AN: I don't know where this came from. Or what I'm doing with it. Actually I do, but I'm scared to admit it. But if you have been reading my other AU, Turntable, I haven't abandoned it. I just haven't felt any movement on it. Funny thing about it was I was reading a book the entire time I was writing that story, and when I finished said book, my motivation for Turntable kind of died along with it. I hope to finish it soon, do not despair! For now, enjoy this…weird…thing as it unfolds.
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Rain like knives clattered against the paned windows, making them rattle and whistle against the weak seals. Inside the little hut, the blonde woman sat near the fire, looping thread through the hem of a skirt. Her fingers ached; she wasn't sure exactly how long she'd been at this, but it kept her busy. Valka had been gone since before evening fell, and she needed to keep herself awake. It was customary that they waited for the other to return before meals or going to bed. An unspoken rule that had never been broken until tonight when Astrid slowly slurped at her bowl of lamb stew, unable to delay her growling belly any longer. But she would stay awake. That much she could manage as long as she kept busy.
She groaned and jabbed the needle through the fabric again, loosening a kink in the thread. She hated sewing. She had never been good at it, always losing her patience, her legs aching from the act of sitting still for a long period of time. She wasn't used to working at a task that required such refined motor skills.
Frustrated with her lack of ability and the length of Valka's absence, she tossed the skirt aside into the mending basket once she'd knotted the end of the thread.
Lightening lit up the room, overpowering the fire's glow and throwing slanted shadows across the wide room. Their hut was seemingly small, but enough for the two of them, with a loft that jutted over the small shed at the back of the house, a wall hiding it and narrow stairs leading up to it. The kitchen and sitting area all connected but had obvious definition, and Valka's small bedroom was sectioned off with a door just off the sitting area.
Astrid had lived here since she'd been orphaned. Other children from the near village had come and gone, but Astrid had always remained, even still to her eighteenth birthday when most other girls were married off and birthing children. It was choice, a combination of her need to be independent and the knowledge that the village held nothing for her. For either of them.
She was not certain of all of the details of Valka's separation from them, but their visits were scarce and when they needed to go down to the small and sturdy village set on the jutting cliff, it was quick and hardly social.
Even with the separation between them, the villagers always seemed to find a purpose for the mad-woman that lived up in the mountains. Children, when they were left parentless either by dragon attack or sickness, were put in Valka's care. This too was a rarity. Because the village had been established for five generations, families sprawled with aunts and uncles and others who would take in strays. But Astrid had been an exception after her only uncle had been shamed from the village and her parents killed. The Thorston twins were here when they were all young, but as unbelievable as it was, they were taken in by another family who were unrelated but had lost their own young children to dragon attacks. Since they returned to the village, Astrid had seen little of them.
So she remained as Valka's friend and partnered with her in maintaining their livestock and small crop, everything that attributed to the simple life they lived apart from the others on the island. She wasn't sure what had caused their companionship to last this long. Perhaps it was their mutual loneliness.
She was nearly ready to call it all off and go to bed without waiting for the other woman to return. The storm was intensifying, and though it had been morning since she'd seen Valka, she did not worry about her return. The woman was just as good about taking care of herself as Astrid was. She supposed that's what developed when necessity required it.
She stood, turning for the uneven steps that led up to the loft, but she whipped around again when the door crashed open, banging loudly against the inside wall.
A halo of lightening outside illuminated a tall and lithe figure, her damp braids heavy at her back, but a new load tossed over one shoulder. Astrid would've thought she carried a newly slaughtered sheep if the woman had not stepped into the warmer lighting of their house.
Her boots thudded heavily against the floorboards, making the house rumble differently than the lightening had. Astrid glared, ready to demand answers as to where she'd been and why she'd been gone so long, but her eyes rose again to the oversized bundle the woman carried.
A pair of tanned arms dangled lifelessly around her legs. A wet mess of dark hair and even wetter expanse of furs were what must've made Astrid think the human figure was livestock.
A breath puffed from the older woman's chest when she leaned low, gently shuffling and sliding the weight of the boy—man?—off her shoulder and into the large chair by the fire that Astrid had only just vacated.
"What are you doing?" Astrid demanded in a low whisper but almost too bitterly. Her eyes shifted between the woman and the new guest. His body folded naturally into a curled mass, head falling limply against the side of the chair. His arm escaped from the furs he was wrapped in, dangling over her basket of mending, dripping dirty rain drops into it. She scowled. "Where have you been?" Her words were rushed into two combining questions.
