Need You Now
--
Leaf after golden leaf crunched under the woman's feet as she dashed through the forest, a light-brown package tucked carefully under her arm. Rays of golden sunshine streamed through the leafy canopy overhead, but she paid the light no mind as she rushed to the forest's center. Once she reached the spot where the dirt flooring under her feet turned to lush, green grass, she collapsed to the ground, tears forming in her eyes. Her package dropped to the ground beside her, and the sound of glass clanking against glass filled the forest.
Heather sat in front of a large object placed directly in between two single pine trees. The name on the tombstone belonged to her late father, and she stared at it blankly in fading recognition.
"You...You did this to me," she managed in between sobs. "You left me...to care for her...you knew..."
Another round of sobs racked the woman's frail body as she unknowingly dug her fingernails into the flesh of her palms. The pain from this went unnoticed as she continued to stare at the tombstone, her eyes narrowing at the image.
"You had no right to die and leave us all alone. We needed you, but you just...you couldn't be that considerate, could you?" she mused aloud, shaking her head. "You couldn't have put us first..." she mumbled as she recalled the night her father had left her world forever.
--
The young blonde girl ran into the waiting arms of her father as he knelt at the end of their yard. Tired and weary, the man had just arrived home from work. From his position on the ground, he wrapped his daughter in his arms gratefully and stood up, making his way towards their tiny cottage by the edge of the lake. A winding dirt path led around this lake to the entrance of a wild forest, the home of many animals. This path he did not take, however, and instead walked into the open door of his home.
Heather giggled childishly as her father sat her down in a newly purchased wooden chair to the left of a matching table. He took his dusty sage cap off and placed it on a hook by the door. Running a hand through his tangled brown hair, he sighed.
"Well, little lady, I don't suppose ya've fixed us any supper, have ya?" he joked as he began rummaging through a kitchen cupboard.
"Nope. I did get mama's medicine from Mr. Baker though," the girl replied thoughtfully, carefully watching her father as he pulled out a small cutting knife and began scraping some of the carrots given to them by the neighbors. Reminded of the meeting earlier that morning, the blonde exclaimed, "He gave me a shiny red apple too!"
Her father sighed, "People have got to quit giving you things."
"Why? He said with Mama bein' sick and all, he figured we could use the help..."
The man shook his head. "Just because someone else may think you need something doesn't mean you do. You have to learn to do some things for yourself," he explained, setting the knife over to the side.
"So you're saying that I should have taken the apple off of his tree myself rather than letting him get it for me, right?"the youngster asked, trying to grasp just what it was her father was trying to tell her.
"No, Heather, that's stealing, and I don't want to ever catch you doing that. Hear me?"
"Yes, Sir..."
--
Heather laughed. Here she was, making a living from the thing her father had many a times advised her against. She could already imagine the look her would give her if he saw her now. Those deep blue eyes would be filled not only with such sadness, but likely even with disappointment in her actions.
That doesn't matter though. He's the one that left me to fend for myself and Mother, she justified the actions to herself in her head. He can't blame me for trying to keep her alive. Besides, she thought, he died after that.
--
Heather sat in her father's lap later that night as he opened the evening paper. She closed her eyes as he read some of that day's headlines to her—-headlines that she could no longer remember now, being such a trivial detail in the night her father was murdered. They listened to the quiet patter of rain hitting the roof.
It was then, as they sat by the roaring fire that flew bright orange and red blazes around and lit up the room, that there came a knock on their front door. A loud, rap, pound, rap noise filled the tiny cottage, causing Heather's eyes to fling themselves open. She stared at her father in shock.
"Don't worry; I'll see who it is," he assured her as he picked her up off his lap and set her back in the chair. Grabbing his wood-chopping axe from beside the door, his fingers inched toward the knob. "Who's there?" his voice bellowed, resonating off of the cottage walls.
"Matthias, Sir!" a youthful voice exclaimed from the other side of the door. "There's trouble in town!"
