The Chimera

This is my first time writing a serious Twilight fic. This story is AU and the characters are fairly OOC. Obviously, M-rated and slashy – proceed with caution!

One: Red Herring

The Volturi have berserkers.

It takes a cruel and unusual kind of magic to raise such monsters. They are so fierce and beastly in their bloodlust that they can be heard and seen even from the very back of the enemy lines. Dark spells turn these men against nature, erasing their humanity, rendering them unrestrained, with no control over their rage. Their eyes glow red, their jaws unhinge, they rise in stature and frame until they rival the size of a full-grown grizzly, then they charge. Caius keeps one close to his person, as a guard. Edward's men named him the Chimera, because all they see is a wild blonde mane, then there's nothing but blood, screaming, and the sound of bones being torn through skin.

The endeavour to drive the Volturi back to their land would have ended months ago if Edward's men didn't balk at the cry that turns their blood cold. "The Chimera! It's here, it's here!"

Edward has never seen the Chimera, but he heard his men whisper the rumors passed on from Emmett's camp. It has a roar like thunder, black fangs that tear through flesh like knives, breathes acid smoke that bursts into flames, and stands twice as tall as any man. Six months into the campaign, Edward still remains skeptical.

"Tell your men to keep their stories to themselves, Emmett," he tells his brother peevishly. "It's bad for morale."

Emmett grimaces. "They can't help it. The Chimera is a nightmarish thing. I've seen it from afar. It looked like a hurricane laying waste to everything in his path."

"Did he breathe fire?" Edward asks sardonically.

"It could have been," Emmet answers seriously, "although I think the red I saw was from the spray of blood. All I know is we found a body of one of my men with his face ripped clean off the skull."

Edward scowls. "Well we can't get close to Caius with that berserker growling next to him."

"And you can't beat the Chimera," Emmett sighs. "My men will tell you I've tried. I'm hoping it'll wear out soon. These berserkers don't survive for long. The magic takes a toll, I imagine, shreds them from the inside. But if you could be rid of it and capture Caius, father will make you heir. They're already calling you the Great Defender."

Edward has many names. The people affectionately call him the Princeling because he is the younger son of King Carlisle, and his elder brother Emmett has long outgrown pet names. In the capital they call him Edward the Good, because he has compassion for the least of them. Here in the borderlands they tout him as Edward the Conqueror, but the closest he has been to a battle is in the tent behind the lines. He wages wars on his sprawling leather maps with little wooden armies.

And that is where he stands now, bending over stretched leathers, examining the crisscrossing lines. He twirls a rough wooden block, carved into the shape of an archer, between his long fingers. His dark brows are furrowed in thought; long slender neck arched, and emerald irises flickering in the lamp light. His bronze hair is cropped unfashionably short in the style of military men. It's his attempt to deter sniggering soldiers in the camp from calling him Edward the Handsome. But the hair does nothing to take away from his sculpted jaws, chiselled cheeks, straight nose, or full lips. Edward takes after the king in his youth, with a face like a demi-god's.

Emmett sits on the other side of the long table, weighed down in his full armour, and his metal-clad hands folded over the hilt of his broadsword. His tough, commanding bearing is only slightly diminished by his deep dimples and the soft unmanly curls upon his head. Edward, unlike his brother, isn't a soldier, and wears no armour. Instead he is donned in his riding clothes – thick breeches, boots, and a soft tunic, tied in the front. His cloak is unclasped and draped over his shoulders. He succumbed to fatigue earlier in the day and slept with it wrapped around him in his little camp cot. Emmett woke him a few hours ago, as the night fell. They are waiting for their scouts to return from the Volturi camp, whose torch lights flicker on the other side of the riverbank.

Outside the tent, the men are nervous; sweating in their armours, their tense faces painted white under the moonlight. For farmers, a greedy neighbour meant missing sheep and lines of borderlining stones that moved in the middle of the night. For Kings, a greedy neighbour meant smoke rising from ransacked villages, and unfriendly troops snaking through the valleys. And the Volturi are certainly very greedy neighbours. It's been a hard campaign, with heavy losses on account of the Chimera. They are holding out for the swift end to dispute that Prince Edward promised them. Upon his battle plans, drawn and formed over his many maps, rides all of their hopes.

