A/N: This story will be rated M for gore, immorality/racism/injustice that is not pointed out as such, blood, slavery and general darkness. PAIRINGS NOT DECIDED. I'm wavering between Edward and Jasper at the moment: they seem the best suited for this story. Tell me in the reviews which you'd prefer, yeah?

Bella and most other "ancient" characters will have moral values, beliefs, religions, and ways of thinking that differ from what we expect from a well-raised, modern citizen.

Edit 2015-07-15: Some spelling errors corrected

Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga or anything related to its franchise. I earn no money from this.


Childe of the Swans

Chapter One: A Prehistoric Fall


Ca 4000 BC, British Isles

A sheep bleated in the darkness of our little tent. Father was snoring lightly from his place on the other side of my mother, holding her close to him as she slept through the howling wind of the night. My husband hiccupped when I turned on the large grass mattress I shared with them and I winced as I roused another sheep. The heat in our little tent – made out of wood and animal hides – was comfortable, even though the hearth was only a steadily glowing ember now. The body heat of my husband, parents and little siblings and the animals helped keep the dampness out, but it was still chilly if you poked a toe out from underneath the layers of pelts and hides and cloths that we had burrowed down among.

The need to pee, however, was stronger than the fear of the chilly outdoors or the howling wind.

With a last, suffering sigh I crawled out from the cozy sleeping area and padded across the pelt-covered ground to the tent opening. Mon, our dog, opened one of his eyes to check what I was doing but then went back to sleep, as did the sheep. I could barely see them in the faint light of the hearth, but I knew that the animals could see me easily enough. I smiled and shook my head. Not even Mon wanted to go outside in the middle of the night during early winter.

Once outside it was easier to see – despite the clouds, both the stars and the moon gave much light at this time of the moon-cycle and I easily found my footing on the rocky hillside where my grandparents had once built this homestead. About twenty longboats away, our land's high plateau gave away to a small rocky shore far below, and beyond that roared the frothing, cold waves of the ocean.

The area that was currently reserved for a latrine was not too far away from our tent and nights like this I was very thankful for that. The cold wind howled like pained wolves around me, between rocks and trees and through chasms, and I hurried to relieve myself before I got too cold. Once I was dressed again I started immediately for our family tent, only to pause after a few steps.

Was that… was that a sheep?

I tilted my head and focused on listening. Yes, it was a sheep bleating somewhere to the southwest, away from the shores.

"Elar?" I muttered, thinking of the ewe that had been lost a few days earlier. Could it really be Elar?

It wasn't something I could ignore. A sheep – especially an ewe as good a mother and wool-producer as Elar – was worth far more than a night's sleep. Father had been ever so angry when my youngest brother had lost the ewe and if I returned it, maybe it would all be forgotten. My brother was still only seven autumns old, and he had cried the whole day afterwards. If that was our sheep… we'd have several days of food in reserve again and a sheep worth's of more wool than we would have otherwise. The tribe could definitively use another sheep once the first snow came.

There was no discussion necessary, yet I hesitated for another short moment. Part of me wanted to go wake up my father or my husband, for I knew how dangerous it was to move alone in the darkness of the night, especially at this time of the year. Mother and a few of the other gatherers had heard wolves yesterday, and I wasn't stupid enough to not realize that dwarves and cruel, mischievous spirits of other kinds would have their eyes set on me if I as much as set foot outside our tribe. But at the same time, I also knew that if I were to find and bring Elar home on my own, I would be able to reap big benefits later. I might even be allowed to watch Wulfric make our new shoes instead of having to go fishing – and get a good excuse to spend quality time with his son Þunor, my beloved husband since five days. Þunor's mother was not too fond of me, but if I came to watch Wulfric work I should be able to get past the sour woman. Þunor worked with his father during the days, and I had not spent much daylight with him since we had given our pledges.

Before I could convince myself otherwise I set out towards where I thought the bleating had originated. For a moment the moon was hidden by the clouds and as empty darkness surrounded me, I had time to think that perhaps it was a trap by fairies or trolls or perhaps a face-stealer – there were many creatures out there that would mimic sounds to lure the healthy into danger.

