A Hero's Work

Two hours and five bottles of the foulest tasting bitter she'd ever tasted later, Jaina still hadn't calmed down. She'd walked quickly up the street, around the corner to a small sort of hut she had passed on her way there. She forcefully endured double-looks and catcalls, and, once, a slap on the backside, which she had responded to somewhat erratically by sending the man in question flying into a metal fence. She'd changed in the empty hut, strapping her sword and crossbow back into her shoulder holster, and then just walked. She'd been walking for about a mile when she'd managed to find another dim, grimy pub called The Devil's Wings, and, thankfully, none of the occupants here had decided to try and take her on yet.

All that was out of place was the moron beside her.

He'd sat down next to her, despite the fact that there were plenty of other empty seats on this floor alone, and had progressed rapidly from a sober, vaguely unpleasant bandit to a complete drunken idiot, droning away about something she was neither caring about nor listening to.

Blade downed the rest of her beer, unable to stop a grimace, and then rapped her knuckles twice on the bar. Another drink was planted in front of her by the bartender. He eyed up the man beside her, distastefully, and then shot her a look caught between sympathy and weariness. She returned a look caught between frustration and pure desperation. If this guy didn't shut up soon she was either going to shoot him or herself, ancient rules of barstool protocol be damned.

She took a sip of the foaming brown liquid. Reaver hadn't left her mind for a moment. Not because she hadn't wanted to forget him. It was because, in her head, there wasn't only one voice anymore.

We need him on our side. Theresa repeated for the umpteenth time, firmly, We need the Hero of Skill. Everything depends on it.

Blade deftly ignored her. Not something she was used to doing, really, but the alcohol was helping. Her anger at what the pirate had tried to pull was still fresh in her mind, and she knew that all that could come of her returning to him this early would be a bullet to a head, and she wasn't sure which one.

Everything about her encounter with the pirate - from the first barely-veiled suggestion to the last stolen kiss - brought up needles of anger deep inside of her, followed quickly by stabs of pain and guilt. She was a fool to have allowed him to con her so easily. She should never have agreed to spend the night in his house.

She played with the ring on her left hand, twisting it around on her finger. She could still remember the period with Michael after she had come back from the Spire. Awkward, frustrated, and sometimes even out-and-out hostile. She was stupid to allow anything to threaten their relationship again, even something as important as this.

Avo, Michael, I'm so sorry.

Blade finished the rest of her drink, dully, her neighbour's babbling pure background noise. Seeing as the Pirate King seemed intent on screwing with her both physically and mentally she was going to have to tread carefully from now on. Theresa was right, as much as she hated to admit it. Lucien had to be stopped. And for that... they needed Reaver.

"You after another, hon?"

She gave a low sigh, eyes tracing the bottle in front of her. Then she shook her head, "Better give it a sec. I don't think this junk'll be going to my head anytime soon, but there's a first time for everything."

"Sure thing."

He left for another customer. Blade shook her head again and picked up the bottle, putting it to her lips and tilting it back, letting the last few drops sting her tongue.

"You shouldn't be drinking after what he gave you."

Blade placed down the bottle, indifferently, having already recognised the voice, "Really."

Norman walked into her peripheral vision, "Yep. It might not have got out of your system yet."

"Why would you care."

"I've told you. I don't." he turned to the bandit next to her, still mumbling away to himself, "Move. Now."

The guy looked up at him for a second, blearily. Then he nodded, dragged himself to his feet and stumbled away.

Blade looked at him, "If I'd have known that'd work I would've done it an hour ago."

Norman nodded and sat down beside her, "I bet you would. But it seems I know the bars of this place just a little bit better than you. Been looking for you everywhere, princess."

"Yeah, well turn around, walk out the door and keep looking."

"I don't think so." He caught the barman's attention as he passed, "Bowerstone Brown, Tony."

"Comin' right up." He glanced at her, "Another?"

Norman shook his head, "She'll have an Indefinite Squire."

Blade frowned at him, "Wait wait wait, what the hell's that."

"You'll like it. She'll have a Squire."

"Sure thing."

"She sure as hell won't." she replied, heatedly, "What's in it."

"It's nothing you can't handle." He glanced at her empty bottle, distastefully, "Especially if you've been drinking that piss water. But if you'd rather stay on gutter beer, be my guest."

She hesitated, and then shook her head, "Fine. Whatever. Go ahead."

Tony looked her over, quickly, and then nodded, turning his back.

Blade turned on her chair, "Now I trust you about as far as I could throw you, so I better be able to taste the alcohol in this."

"Why would that help."

She gave a small smile, "Because if I can taste it, I'll know what it is."

He raised an eyebrow, and then nodded, slowly, "Fair enough."

"Yes, it is. Now. Why are you here, Norman. What does he want."

He looked at her for a second, and then shook his head, "That talk is better left for when you've got a drink in your hand. Here."

Tony passed him the glass and he handed it to her. She paused, and then put the glass to her lips. She hesitated again before taking a sip. She put the glass down. She raised an eyebrow at him, slightly surprised, "Hobbe's Water and apple juice."

He nodded, "Yep. Reaver told me you like mixers. And apples."

She looked at him for a moment, "I'm a vegetarian."

"Hmm. Thought you looked thin."

"I'm not thin."

He shrugged, "Fine, you're a troll."

Blade raised an eyebrow, "Wow, Norman, talk to many women, do you?"

He smirked, deftly popping the lid off his bottle with a flick of his wrist, lifting it to his mouth, "Not as many as Reaver."