Valka was busy tugging the matted cloak of furs around the boy's lifeless shoulders. She smoothed away his mangled hair from his face with one tender motion that Astrid was not unfamiliar with.
"Who is that?" she hissed, stepping closer but standing in Valka's shadow.
"I found him. He's not injured, but unconscious. And he would've caught his death out there if I had left him." She was moving to the tiny alcove under Astrid's stairs, where there was a tiny cot and a makeshift bedroll they rarely used.
"Is he from the village?" With full view of the body now, Astrid leaned nearer, arching forward so she wouldn't be too close but close enough to see the dark fan of lashes that brushed against the boys cheeks, his dark eyebrows knit close in sleep and a strong jaw. Freckles were peppered over his skin where there were not streaks of mud that blurred them. She could not place the features, but he did not look unfamiliar. There was a tiny scar at his chin that stood paler than the rest of skin under the fire's glow, and she would've missed it otherwise.
"No," Valka answered, un-cinching the roll and flattening it over the thick animal skin of the cot.
"You found him alone?"
"You're full of questions, aren't you?" the woman said, turning toward her adoptive-daughter and trying a smile, though Astrid knew her well enough to notice something in her expression that was off. Something that was harsh. Worried? She couldn't place the emotion.
The woman turned back to her work and spoke again. "Alone. In the cove. I don't know where he came from or how he got here, but I couldn't very well just leave him. He'll stay with us until we can figure it all out."
Astrid turned back to look at the boy, her braid falling over her shoulder. The rain on his skin was drying and he features seemed to have relaxed since he'd been brought out of the cold. Harsh hail slapped the windows now, and maybe it was a good thing that this strange boy had been brought here after all. Valka often cared too much for life, Astrid thought. She was always bringing weak and injured animals home, and had devoted herself in the past to loving the children the village no longer wanted. It was a blessing and curse to care for things that deeply. It had brought her here, but that same devotion always seemed to leave Valka on the short end of things. She hoped this wasn't another of those situations.
When Valka asked, she helped to cradle his head while they moved him to the cot. His hair was soft and damp but tangled, and in some places had even become dreadlocks. In the firelight, it glowed a warm rusty chestnut color. When the new and dry furs drooped over his shoulders, Astrid saw for the first time that he was wearing only a threadbare tunic. It was old and tattered with holes at its collar, and soaked through with rainwater. Valka shifted the covers again to tuck beneath his chin. He needed as much heat as they could provide.
Once he was covered, Astrid backed away. Something about this boy did not feel right. It was not her usual protective instincts that told her so. It was something different. She would not get too close.
For a moment, the boy shifted uncomfortably and made the tiniest of noises. Valka was there, shushing him and smoothing his hair back again. He quieted and did not wake.
Once the strange boy was settled and the slow rhythm of his breathing matching the fire's hiss, the women parted into their rooms. Astrid tip-toed up to her loft, glancing down for one last look at the lost boy's face. Where had he come from? Who was he? And how had he ended up on their island, with no ship or boat or crew to speak of (at least none that Valka had mentioned). Would he tell them? Would he be gone before either of them woke tomorrow?
There weren't any answers. Not tonight. Astrid eased her door shut with the tiniest of clicks so as not to wake him, not completely out of politeness. On the other side of her door was the unknown, and she would cause as little disturbance as possible to it, to the intruder.
The storm had waned, but wind still whispered against her window. It did not ease her mind or quicken her sleep.
She slipped to the edge of sleeping for awhile, somewhere between dreaming. A younger woman stood out on the very limits of her dreams, and Astrid couldn't remember all of her features. But she was there, in a soft green dress the color of fresh spring grass with a long mane of golden hair that matched her own. Nearby, the sturdy figure of a man floated with a heavy battle axe gripped tight in his hand. Their silhouettes were fuzzy and frazzled, like the ends of a fur pelt before it had been properly sewn off. They rippled in an inhuman way, like they were reflections on water, almost as if they were getting closer, but she knew they were never would. They never did in these visions. This was how she always remembered them: far away and not quite complete. She should've been surprised she remembered them at all.
Did the boy have people like this? Did he have anyone searching for him? He was grossly filthy and unkempt, and Astrid could imagine no mother that would allow their child to look such a way, especially from the village. Perhaps he was alone. However the waves had washed him up to their shore, it was just as well. They were both alone, she and Valka. And they had managed so far. Another lost one would fit in nicely with them, she supposed.