I walked for a long while, constantly conscious of every turn of the animal trail I had chosen to walk along. Once in a while I could hear the sheep call for its herd, and to be honest it calmed my rushing heartbeat. Sheep were silent when they got hurt or scared, so it should mean that Elar was simply lost or stuck in a groove some-

The ground underneath my feet fell away as if pulled by invisible hands. With a scream I fell forward and down and down and the cold air rushed against my skin and there was no time to think anything but a plea to the Great Mother and then I hit the ground. I slammed down with my legs first, feeling the unbelievable pain tear through my left leg as if through someone else. Everything came to a jarring stop and it felt as if the sky dropped down on me; as if the very air was pressing me down against the cold stone below and forced the air out of my lungs. Could you drown on land? I was drowning on land.

I gasped for air and clawed around me, whimpering as I got a view of the cliff I had fallen down. Water lapped at me from the side and filled my right ear, and I couldn't understand because I had been so sure that I had been moving away from the shore. From above and beyond I hear the sheep bleat again and I couldn't help the cry that left me.

Help me! I tried to call, but nothing but a scream of anguish left me. I looked around, but it was too dark for me to see much of anything.

Many waves of the ocean passed, but then I could finally breathe properly again and tried to sit up, the wounded leg stretched out in front of me. With trembling fingers I touched and poked and prodded myself, screaming out as I touched my left leg at the knee and down.

I stared up at the sky, tears running down my face and into the salty ocean water next to me. The stars twinkled above, and though I was low below ground level – all the way down where the ocean met the pebble beaches and cliff shores – I had never felt closer to the lights. It felt as though I could reach out and almost touch them with my fingers, if only I stretched enough, and though I was still crying I couldn't help but smile. Every star was a mighty god and the night sky was the doorway to their home, I knew this and I knew the stories well, and I wished that one of the stars would come down for me because I couldn't reach them yet.

The cold hit me suddenly, as if I hadn't felt it before. I could feel it creep into my bones, gnawing like I imagined cruel spirits would and numbing me.

Were they demons? I shook and tried to beat the invisible beasts away, but couldn't reach them. I imagined I was already one step closer to the dark undergrown and I screamed because I didn't want to go there. I didn't want the face-stealers to have my face; I didn't want the creatures of the dark feeding on my flesh; I didn't want the boulder trolls to come alive and make me one of them. I wanted to go up to the stars, to the gods I had followed so faithfully for all of my very impressive eighteen years, but most of all I wanted to be whole and safe in my parents' home. What would happen, now that they had no daughter? Would they cry for me? I knew they would, yet I still found myself wondering if they would. What about my husband? What of fair, good-hearted Þunor? He would move back to his parents' tent, now that we would never get the chance to make our own. Would he find a new woman to share his life, all the ups and downs?

I didn't want to die, yet I knew that they couldn't help me now.

I knew, instinctually and through the prodding of fingers, that the bone in my leg was broken and my knee joint had popped. I would never walk again. My leg would kill me slowly – rocks that crushed limbs were infused with toxins of dwarves, and the toxins will make your body rot from within. I would be a burden to my family; unable to move from the cot, bringing sickness and death into our tent and tribe. They would have to feed me and bathe me and do everything for me, while I tried to outlive a useless, rotting leg.

I cried.

Who wants to die? I didn't. I had a family and a home. I had food and cover over my head at night and I was of good blood – I had survived to adult age, a testimony of my parents' skills and my own strength, I lacked no teeth for I used twigs to clean them like my grandmother had, and I had the love of strong and kind Þunor. The tribe would have helped us collect hides and branches for our own tent one day, and we would have had our own children to raise.

As I lay there in the dark, I wondered why the creatures that had lured me here were taking their time. Did they truly enjoy watching me suffer, or had something happened? I couldn't hear any commotion, as I imagined there would have been if my husband or father or brothers had arrived in time to fight the creatures.

"Hello?"