"They're back!" Came the shout, and a flurry of movement ensues, hushed voices are raised and armours clink in a chorus.

The scout burst through the tent flap, caked in mud and silt from wading through the marshes along the riverbank. "Your Grace, and Your Grace."

Emmett jumps to his feet, clanging as he goes. "What news?"

"Caius broke camp," the scout reports, "just as Prince Edward foresaw. Two parties have already begun to retreat through the valley."

"Where is Caius?" Edward asks quietly.

"There was no sign of his banner, Your Grace," the scout says, "but the Chimera is still chained at the camp."

Edward places the wooden archer onto the map. "We should give chase. Caius must be expecting to lose us in the valley."

Emmett turns to look at him. "If his berserker is at the camp then Caius must be there still. The retreat is a ruse. He could set up an ambush in the mountain paths."

Edward frowns down at his map. "Caius is a cautious man. If he plans to retreat he would be the first one riding out of the camp. And we won't have to follow them into the mountains. If we flank him here…" he points.

Emmett shakes his head. "Trust me, brother. Caius is inseparable from his berserker. It was that way when they first entered our borders thirteen months ago, it was that way when you joined us in the valley, and it will be that way still."

Edward has misgivings, but Emmett is bull-headed when he thinks he's right, and it's nearly impossible to convince him otherwise. Plus, they didn't have enough men to advance on the enemy camp and give chase at the same time. If the berserker is across the river still, Edward wants all his men there, to ensure Emmett's safety if nothing else. "Surround the camp, then, and cut off the retreat," he says finally. "I will join you at your signal. Here."

Edward picks up a talisman from the corner of the table. He dabbles in magic in his free time, and follows the court sorcerers through their towers like their shadow. He made this one himself, as to not be completely defenceless. Luckily, he hasn't had the opportunity to use it thus far. It is a talisman for strength, carved onto a hollowed tiger fang, filled with the blood of a wild long haired bull, and sealed with blue glowing runes. He threads it through a thin leather thong and holds it out to Emmett. "Keep it on your neck," he says, and at Emmett's doubtful look adds, "in case you lose your sword."

Emmett takes it and ties it impatiently around his neck. He leaves in a rush, eyes gleaming with excitement. He may be the elder prince, but he has not had enough of the glory and fame that comes with the battle. For this reason, King Carlisle has hinted that he intends to make Edward heir to the throne. He prefers a level-headed strategist under the crown, not a bright-eyed boy in a man's body, playing soldier without regards for his life.

But Edward doesn't want the throne. He wants to be left alone with his books and his magic. He has no desire to bear the weight of the royal circlet or the responsibilities of a king.

Edward thinks he can find a way to convince his father to pass the sceptre to Emmett, but for that to happen, he needs to ensure Emmett will remain alive for the foreseeable future. His joining of the campaign against the Volturi is mostly an effort to keep an eye on Emmett. His brother is as reckless as he is brave, and oftentimes that, coupled with a bit of bad luck, can find a man with his face ripped from his skull.

Outside, two red flares burst in the night sky. Edward blows out his lamp and heads outside. He mounts his horse with two of his bannermen, and they circle around the bend of the river, to the shallows, and crosses onto the other side. A gaggle of wide-eyed soldiers greet him.

"The Chimera is caught, Your Grace," they exclaim, as if they are in disbelief.

"Where is my brother?" Edward asks.

"By its cage, Your Grace. The Chimera, Your Grace. He caught it, Your Grace."

Edward has no time for or interest in the berserker. "What about Caius?" he demands.

"Gone," the soldiers answer.

Edward groans under his breath. He knew he was right. Caius probably snuck out of camp at the first sign of darkness. He left the berserker behind as a red herring. Of course Emmett would fall for a trick like that.

Edward steers his horse towards the centre of Caius's abandoned camp. The men are hollering, and there is a deep, unrecognizable growl in the midst of it. It's a guttural sound. It shakes the ground and makes Edward's horse falter in its steps. He dismounts, not liking the prospect of being thrown off if the animal panics. Edward pushes through the crowd of soldiers, towards where he can already see the top of Emmett's head, bobbing as he rears back in a hearty laugh.

