried until I was spent. He had bloody hand prints all over his skin and later he held my new, bloody but healthy baby in his hands. I could not. I could not bear to look at her. She already looked just like her mother, washed clean with moon pale hair, bright eyes and perfect.

She was so perfect.

Claris, my neighbour walked in later, screaming and yelling to heaven. Marjory death by childbirth was unmistakable, but her bruised, beaten body would not be explained away. And I could not give any answer that was explainable. No one else had seen the man with honey eyes steal in and out of my no name village.

I was dead; to myself, to the town, to everyone, except Gregory and maybe my brother if had come down off his power. It killed me the most. Godric. My brother. Was a good man. He was such a good man. I had turned him into a murderer with meaning to. The feeling, his hunger turned him into something unrecognisable. He had become corruptible. He hated that. He told me once. Much later.

That I brought the worst out in him. My fault, he had told me that night he had meant to heal Marjory, it had been part of the plan. To almost kill her, to incapacitate me. That I loved her so much I could not help but feel every blinding second of her pain. Which I had. He had taken almost everything from me, and he had been sure he had killed me. He was so overcome with power. So overcome with pain ad regret he had just closed his eyes and without meaning to my power had transported him miles away. Still trying to protect me

When he returned there was a fresh grave for my Marjory. He three flowers.

A Purple Hyacinth

a yellow Hyacinth

a Crown Imperial.

They were not meant for her. Gregory had urged me to leave to do something. But I couldn't do anything. I was a shell. I couldn't even hold my own child. For at this time he had taken everything and I could not even bare to hold my child. My only light. My only life. I would have only burned her if I had tried. I was an unstable mess.

Gregory proposed to Victori a week later, on the condition that they ward my daughter. She had agreed, and had kissed me on the cheek telling me to come back and get her when I transformed back into myself. I did not feel the kiss. I did not feel anything. Not even the pain of having the only precious thing in my life taken away from me, to protect it from me.

So I left my baby to my best friend Gregory Hufflepuff. But I swore I would be back for her even if it killed me.

Had I known I would not be the only one coming back for my precious Helga, I never would have left her. Consequences be damned.

TBC

Rewritten, revamped. New chapter up soon.