Her father quickly reached for the knob and swiftly pulled the door open. A young boy, between the ages of twelve and fourteen, rushed in. His emerald hair was unkempt and highly disturbed from the wind outside. It lay plastered to his face and head in places, likely from contact with the now-pouring rain. His clothes dripped water onto their dirt floor; his eyes were filled with fear.
"Well, what is it, boy?" her father queried, staring at Mr. Baker's youngest son.
"There are...there are some rowdy men in the bar. My dad's requestin' your help with 'em, Sir," Matthias managed between pants, his lungs being winded from his seemingly-endless run from his father's inn to their small cottage.
The older man nodded. "I see." Turning toward his young daughter, he warned, "Stay in the house until I get back."
"But, Papa! You can't leave," she pleaded, jumping down from her chair.
The man readjusted his grip on his axe and turned the knob of the door. The wooden structure was instantly, viciously forced open by the outside wind. "Stay here, Heather. I'll be back."
"You promise?" she asked stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest.
"Yes, I promise. Now be a good girl, and go sit with your mother until I return. Don't leave the house, and don't open the door for anyone. You hear me?"
She nodded and helplessly watched as her father and the boy older than she departed the house. "You better come back!" she yelled over the howling wind and slamming door. Blankly she stared around the house, a chill suddenly crawling down her spine as she glanced back at the door. She shrugged it off and walked to her mother's bedroom at the back of the house, not realizing that that would be the last she'd see of her father.
--
As it turned out, promises weren't anything. You couldn't make someone promise to live and actually hold them to it. It was quite childish of her to even think that, but then again, she was only three.
"You left us alone, with no one to care for us."
--
For two days and three nights Heather had remained in the house, awaiting the return of her father. She took care of her mother as best she could, remembering to give her her medicine and preparing what small meals she could. They weren't comfortable, but they were alive.
On this particular morning, however, Heather realized that she could no longer keep her promise to her father. As fate would have it, when the young girl went to retrieve her mother's medicine from the cabinet, she found the bottle to be empty. She was only three, but she knew that without her daily spoonful of this foul-smelling liquid, her mother would suffer. She'd seen her before when she had forgotten her medicine. The woman became weaker, and she coughed constantly. Though her father had tried to protect her of this, the girl also knew that her mother coughed up blood. This scene she never again wanted to witness, so she decided that breaking her promise to her father was worth keeping her mother alive and her pain minimum.
Kissing her mother on the forehead, she promised to return—-instantly regretting that choice of wording and deciding that a simple "I have to go to town" would be better. The girl pulled on the violet pair of boots her parents had gotten her the last holiday and reached for her bright yellow jacket. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a rubber band to keep it out of her face as she walked.
Standing on her tiptoes to reach the doorknob, she managed to wedge the door open and squeeze her way out of it. A chilly gust of wind instantly hit her body, and she pulled her jacket closer to her. Her boots sank in the deep mud as she walked, and the occasional puddles she came across left her pant legs soaked and freezing. The wind continued to challenge her as she walked towards Melior.
She shivered as she walked slowly down the dirt road she knew her father always took when he went to the bar to pick up her mother's medicine. Just the other day she had walked this road as the sun shined brightly and the colorful birds of spring sang their songs of joy. Now, she could barely make out where she was going.
Dark clouds loomed over her as she reached the edge of a forest along the road she walked. A small tan dog ran at her from somewhere behind her and fell in step at her heels.
"Hey, boy," the girl crooned, reaching down to pet the dog. She continued chatting aimlessly to the animal as they walked towards the capital city of Crimea. "Just look at those clouds..." she mumbled more to herself than to the dog, as she stared up at the fast-moving clouds above her. "Eek!" she exclaimed as she fell to the ground. Carefully, she pulled herself out of the mud and looked behind her at the large rock she hadn't before noticed. "Heh, I guess I should have paid more attention." She laughed as she looked down at her jacket. "Great, it's all muddy!" Using the back of her hand, she tried to wipe some of the mud off her face but only succeeded in smearing it across her cheek and forehead. She shrugged. "Oh well."
