Add a spice of elf to your life
Chapter 6 -Hiding in the Brush-
He made up his mind the minute he figured out the portal had brought him to Alfheimr soil. Clint was not going back to that planet, he sometimes called home, and the friends who didn't come when he called. He would turn into that hermit Natasha dreamed about when they came to this realm together, and hide out in the forest for the rest of his life, however short that may be.
Using the lining of his undercoat, he shredded strips of cloth in order to tie his arm against his chest. Keeping it immobilized was the only thing he could do to encourage the wound to stop bleeding, let alone stop his shoulder from jarring with each step. He'd been very lucky lately. In the last seven months of undercover investigative work, he had been shot in the side, stabbed in the back, and, now, took an arrow through the shoulder. None of those three would prove lethal. Years of experience with putting arrows into people told him the attacker missed his major arteries. It didn't make the wound hurt any less, or his shoulder any less broken, but taking the possibility of bleeding to death off the table became the only bonus he could turn to; that, and his considerable tracking skills.
He had a head start, but how long it would take Steve and Tony to realize he had slipped by them, Clint didn't venture to guess. He had to keep moving, cover his tracks, and stop the bleeding.
The next time he saw the Captain of the Guard, he had to thank Veurr for the detailed tour the Asgardian gave him of the natural Alfheimr fauna. Digging up some of that knowledge, he found which plants he might safely pack against his skin to sop up the leaking injury. The last thing he needed was a slap of poisoned sprik grass, or elk hair moss, against him to turn his skin purple and blistering.
He stumbled across a cobblestone trail nearly two meters across. The stones showed recent travel, most of the forest's scrub and moss failed to spring up between the brick cracks. Clint had to reach back in his travels to remember just where in the realm of Alfheimr he could be.
Elven Way, he thought. The road split through the entire mainland into its six corners. The Palace Realm, or Lakeheed, resided in the north, bordered on the western edge by the Blanklands and Skydale to the east. Directly below Lakeheed, towered the Blueskin Mountains; so named for their massive thresholds of ice that reflected the very sky in their peaks. Beneath the Blueskins, lay Earthenden. The south eastern most corner of Alfheimr's mainland contained Queen Fehreh's clan, known as Woodrenkell. The six clans had found peace and harmony in their own existence, centuries before its alliance with Asgard.
Beyond the mainland lay three outer islands. The Wild South consisted of all things southerly in Alfheimr, and was ruled by the thieves and outlaws that the civilized North banished long before. To the east lay the fishing islands, Inner Glencove and the small barrier islands that formed Outer Glencove. Both of the fishing islands controlled all transport by sea throughout the Alfheimr realm.
Discovering the Elven Way, Clint had to decide next which direction he needed to go to find Lakeheed. Before, Odin literally dropped them within spitting distance of the capitol city where a troop of bird-riding elven warriors picked them up. Given that no emissaries of the palace had yet appeared, Clint assumed he was far enough away that, either Rinon didn't notice the opening of the Bifrost, or whatever warriors were sent to pick them up hadn't a chance to reach them. The area around him didn't appear familiar. The canopy itself felt thicker, more ancient than that of Lakeheed. Given the unfriendly elves on their tail, he didn't want to assume he'd been thrown into the Wild South, but that very real possibility remained.
Clint slowed his determined steps, and cut a diagonal path across the cobblestones. He found the buttress of an ancient uprooted tree, and eased himself down against the bark. Night approached like a thick blanket. Somewhere in the dark sky, he could hear the distant rolls of thunder. A few trickles of rain penetrated the thick vined sky above him.
Deep exhaustion hit him like a fist. Barton sank against the roots, and winced as the wood pressed into his broken shoulder. He probed the front of the injury with his fingers, and squinted at the fluid in the dark. He was bleeding a lot less now. Steve's direct pressure did him some good initially.
In retrospect, leaving the two Avengers in the middle of a foreign jungle with an army of angry natives on their heels, wasn't the best idea. If Clint encountered another faralir, or even a hostile of his own, he couldn't hope to defend himself. With a shattered shoulder, his bow was useless. He had few arrows to his name. He took the time to search through his pockets for any other supplies that may have taken the journey with him. Clint found one back up clip of expanding arrows, and the other half of the protein bar Tony forced him to chew on.
The fact that all Tony could think about was shoving food into him made Clint self-conscious about his own body condition. He didn't feel so thin. He never kept much track of what his physique was like, unless his arms began hurting when pulling arrows, or Pepper baked too often.
Pepper.
