A/N: I've been gathering ideas for this story since February, and I'm glad that with A Dark Commitment finished (for the moment, at least), I can focus on something a little different. I haven't published a story about Sparrow, and I wanted to attempt something a little different than what I had been doing. I'm aiming to write shorter chapters, so I may be able to update more often. Hopefully that will work out for me and for you, my readers. Enjoy!
Chapter One : Damaged
Rookridge, Ten Years after Sparrow entered The Tattered Spire.
"Sparrow!" Hammer exclaimed as she saw her friend appear at the top of the steps. She gave Alfie, Sparrow's dog, a few scratches behind his ears, and a smile of excitement spread across her face. "You look a lot more like yourself, now."
Sparrow ran her hand over the short, golden regrowth of her hair, and she shuffled nervously toward the table where Hammer sat. Her years at the Spire had certainly taken their toll on her, and it had taken a great deal away from her. She had grown thin and almost frail without much opportunity to practice her strength, skill, or will. Her face, which had once glowed with vigor and vitality, had lost its fullness, and was now dull and ever frowning, though still smooth and unblemished by age or scarring. But now after taking a breather small break following a long trip from Westcliffe to Rookridge, and dressed in her old adventuring clothes, she looked and maybe felt a bit more like her old self.
As Hammer wrapped her massive arms around her Sparrow nearly flinched. She hadn't been touched gently, nevertheless hugged in so long. It was going to take some getting used to. Her spine stiffened, but she tried not to show her discomfort. She patted Hammer softly on the back, and she said, "It's good to see you."
Hammer released her, giving her a warm, welcoming smile as she stepped away. She had grown harder over the years—less round, more muscular. She'd certainly been making use of the weapon that she'd chosen because of her nickname. She had been probably taken up Sparrow's duties clearing out bandits, finding lost children—being a proper hero—in the time Sparrow had spent at The Spire.
"You look like you could use a proper meal," Hammer continued. She took a seat at the table once more, motioning for Sparrow to join her.
"Yes, thank you," Sparrow said softly. She offered a sliver of a smile as she sat across from Hammer.
Alfie immediately changed from sitting at Hammer's feet to lying next to Sparrow's. He didn't pounce or jump on her, as most dogs would. It would seem he understood the fragile state she was in. He merely laid his head on the toes of her boots, content to just be near her.
"I bet you're glad to be back in Albion," Hammer said. "I can't imagine that place was very…homey."
Hammer realized her poor choice in words almost as soon as they left her mouth. Her face reddened, and she exhaled.
Sparrow simply shook her head slowly. "No. It wasn't."
A thick silence overtook them, and it wasn't until the owner of the inn laid their meal before them that either of them spoke at all.
"You know, you don't have to tell me about it," Hammer said slowly, her gaze meeting with Sparrow's. "But if you wanted to, I'm here to listen."
"There was a lot that I…" She licked her lips, and her eyes looked almost haunted. Her chest tightened, but she tried to banish that feeling. "I…don't think I can talk about yet, but I did want to ask you about something."
"What's that?"
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her left arm twitching slightly. "My… family. How are they?"
"Alex and Rose?" Hammer asked. "Yeah. I've been keeping a good eye on them." She nodded with a soft smile. "Little Rose is clever as a whip, and about as fast as one, too. She definitely takes after her mother."
"So they're safe," she exhaled with obvious relief.
"We can start toward Oakfield in the morning. If we're quick we could make it there in two days." Hammer offered. "I imagine you want to see them."
Sparrow's mouth pressed into a tight line, but she nodded quickly. She took a bite of her roast to avoid having to speak any more about it. Her heart pounded uneasily in her chest, but she breathed steadily. If she had learned anything in the past ten years, it was how to hide emotion.
"So, I've gotten a fair bit of practice in the past few years," Hammer said, tactfully changing the subject. "I've almost completely cleared the bandits out of Westcliffe for your friend Barnum." She smiled as she speared a piece of potato on her fork and took a bite. Sudden realization crossed her face, and she swallowed her food before adding, "Oh! By the way, Barnum mentioned that he had a return on your investment waiting for you! You should probably go see him soon."