--
By the time she made it into town, the large black clouds had begun releasing their contents on Melior. People rushed left and right across the street, pulling their hoods over their heads and pulling out umbrellas to try to avoid the rain. Heather continued walking, having no hood or umbrella to shield her from the harsh weather.
She reached the inn her father had gone to that night and walked through the open door. All around the room, men stood huddled in groups, talking in hushed voices. Heather paid them no mind and walked straight up to the counter where the innkeeper was talking to a man who looked to be in his early twenties.
"Excuse me," she said, tugging on the innkeeper's sleeve.
The man stared at her in shock. His companion noted the expression and gave him a confused look. "Who's she?"
"Marty's daughter," the other man answered, still staring at the girl in disbelief.
"I thought you told me he didn't have any family," the man unfamiliar to Heather stated in utter confusion.
Mr. Baker shook his head. "I forgot about her and his wife. I don't see them much." Remembering that the girl was still standing there, he knelt down in front of her. "What do you need, sweetie?"
"I came to get my Mama's medicine," she answered, paying close attention to the other man, who stared at her with sympathetic green eyes. He had dark emerald-green hair that was combed back in a neat fashion. He wore black armor, and at his waist a long silver sword was held in a scabbard covered in jewels.
"I see, little lady. I'll get that for you right away. You stay with Sir Renning, okay?"
The girl nodded, never taking her eyes off the man the innkeeper had just called 'Renning.' He managed a smile at her. "What's your name, honey?"
"Heather," she answered flatly.
"That's a nice name..." A few moments went by before he said anything else. "You came to get medicine for your mother, did you? That's nice of you. Is she sick?"
"She's dying. 'Least that's what the doctor says," the girl answered, looking at the man suspiciously. She could tell that he didn't want to be there talking to her; it was possible that he didn't want to be there at all. His eyes darted back and forth across the room, as if he was searching for something or someone.
"Ah, there she is. Come here, I want you to meet my niece," the man said, taking her hand and leading her over to a corner where a small girl sat.
The girl looked to be about Heather's age, maybe a year younger. Long azure hair flowed down to her waist and covered one eye. She wore a pure white dress made of silk and filled with ruffles and lace. A matching silk bow tied back the hair around her other eye. Long white gloves reached nearly to her elbows.
"Good afternoon, Lord Renning," she greeted him pleasantly as he walked the blonde-haired girl over to her position.
The duke smiled. "Honey, this is Heather."
"Nice to meet you, Heather. I'm Lucia," the girl said formally, standing up from the ground and dusting off her dress.
"Uhh, hi..." Heather managed, holding on to Renning's leg and attempting to hide behind him.
"Don't worry; she doesn't bite," the prince whispered in her ear as she looked at Lucia reluctantly. "Well, she won't bite you. At least not if you don't make her mad." He laughed when the girl gave him a terrified look, her eyes widening in shock. "I'm joking. Why don't you girls go play for a little bit until Mr. Baker has your package ready?"
"Okay, Uncle Renning!" Lucia exclaimed, grabbing Heather's arm and leading her across the room.
"Oh, and Lucia," her 'uncle' called after them, "don't bite her."
The blue-haired girl flashed him a devilish grin. "I won't."
--
Heather laughed at the reminder of the first time she had met Lucia Delbray. They were two girls from entirely different worlds, but the woman couldn't help but think that there was something they held in common. Yes, they had both fought in the war, and for the same side. Still, more connection was found in the fact that they had both lost a parent too soon.
She was able to get over it, why can't you? Heather thought bitterly.
Perhaps an answer could be found in their lifestyles. Lucia had grown up as a count's daughter with the princess. There were always people around her that could help her cope with the loss of her mother. Heather, she didn't have that. Her mother was ill, and she was forced to care for her.
She could move on with her life, but you're still stuck in the past.
--
The assassin closely observed the events in the forest from his spot in one of the shorter trees in the area. The tree, bearing bunches of golden red leaves, hid him from the rest of the world and allowed him to watch the blonde woman closely.