I screamed in fear as someone appeared at the edge of the cliff above, silhouetted against the starry night sky like I imagined a god would be. His skin, even from afar, glowed in the moon light and I knew he was not human. Deep red eyes looked down at me, but not with humor or cruelty or even indifference: instead, there was worry in his eyes that made me chip for breath. I didn't dare answer him and I bit my cheek to keep from whimpering as he suddenly appeared by my side.

I wondered if this was how a face-stealer looked. He was more handsome than I had ever imagined a human could be – so beautiful that I wanted to bend down and ask him to spare my lowly, dirty self. His clothes were as thin as high-summer clothes, as if the cold didn't bother him the slightest, and his skin of which plenty was bare was free of any dirt in a way I had never seen before – as if his skin did not absorb color and dirt anymore. I imagined that even blood would not smear on him and seep into his skin; instead I imagined it would pearl on his skin like morning dew on a flower. Even nature would not dare taint such flawless beauty.

"Oh, dear", he muttered as he crouched next to me, and I whimpered in fear even though I was breath-taken by his beauty. "This is not good."

An icy finger, a dead and stone hard finger, touched my finger and I tried to stay as still as I could. As if I could somehow fool him that I didn't exist. As if it would keep him from stealing my face. I wanted to plead, I wanted to scream that the face it had now was far more beautiful than mine could ever be. Not a sound escaped me.

"I can help you. I can take the pain away, forever." He leaned closer, red eyes searching mine and I believed him even though I knew he was going to kill me. "You will be like me. You will be so beautiful. You will run so fast, climb so high, jump so far. I can make you strong and powerful."

My chest heaved and I felt lightheaded. I believed him now – he was no face-stealer. I wanted to believe him.

"I can't go back", I rasped out, and I saw something flicker in his eyes.

Pain. Pity. Regret.

"Are you really a god?" I asked and somehow – somehow – I managed to lift a trembling hand to his face.

He seemed chocked that I would touch him. He froze, like a troll turned to stone yet beautiful like a star, and when I didn't remove my hand he put his own over it with red eyes so wide that I felt pity grow in my own heart.

"You're alone, aren't you?" I whispered to him. "You're alone. You're no god, no real god, but you're no face-stealer either. What are you?"

I was at his mercy, spread out on the rock by the ocean. I could not go home.

He didn't answer my questions.

"I can save you", he repeated.

For the first time that I could remember in my life, I begged. "Please."

He leaned down with pained eyes and I felt his lips against my throat.

And then the pain overwhelmed all else.


I didn't try to put the pain into words. There were no words for this pain. It went beyond broken limbs, beyond popped joints and beyond crushed toes.

When it was over – and I had thought it never would – I opened my eyes to a new world. The first thing I noticed was the colors. It was as though I had watched the world through a mist my whole life, and suddenly I could see colors I had never realized existed. I saw the dust in the air dance like fairies in the wind, I saw little lice and insects crawl across the individual treads of the blanket that covered me and I saw the pores in my skin as if I was holding my arm right in front of my eyes in bright daylight.

Then I saw my savior.

He was tall – extremely tall, I thought – with wide shoulders and the muscles of a man used to hunting and fishing. His hair was brown like my own, and his eyes were black with a red tint to them. He had little beard to speak of and it made him look boyish, like my younger brothers, though he had stubble. For some reason he had saved his beard over his upper lip, but though it was unfamiliar to me I felt it kept him from looking too childish.

He was undeniably attractive, though I could easily tell that he was much older than me. Perhaps he was twice my eighteen years – an amazing age for a man, not to mention to be so fit and handsome – but I had to admit that I felt no attraction to him. I should have – he was handsome and strong, and his eyes were compassionate even in their strange coloration. It would not be strange for us to give pledges, but I felt as if he would never be interested in me that way. I had given myself to another, but I knew in my heart that I would not be able to go back to him.

I sat up on the cot where I found myself, studying myself. I would admit that I had not met many others in my life, but I wanted to imagine that I was not hideous and that I was at least a decent match for someone out there. I was healthy and if I may say so myself I felt I could make a very good woman for any tribe, be it at the shore or inland – I knew the ways of life on water and land alike, even if my coordination had never been superb. I could gather, sow, fish and herd; I could cook and preserve food, sheer and milk the sheep. Few of my blood had died in childbirth, and I had good hips and a strong back even if my shoulders were narrow. And though I had no skills to brag about and no special aptitudes at tool-making, I was still of healthy blood. I knew how to keep my family alive, but little more, but I had always hoped that it would be enough. To Þunor it had always been enough.