Clint closed his eyes, and rested the back of his head against a clump of moss. He owed her an apology after screaming at her a few months back. She had wanted the best for him, wanted to bring him home to smooth things over from his fight with Stark. She didn't know that everything had been staged. He had said some hurtful things to her in the object of keeping her safe. If plans worked out the way he currently wanted it to, that opportunity would never come.
Running from his problems was one of Barton's specialties. He'd been married once. Her name was Bobbi Morse, and she was a SHIELD agent like him. He was crazy about her, and eventually dragged the girl to Vegas and made an honest woman out of her. Then, the unexpected happened, and a few heavy muscled men, Clint thought he could take on by himself, proved otherwise. They put Bobbi in a hospital bed, and threatened to saw her in half if Clint didn't step back. So he did. He ran like he always did when times got tough. Bobbi left him, officially, eight months later, never knowing the truth behind his shut down of emotion.
Now, times were tough again. His own blood had pulled the trigger that destroyed SHIELD, the very meaning of his thus far misguided life. Barney smothered the mountain in Arrow's blood, and threatened to take Natasha from him too. Clint had been in this position before. Running had worked then.
Natasha . . . What had Steve said? She was recovering? Had something happened to her? Clint didn't realize at the time how much that small statement may affect him. He wondered if one of Barney's agents had already gotten to her. Were they going to continue to dog her now that Clint was off world? Suddenly it reminded him of Bobbi all over again and that made his temples pulse with a coming head ache.
The Avengers didn't need him, the whole planet already saw him as a two-bit has-been with an alcohol problem, and even Tony himself had believed Clint had drugs in his back pack. That mistrust dug the knife a little deeper. Natasha was probably fine. She'd apparently survived just well without him until now. No doubt she would go the way of Bobbi Morse, relying on her Red Room granted heart of cold steel to overcome her hate for him.
The gentle rolling thunder approached. A bolt of lightning crashed overhead, and Clint decided he should start moving again. Stark had the advantage on him when it came to tracking around in the dark. If he didn't keep a few steps ahead, Steve and he were sure to catch up. Barton wrote them off already. In that moment, lying against the fallen stump, he made a promise to forget everything he ever loved about Earth. He was going to disappear into these woods, with his hate, anger, and grief, and never come out again.
He grabbed a knot of bark in his good hand and pulled himself to his feet. The world spun dazedly before him. He slowed, waiting for the haze to pass. The blood loss wasn't substantial enough to make him light headed so maybe the stress was getting to him. Losing Arrow, portal jumping, the fight on Alfheimr and the mountain . . . that must be it. Stress.
Waiting for his body to steady, he pushed off and took his first few steps into the wood parallel to the Elven Way. He estimated the northernmost direction given the little support from the growing moss on the old trunks. It wasn't quite right, but he expected a northern fork to come at some point with the lane marker indicating the way to Lakeheed. He didn't dare travel on the road proper. Anyone in spitting distance used the highway, for good or evil intent.
"Hawkeye!"
Clint spun a little as he heard his name shouted in the distance. The others picked up his trail faster than he'd anticipated. He may have to bed down for an hour or two, wait for them to pass, and continue on alone after they'd gone. Most likely, they'd assume he took the path to cover his steps.
Distant spotlights illuminated the Elven Way. Tony used the hidden panels on his shoulders as lighting, along with his chest reactor. They weren't too far behind him. Clint had no choice but to take shelter.
Without an injured shoulder, his first intent would have been to climb the nearest tree, hide out in the rafters of bark and vine, then wait for the two. With a shattered shoulder and useless arm, such nonsense couldn't even be entertained. Instead he opted for low ground. Shrouding his human form as much as possible, he crawled into the vine system of a nearby trunk. He lay parallel with the ground, using detritus to scrape over his lower half, and soft earth to disguise the pallor of his face. One leg kicked up into the vines themselves, the other he buried into the roots. His good arm was stretched out to the side, with his face and eyes toward the Elven Way. Like the trained assassin he was, Clint became one with the landscape and completely disappeared into it.
:(:):(:):
"Are you sure you can't just punch through this? It would help if we had some idea of which way the palace stood." Steve said.
Tony pointed a finger at him. "I tried, and you're not helping."
"I'm not the one made out of heat sensors, Bill Gates."
"Yeah, and you're just the guy time should have left forgotten."
"I've heard that one already, so keep trying." Steve paused in the cobblestone roadway and considered the surroundings. He couldn't believe Clint had taken off on them. His jaw still throbbed from where the archer threw his fist against the captain's face. He'd seen Clint that angry a few times in the past, though not in the last year at the least.