This woman, Heather, if he was not mistaken, was well known to the town as the thief with a golden heart. The townspeople knew that she was stealing from them, but they could see past that, knowing that what she did was only to care for her sick mother. They feigned anger at her, so as not to make other rogues think they could get away with stealing, but deep down they were understanding.
Volke, surprisingly, had quite a bit of respect for this woman. He had known thieves in the past who had become, as they saw it, "masters of their trade." Ignorance and cockiness clouded their better judgment, leading to the end of their lives. Heather was always aware of her surroundings and never let her guard down, no matter how small the mission she was on.
Well, maybe it would be more just to correct himself. She never let her guard down, save for this incident taking place right now. Her grief and anger clouded her mind as she sat on the forest floor.
As Volke quietly slid down the trunk of the tree, the woman did not do so much as to even look back to see him. As quiet as he was, he knew that she had a special talent for determining when someone was behind her. There was no doubt in his mind that had these circumstances been different, a dagger would have swiftly been thrown his way half an hour ago.
--
"This is my territory, you know," the gruff voice of a man said from behind the Whisper.
The woman turned her head back, placing a hand on the dagger strapped to her waist. Standing a few feet behind her was the dark-haired assassin known as the Fireman. His black robes flew in the wind; a deep red cloth was fastened around his forehead. Matching cloth covered his nose and mouth. A dull scarf hung loosely around his shoulders. The brown boots he wore were covered in a thin layer of mud, and blood dotted his outfit.
"Since when is this your territory?" she inquired, giving him a disbelieving look.
"Well, let's just say one of the thieves under your command may have met his untimely death the other night," he answered with a smirk. "However, I would be willing to give the territory back to you...for a price."
The blonde contemplated this offer in her mind for a few minutes. She couldn't just allow another rogue to occupy territory so close to her mother's cottage, could she? Contact with a man such as Volke was already too much--she couldn't have him this close to her, could she? The woman sighed, "What do you want?"
"Tell me what's bothering you," he stated simply.
Heather shook her head. "Why would you want to know that?"
"Five-thousand," came his blunt reply.
"Hm?" she muttered in confusion.
"It'll cost you five-thousand to know why I need this information," he explained.
The rogue laughed. "I should have known you'd do this. After all, you're a man; you can't be trusted--none of you can. Just so you know, I'm not giving you any money, and I'm not telling you anything I don't have to. If you honestly want to know what's bothering me, it's you and all the other stupid men in this world. You're all so nosy and make promises that you'll never keep."
The man raised an eyebrow at her bitterness. "I don't know what's happened to you in the past, but it must have been awful for you to act this way."
"Like you'd know anything," the blonde mumbled, glancing down at the muddy earth around her.
"Maybe you're right, but I do know how it feels to be alone. So just tell me what's really bothering you."
"Why are you being so nice to me? Why are you all being so nice to me? I steal from all of you; I'm no hero!" she screamed at him in frustration.
The assassin sighed deeply. "You may be no hero by common standards, but in my book there are two different types on heroes--the ones that save the world...and the ones that save its people," he stated, gesturing towards the package that had previously landed a few feet from the woman. "To answer your previous question, we're all so nice to you because we care. People may not always show it--hey, they may never show it--, but they do care."
Heather stared at him blankly. "Y-You know, Volke," she stuttered, "that may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I never knew you could be so...friendly."
"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't. I don't want anything that happened here ruining my reputation, just like I'm sure you don't want anything to ruin yours," he told her, using his glove to wipe a tear from her cheek.
"Right. Of course."
Volke stood up and grabbed the woman's package from the ground. Handing it to her, he turned around and followed the path to the forest's exit. He paused for a moment and turned around. "Oh, and Heather," he yelled back to her, "I never had control of this territory."
She glared at him as he turned back around and disappeared into the shadows of the trees. Shaking her head, Heather mumbled, "I should have known he'd trick me."