"Perhaps the next time I pass through Westcliffe," Sparrow agreed with a nod.
"Alright," Hammer said, her voice dipping into worry. She seemed to be studying Sparrow, looking for the damage that the long years away had done, assessing what she could do to fix it.
Sparrow felt panic flooding her under the scrutiny of her good friend. She knew she would have to get used to talking to people again. Socializing was not really encouraged at The Spire, nor did she really want to talk to the people that would have been considered her peers. Those that made it past their first few years grew cold and cruel, but Sparrow had tried to avoid that fate. She composed herself as well as she could.
Taking a large bite out of her roll, she asked, "So, have you finally managed to beat my record, then?"
Hammer's face lit up with recognition, and she shook her head, "You know I'm no good with a pistol."
Sparrow smiled, and she shook her head. "You've had ten years to practice."
"Yeah, well," Hammer snorted. "I think I'll leave the fancy shooting to you."
"I still think you could hit three people with the same bullet if you really tried," Sparrow chuckled with a grin. Her face was smiling, but her eyes weren't. She was trying so hard to conceal the pain, to comfort her friend who had been so very worried about her.
Hammer laughed at the absurdity of it. "Yeah, and maybe I'll also sprout wings and fly my fat arse right out the window!"
They both laughed, and Hammer's face softened. She slid a hand across the table to cover Sparrow's and she gave her the most comforting expression she could muster.
"It is really good to see you home and safe, Sparrow," Hammer said. "I was worried for you every hour of every day. "
Sparrow gave a tense, crooked smile. "Thank you, Hammer."
The moment drew out into a minute until Hammer patted the table top with sudden smile.
"I think we could use some ale, what ya think?" Hammer suggested warmly.
Sparrow smiled, and the thought of losing herself in a mug or two brought her the faintest bit of relief. "Yeah. I think we could."
Sparrow closed the door to her room, and she leaned against the frame, exhaling. Her head was swimming with the ale, and she felt as if she might be able to enjoy a full, restful night of sleep—something she had not been able to luxuriate in for a decade. The ship she had caught from Westcliffe to Rookridge hadn't exactly been the steadiest or most comforting vessel, and she spent her days and nights aboard sick from the constant rocking.
She kicked off her boots and stripped herself of her coat. She undressed, tossing her clothes onto a chair sitting in the corner of the small, cozy room. Sitting on the bed, she realized that she literally could not remember the last time she had this amount of privacy. Trying to remember made her head throb with that pain that had become all too familiar under The Commandant's strict hand. She rubbed at her temples, and she tried to focus on the positives of her freedom.
She would not have to sleep lightly in fear that someone might attack her or take advantage of her. She would not have to wake before the sun rose, and she most definitely would not have to fear that she would lose more time to The Commandant. He was dead, but even still, she could not take comfort in that fact. Another horrible man of Lucien's would only rise up to take his place, to inflict that torture on countless other poor, misguided souls.
Her skin gathered into gooseflesh at the memory of his punishments, and she rubbed at her arms to try to smooth it away. Her fingers found the smooth scar tissue that ran across her left forearm, and she looked down to inspect the scar for what must have been the thousandth time.
Never forget family
The letters were rough and sloppy, and she stroked the words. Her strength and constitution had been so depleted during her time at The Spire, so that must have explained how she could have made such a vivid, thick scar. She couldn't remember doing this to herself. The early years of her service to The Spire were a blur, taken away from her because of her kind heart—along with most of her memories of her family.
She remembered bits and pieces of her husband, Alex, but she didn't remember much. All she had were flashes of vague happiness in his arms.
"Are you happy, darlin'?" he asked, pulling her to rest against his bare chest. His hands were rough from work, but he touched her like one would touch the most fragile of heirlooms. "Are you truly happy with me?"