"What do you think he meant?" Steve asked.
"About us being late?"
Steve nodded.
"I don't think he was talking about our monthly cycle."
Steve grimaced. "Seriously?"
"I don't get it. I want to get him home, back where he belongs. SHIELD's gone to crap, and we need to stick together. Even Thor's staying at the Tower full time and you're moving back in."
Steve cracked a small grin. "Hey, I'm not getting rid of my lease either though."
"Yeah, well. Planet needs us, and we need Clint." Tony slowed. He turned in place and scanned the area immediately around them. "Hang on a sec, I think I've got something inbound."
"Friendly?"
The metal face turned to him. "Seriously? What here hasn't tried to eat us or kill us yet?"
"Point made."
Steve walked up to Stark's shoulder, and stood with his shield ready. They still had to find Clint, but for now, they needed to focus on the object at hand. In the distance, they could hear the light footsteps of some creature walking in their direction. The path curved nearly forty meters away in a sharp bend that led far out of sight. After a time, the glistening white features of a being approached. Its head was lowered, massive glowing antlers poised for the attack.
Tony sent a buzz of energy toward his gauntlets.
:(:):(:):
The thousand shades of green and brown faded darker under the onslaught of the fierce rain storm. Leaves, as large as men, cupped their edges up to catch the life-giving fluid as the sky released its mighty deluge. It seemed all of Alfheimr cried out against the injustice happening on its own soil. Surely, King Rinon could think of no better backdrop for the interrogation soon to come.
The leader of Alfehimr had a smaller stature compared to most Light Elves. At a little beneath six feet in height, he took his strength, not from his size, but the bearing of his being and the depth of his heart. His hair resembled fresh spun wool, and extended down his back in three taught braids. Gold silk, gilded leaves, and tokens of battles fought were weaved into the plates with expert care. He did not often leave the walls of Lakehead with his swords at his hips or his bow, yet this occasion called for his most precise care.
An outrider in his hunting party came into the king's camp two moon cycles before. He warned that a strange group of elves from the Wild South had broken the blockade that had been created nearly a century before by the ships of Inner Glencove. Rinon broke camp from his traditional hunt in Skydale that same day, and took the journey south for the strait. Legions of Southlings already passed through the blockade, despite the added effort of the Glencove elves to repel them. It was all Rinon could do to lend his own aid to the efforts.
The king's men created a command post on the sea coast to overlook the deportation of the Southlings. The Lakeheed clan had been residing in Earthenden since the onset of the unrest, and thus far had great success in sending the worst offenders back to banishment. Innocents caught in the crossfire of the peculiar unrest were given safe haven throughout the mainland. The work was quite tedious.
When it seemed the disturbances had died down, and the majority of Alfheimr's criminals returned, the massive explosion of light split the sky. During his reign, Rinon had seen many bands of light heralding a visitor from Asgard. Though, following the death of Queen Frigga, such visits had relatively stopped. Tensions had risen since the Dark Elves struck the very heart of Asgard's city. The frayed diplomacy with the Asgardians, coupled with the problems of the Southlings, created a pure powder keg which must be controlled. Frankly, it was the last thing Rinon needed.
The Bifrost bridge appeared in the midst of Woodrenkell, and a considerable distance from the beaches of Earthenden. This alone caused reason to worry. Why had Odin not sent his emissaries directly? Why Woodrenkell, and not Lakeheed or Earthenden? Little the Asgard King did, made sense as of late. It was as if his wits left the moment his wife's soul was released to the stars. Heimdall had been removed from his post and cast in irons for aiding Thor. The Warriors Three and Sif spent more time away from the capital then in it.
Even the other realms began to feel the weight of Asgard's loss in prestige. A group of Kree extremists attempted an uprising that previously would have been beat back by Asgardian hands. One of the infinity stones had been discovered and simultaneously lost and one of the more powerful realms had left the very salvation of their society in the hands of an unreliable group of convicts and thieves. It seemed that every realm had gone positively mad and Rinon's own had not been sparred the upheaval.
What, with all this chaos erupting around them, could Asgard possibly want with him? To discover the purpose of the visit, he sent his faralir riders into the wood to greet Odin's men, never expecting the report that would soon return back.
Midterms are coming up. BLEH! Finished my third neuter already! whoopwhoop. Doing my first ovariohysterectomy in 3 weeks.
Next time: How to Murder a King