Now I wasn't sure if it even mattered anymore.

"How are you feeling?" my savior asked me.

I licked my lips. "I feel… light. Like I don't weight much."

He smiled at me and nodded, and I stared in amazement as he pushed away the hides from the tent opening and sunlight streamed into the darkness around us. The rays of light hit him as though he was a precious stone, and light danced around the room as if he had stolen the light of the sun and now radiated it himself. It was amazing. It was beautiful. It was not human.

I didn't realize that I had gotten on my feet until he took my hand in his – yet it didn't feel cold anymore, and I wondered if I had imagined it before. He led me out the tent opening and I ducked under the low edge and then we were out in the open. I breathed in deeply and looked around in absolute amazement.

We were high up with a view of the ocean and cliffs that reminded me strongly of home, as though I could run and be home before the sun had traveled more than a hand length across the sky. The scent of sea hit me and I smiled and tilted my head back as the sun hit me. It felt unbelievably good and I wanted nothing more than to remain in the sun forever.

I smiled.

"We sparkle", I told my savior with a laugh. "Like stars! I am a star in the sun!"

He smiled, and if he thought me stupid for stating something so obvious while he stood there next to me, sparkling even brighter than I, he didn't show it.

"I am Charle", he said once I had taken to studying my own glittering hand in fascination. It looked like I had covered myself in miniscule, white precious stones of the kind my mother adored so.

"Sabelä", I answered and automatically dipped my head and grabbed his forearm in a shake. Again he looked shocked that I had touched him, and I chided myself. But how would I know what to do or how to act? I rarely met anyone outside Þunor or my own family, because we lived quite far away from the rest of our tribe, always at the outer edge even when it was time to leave for our summer home. "They call me Child of Swans."

He smile wider at me and I felt like I was betraying my father, because I liked Charle's smile more than even his. Charle felt like a childless father.

"I scent a good story there", he said with a chuckle. "And maybe I can tell you of my own names, but first there are things we need to cover. Does your throat hurt?"

I blinked. "It… it burns", I whispered, moving a hand to my throat. I hadn't even noticed the pain, but now it seemed as if I had the sun down my throat.

Charle nodded, as if he had expected it, and I felt stupid because of course he must have expected it if he had asked me about it.

"You need to feed", he said. "Come."

He turned east and then we were running. We were running so fast that the air sounded like thunder in my ears and the wind hit my eyes so hard that I should have been crying. I had only once experienced such speed that I could not keep my eyes wide open, and that had been when I had jumped off a tall ocean cliff once with my brothers. Instinctively, I knew I was moving many times faster than that now. Yet there was no discomfort – none at all. In fact, I felt a laugh bubble forth from my throat, but not my own. The laugh that left me was softer and smoother than my normal barking and it was sweeter than the wheezing laugh that escaped me when I lost control; it was a pretty laugh.

I didn't quite know what happened next until afterwards.

It wasn't like when I hunted rabbits in the past, or when I fished with only my hands in the river; there was no endless, silent waiting for my pray to come to me, there was no moment of holding my breath as I waited for the exact right moment to pounce. There was just a scent and a flash and then blood. It was sweet, sweet life that flowed down my throat like the drink of gods, and I drank like a man who had seen no water for two days. There was flesh and blood everywhere and I think the gray matter in my hands was a brain but at the time I didn't care.

Afterwards I screamed and cried and hit Charle over and over while he held me to his chest. There was no rabbit or fish or even deer or sheep. I had killed all those things and more in my long eighteen years, but this was no animal corpse that lay on the ground before us. Blood covered my entire front and I wanted to puke and yet also lick up the wasted red liquid, and my hands were smeared with gray brain matter.

That was the mutilated corpse of a man.

That was the crushed, ripped and bloodless corpse of Þunor.


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