In the centre of the circle of the men, Emmett stands arm-length from a low, iron-wrought lion cage. It is draped in thick, dark cloth, obscuring the berserker that Edward presumes it to contain. Under the cloth, the growling sounds, and the bars rattle as if something heavy has been thrown against it. The men yell and whoop.

Emmett has the tip of his sword pointed at the locking lever on the cage door. "Shall I?" he bellows.

The men roar in anticipation.

Edward dashes forward and seizes Emmett's free arm, the metal of the armour cold against his palm. "Emmett!" he says warningly.

But it's too late.

Emmett lifts the latch.

Edward sees the hard outlines of the cage door being opened under the drapes. There is a lowly snarl, then a flash of blonde hair, glittering and yellow under the light of the men's torches, and the drapes are flapping in the wind. Edward glimpses white pointed teeth, and black, black eyes.

Before Emmett has a chance to raise his sword, Edward reaches up and breaks the leather thong off Emmett neck. He puts the talisman between his molars and crushes it, tasting the tang of blood on his tongue for a split second before feeling the power rush through him.

There is wind in his ears, and a sharp tingling that spread from the base of his neck downwards. When Edward raises his arms, they feel like feathers. His vision blackens at the edges as he charges towards the threat in front of him.

There is a heavy thud as his left forearm slams into the berserker's chest. The force sounds like thunder claps and by rights it should have broken bones. Edward only feels a dull throbbing of pain. With his right hand he grabs a handful of wavy blonde hair, and jerks it backwards, keeping the violent snapping jaws from coming to contact with his person.

Edward throws his weight effortlessly against his assailant, feeling light as air, and noting how heavily the berserker's body is thrown onto the dirt ground, and how little of that impact he feels as he lands on top. His tunnel vision narrows his focus to the thrashing body underneath him.

He watches as the berserker's body begins to shrink. The pulsing veins in the thick neck begin to disappear as the bulging muscles shrank into sinewy lines. The inch-long fangs retract, leaving red lines of blood through soft, full lips. The inky black color of the widened eyes gives way to white, and Edward glimpses dark brown irises before eyelids flutter close.

Edward allows the talisman's power to fade as he slowly eases himself off the berserker. The rush of wind in his ears falls to silence. He looks around at the men, who are regaling him with bulging eyes, jaws dropped. He glances up at Emmett, who drops his sword and bends to haul Edward to his feet. "You needn't do that," Emmett says quietly, feigning nonchalance though he is clearly concerned. "I could have taken him."

"And come out of that tussle minus an arm and an eye?" Edward replies, "I don't think so."

Emmett stares down at the still body in the dirt, metal-clad hands resting on Edward's shoulders. "Just a boy," he says, almost as if disappointed, "hardly older than you."

The berserker is indeed young. Or maybe it's just how thin his face looks, framed by dirty blonde tresses that ripple down to the top of his shoulders. His hair is matted with dried blood, dirt, and gods know what else. He has long arms and legs. His pale skin is etched with a hundred jagged scars, a thousand, even. Then those eyes snap open. They are dark, almond eyes, deep and soulful. They blink up at Edward with a mix of anger, agony, and fear.

"Throw him back in the cage," Emmett says loudly. "The rest of you, get to work."

As the men finally break their stunned silence and scatter, Edward watches four daring volunteers come forward to seize the young man. They slide him back into the cage without trouble. The man has no apparent desire to fight.

Edward circles the cage once. Those brown eyes follow him all around.

"What is your name," Edward asks quietly.

"It can't speak," Emmett says from behind. "It can hardly understand. Mind's all broken, tortured into madness. It's not lucid, Edward. It's not people."

"He looks reasonably sane," Edward tells him. "Don't you think so?"

"No," Emmett answers. "You saw how it was before you subdued him. Whoever it was before, it is him no longer. It's been reduced to an animal."

Suddenly the berserker's lips twitches upwards. "Jasper," he rasps. "My name is Japer."