She laughed and placed a kiss on bare skin above his heart. She turned her gaze up to his face, and she just inspected him, smiling. His light brown hair was mussed and fell in waves down to his narrow, angular jaw. His eyes were dark, but warm and loving. He had a strong, hooked nose, the kind usually seen on the highest of aristocrats, but Alex was common and perfect.
She brought a hand to trace his lips. "Blissfully happy, love."
The memory made her heart ache for more. She wished she knew him more because what little she could recall, she loved. Having so little to remember of someone she clearly loved was tragic, but what was even more devastating was the discovery that she had a child—a child that she did not –could not—remember at all.
She covered her face, her tears burning in the corners of her eyes, and when she realized she no longer had to hold them in anymore, she let go. She surrendered to her sadness, and it overtook her like a cold, black tide. She was drowning in the sadness, but it almost felt good to feel something other than the numbness she'd had to adopt while working to free Garth. She covered her mouth, her sobs growing louder with each passing moment.
There was a knock at the door, followed by Hammer's voice, "Sparrow?"
Sparrow didn't realize that Hammer had entered the room until she felt the immense strength of her arms wrap gently around her. Instead of pulling away and closing herself off, she allowed Hammer to comfort her. She grasped at her friend and buried her face into the crook of her neck, sobbing violently.
"Shh," Hammer crooned softly, stroking Sparrow's hair gently. "You're not alone, Sparrow. You don't have to go through whatever this is alone. You were there for me when my father was killed, and I want to be here for you for this."
Sparrow gulped, and she shook her head. There was no way that she could tell her all of this. What would Hammer think of her, then? What would her family think? She couldn't bear to disappoint them, or even worse, break their hearts. She sucked in a lung full of air, and she sighed, "I just…haven't been free in ten years. It's…it's overwhelming."
Hammer just smiled softly. "It'll get better."
Sparrow knew Hammer was only trying to comfort her, but she knew that unless her memories started to return, it would likely only get worse. With time, perhaps, her memories would return. Perhaps returning home, seeing Alex, and meeting her daughter would trigger some sort of recollection.
Sparrow finally felt her breath returning to her, and she drew away from Hammer.
"Thanks, Hammer." She wiped at the tears on her face. "I think maybe if I just try to get some sleep, things will be easier."
"Alright, then," Hammer said with a soft, easy smile. She released Sparrow, and stood from the bed, giving a diagnostic glance toward her friend once more. "I'm right in the room next door if you want to talk or drink some more." She gave a small laugh with her second offer.
Sparrow gave her friend the best reassuring smile she could, and when Hammer left the room, she fell backward onto the bed. She didn't bother undressing because she wasn't yet sure if she would take up Hammer's offer of talking. Maybe if she did talk about it to someone, it would lessen her burden.
Rolling onto her side, she dismissed the thought. Hammer wouldn't understand. She doubted anyone would understand. She remembered Bob the guard, the man The Commandant had tried to make her kill. By the end of his time at the Spire, he'd almost completely lost all of his memory, and that had scared her. But she didn't think it would happen to her. She didn't think she would allow it to happen to her, but then it did.
The tears came again, but instead of allowing them to fall, she tried to hold them in. She rolled onto her side, and she brought her knees to her chest. She used the mantra she had used when trying to fall asleep in The Spire.
Albion needs you sane. Albion needs you strong. Albion needs you sane. Albion needs you strong.
It wasn't until after midnight that she was finally able to drift off to sleep, and her dreams were black and full of the terrors of The Spire. Terrors even The Commandant could not erase. The desperate moans of starving men, the screams of pain—some of them her own—and overseeing the disposal of hundreds upon hundreds of men that had given their lives in service to Lord Lucien and his despicable construction. The smell of the burning corpses was still fresh in her memory, and it haunted her.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it, and I'll hope that you'll leave me a review telling me what you think.
I have to send out a huge THANK YOU to my ever-encouraging beta-reader Angelacm. She reassured me, encouraged me, and helped me with the cover for this story! She has a new chapter for her her story Beneath The Surface that you should definitely check out!