Edward feels a pang of pity. The man is huddled in the far corner of his cage, fingers clutching the shredded remains of his clothes. He struggles between slouching and sitting up straight, his eyes regard his captors warily. Edward crouches near him, holding onto an iron bar.

"Your master left you behind, Jasper," Edward tells him.

Jasper makes a small noise in his throat that makes Edward's heart skip a beat.

Edward continues, voice soft, "He left you here to die in his place."

Jasper doesn't reply to that.

"But we won't hurt you," Edward says, mollifying, "as long as you don't hurt us. How does your master bring on your bloodlust?"

Jasper's bleeding lips are pressed into a line. His gaze is hard as he regards Edward. His brown eyes flicker up and down Edward's person, as if taking him in, evaluating him. Edward feels the corner of his lips tugging upwards into a small smile. Jasper looks away. "The whip," he replies finally.

"The whip," Edward repeats, watching Jasper wince at that. Edward doesn't know what that is, but it sounds like Caius has to go through some reasonable trouble to induce Jasper into bloodlust. It is reassuring, at the least, to know that Jasper isn't likely to be set off by the smallest prod.

"If we let you out of the cage, Jasper, will you run back to your master?"Edward asks gingerly.

Jasper meets his gaze with a look of hopeful surprise. That's enough for Edward.

He motions to his bannermen. "Unlatch the cage," he commands. "Clean him and give him some new clothes. Take him to see the healer if need be. Then bring him to my tent."

His men glance at each other, then at Edward, then at Emmett. "Your Grace?"

Emmett shakes his head defeated. "Do as he says…although if it were me, Edward, I'd kill it now and be rid of it."

Edward gives Emmett a pointed look as they turn away from the cage. "I think he's valuable to Caius," he says in an undertone as they walk back to the horses. "I think we have gained some leverage."

"If it was so valuable, Caius wouldn't have left it behind," Emmett replies.

"Caius made a gamble. To save his own neck he sacrificed a prized soldier, but at the first chance he can he would want Jasper back. I'm sure of it." Edward mounts his steed and steers it back towards their camp.

Emmett pulls up next to him atop his own brute of a warhorse. "That thing isn't a soldier. It's a weapon, like the hunting hounds we keep in the kennels back in the capital."

"Not it, brother," Edward says curtly. "He is a man who serves his master in battle. He is a soldier."

Emmett snorts. "I should tell our father and our vassals to stop trying to entice you with pretty maidens. I should tell them you prefer gleaming fangs and black beastly eyes instead of silky hair and soft velvet creases between the thighs."

Edward scowls, refusing to give Emmett the satisfaction of a snippy retort.

Emmett takes that as an invitation to continue. "I advice against it, personally," he says, waggling his dark eyebrows. "Those sharp little teeth could tear up your nether parts. The monster could have an unrivalled appetite. But if you come out unscathed we'll have to stop calling you Edward the Pure."

In annoyance, Edward spurs his horse into a run. But Emmett isn't one to back down easily, so he does the same, keeping pace alongside his brother.

"We should have a festival," Emmett says as they returned to camp, "and see who can find the Princeling the most frightening monster to warm his bed."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Speaking of beds, you should get to yours. We will give chase to Caius as soon as dawn breaks."

Emmett disappears into his own tent laughing, leaving Edward glaring after him.

Edward hardly had the time to shuck his cloak and kick off his boots before the flap of his tent is opened again. He looks up.

Jasper is swaying, unsteady on his feet. He has a thick collar around his neck, from which several metal chains are attached, and held on the other end by Edward's bannermen. If they were not yanking on the chains, Jasper probably would have collapsed. One of Edward's men is holding a long bamboo rod, striking Jasper smartly on the back of each calf intermittently, prompting him to stagger forward at half shuffling steps.

"What is this?" Edward says, barely containing his outrage. "Take off the collar, and stop hitting him, you'll drive him into bloodlust."

His men stare at him, uncomprehending. The one with the bamboo steps forward. "It won't if we don't draw blood, Your Grace. I heard it's the blood that sets it off."

Edward clenches his hands, trying to rein in his temper. "Take off his collar," he says tersely, between gritted teeth.

His men look uneasy. "Your Grace, it's dangerous."

Edward's eyes flicker over to the corner of his long table, where another one of his talismans sits amongst his maps. "You're dismissed."

"But, Your Grace…"

"Leave."

Jasper wobbles slightly as the chains are dropped to the floor, but catches himself. There is a tick in his jaw and a hollowness in his cheeks, as if he is on the brink of collapsing, but is refusing to let himself fall out of pure stubbornness.

Edward steps forward slowly, and watches Jasper's eyes as he reaches for the clasps of the collar. Jasper meets his gaze steadily, dark brown eyes shifting between wary watchfulness and a vacant distant look. When Edward's fingers brushes against the skin on Jasper's neck, he doesn't flinch or turn away. He is the same height as Edward, but perhaps a year or two older. It's the gravity in this eyes and the set of his demeanour that ages his. His hair and soft features are those belonging to a youth. Standing this close, Edward can see the full extent of Jasper's scarring. He has many long angry lines descending from his face down his neck, it looks as if the skin was ripped open and only healed haphazardly, leaving behind unsightly bumps and grooves. The worst of the scars are on his jaw and his neck. It is as if someone had tried to put an axe through Jasper's neck, and missed, many, many times.

Jasper lowers his gaze as Edward appraises him. His dark lashes flutter against his pale skin, and he hangs his head, as if ashamed. Someone had run him through a bath, as Edward asked, but was not as thorough as Edward hoped. Someone has given him a pair of thin, dark trousers, and a wrinkled white tunic. He is still damp from his hurried bath, and splotches of fabric lightened with the water and are stuck to his skin.

Edward has a mixed feeling of sadness and fury. If he has a soldier like this, who is fierce like Jasper, who is as feared, and as proud, Edward would never have him chained in a cage and left to the mercy of his enemies. He wonders how easily he could persuade Jasper to turn his back on Caius, and pledge his loyalty to Edward instead.

As the collar drops and the weight falls from Jasper's neck, he sways backwards. Edward quickly grabs him by the elbows. For someone who looks so thin, the berserker is unexpectedly heavy. Edward realizes perhaps without his talisman he wouldn't even be able to fight off Jasper, even when not in bloodlust.

The muscles under Edward's fingers tighten, and Jasper regains his balance. "Come," Edward manoeuvres him towards the chair.

Jasper sits, bracing his arm against the edge of the table. "I could kill you," he says, but there is no venom in his voice.

"Will you?" Edward asks easily. He pours a cup of water and sets it in Jasper's hand. Jasper throws back his head and downs the drink in one gulp.

"I could," Jasper says, wiping his mouth.

"Why?" Edward pulls up a chair and sits opposite him, watching Jasper's neck muscles ripple as he swallows. "I have no argument with you. My feud is with your master, who you should no longer feel any fealty for. He freed you from his command the moment he left you behind."

Jasper's eyes are blank, unfeeling, emotionless. "I heard you earlier. You're planning to use me to bargain with him."

Edward tries to hide his surprise at that, and is, despite himself, pleased to find that the berserker is alert and intelligent. Emmett is wrong. Again. "I would…if I could find him," Edward replies truthfully, "if you are willing to tell me where he fled to."

Something flickers through Jasper's eyes. It passed so quick that Edward can't place it. "I don't know," Jasper says thickly.

Edward allows himself a small grin. "Of course."

Later, after Jasper has curled up in the adjoining tent under watchful eyes of his guards, Edward finally settles into his cot. The fatigue washes over him the minute his head touches the pillow. He dreams of low, rumbling growls, blood spilling from the sky in a downpour, and brown, careful eyes. He dreams that he is walking over soft skin, stepping lightly over the supple flesh. He trips over the raised edges of jagged scars, and falls into blackness.

Edward wakes up sweating, with his tunic plastered to his back. He sits for a moment before pulling his sheets over his lap. He sits wishing he can forget the feeling those endless miles of pale, pale skin aroused in him, but he is staunchly reminded by the hardness between his legs.

xxx

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