"Must we always come back to talking about your Lord."

"I'm afraid we must, princess. Because, while you may be here on pleasure, I'm definitely here on business." He raised his bottle to her, "And I'm afraid I take my employer's view on business."

"Always be at least semi-drunk?"

"Exactly."

She gave a small, lopsided smile. Then she shook her head, "So. I ask again. What does he want."

"You." There was no hesitation.

She shook her head, scathingly, "He's gunna be waiting some time then."

"He wants to know more about you."

She raised an eyebrow, "I'm flattered. Why didn't he just ask."

"He did. You didn't answer."

"I answered every question he asked of me."

"No you didn't. He asked you about the blade you sent him and you didn't reply. He asked you if you needed his help and you diverted the question. He asked you why you were hunting down Fairfax and you kept the truth to yourself."

"I have reasons for that."

"And they are...?"

"My own."

He raised an eyebrow. Then he shook his head, taking a drink, "Reaver aint gunna like that."

"I don't care what Reaver likes."

He gave a small smirk, shaking his head, and raised his bottle once again. Blade echoed his movement, biting her top lip, unconsciously. Then she shook her head, "Get to the point, Norman. Do what you're here to do."

He looked at her for a second. Then he shook his head, "Your name's Jaina. Known as Blade. You're a Hero. People on the mainland know you - or know of you. You're tracking Fairfax down for revenge. You want Reaver's help." He glanced at her, raising an eyebrow, "Anything I'm missing out?"

"I grew up in the Bowerstone Gypsy camp, I'm a vegetarian, and I've told all this to Reaver before."

He nodded, "Yeah." There was a beat of silence, and then he shook his head, "And there's also that, of course..." his eyes moved down to the bar, and Blade followed his gaze before realising he was looking at her wedding ring. She looked back up at him, and he raised his eyebrows again, "What's his name."

She stiffened, "None of your goddamned business. And none of your Lord's, either."

"You know he'll find him, princess." He said, impassively, "And you know he won't be happy when he does."

She gave a bark of a laugh, "Anyone who goes after my family looking for trouble has gotta have a death wish."

He nodded, slowly, "Family. You have children, then?"

Her anger sparked and she slammed her glass back on the table, turning on him, "You threaten my family and you'll wish I'd killed you. Understood?"

Norman just raised an eyebrow, "Is Lucien wishing you'd killed him?"

She looked at him for a second, "If he isn't now, he soon will be."

"Who'd he kill?"

"Again - none of your business." She picked her glass up and took a sip. She paused for a moment. Then she shook her head, "Reaver wouldn't dare come after my family."

"Then you obviously don't know him as well as I do." She looked at him for a second, and he shrugged, casually, "Reaver's no coward. Nothing like it. If someone's in his way... they won't be for long."

"I'd protect my family with my life. I'd die for them, understood?"

"There's no need for that. There's no need for any lives to be taken." He shook his head, "Look. You've met Reaver. What did you think of him."

"I thought he was an arrogant, chauvinistic, deceitful, murdering scoundrel with nothing on his mind other than sex, alcohol and money, and I told him that myself."

"Well, if there's one thing he doesn't have it's a high attention span. He's only gunna put a hit on your family if he's particularly motivated to. So, my advice? Don't give him a reason."

"Otherwise known as being a good little girl and doing what I'm told."

"You got it, princess. There's nothing Reaver likes more than an obedient sweetie like you."

She drained the rest of her glass, placing it back on the table, "No way. I'm not doing it. I won't."

"Then you've got to choose, haven't you, princess. Your pride or his help."

"It's not just pride. But you wouldn't understand that, of course."

"The... physicality... will fade."

"Yeah. I've no doubt it will. But it's not the physical side I'm worried about."

Norman gave a small, lopsided smile, "I guess not."

Blade shook her head. She turned on her chair, facing the bar slightly, throwing out for something else to fix her attention onto. There were raised voices outside, not at fight volume yet, but she could tell they were getting there. The guy who had sat next to her was now sat at a table on his own, face buried in a pint of bitter. A patron a few tables down from them spat into a drink before handing it to the girl next to him.

"Why are you hunting Fairfax."

She raised an eyebrow, "Why would you think I'd give you a different answer than what I gave your master?"

He shrugged, "Because you've got a drink in your hand and I'm not looking to fuck you."

The crassness of his language would once have shocked her. Now she just shook her head, "Go find out for yourself. It won't take you long. I think pretty much everyone in Albion knows my story by now."

"Their curiosity irritates you?"

She shrugged, indifferently, "Sometimes. I've gotten used to it."

The fight outside grew louder, and Blade shook her head, trying to concentrate on what the man next to her was saying, "Sorry?"

He raised his voice a little: "I said why d'you do what you do if you hate it so much."

She shook her head, vaguely, only just listening, "I just... it's something I just..." she trailed off, frowning slightly. She was listening avidly to the raised voices, the noises outside.

She vaguely felt Norman put a hand on her arm, "Princess, are you -"

"Wait. Wait wait wait shh. Listen. That's... that's a Bowerstone accent."

He frowned, "So? Maybe it's a trader."

"No. Traders don't have accents, they never stay in one place long enough to get an accent. So who the hell's that."

She paused for a moment, thinking, and then fluidly got to her feet, walking quickly over to the door, pushing it open.

"Hey! Leave him the hell alone!"

Blade dragged the two bandits away, shoving one into a fence and grabbing the other by the collar and yanking him back towards her.

The first quickly got to his feet, moving swiftly towards her.

She drew her pistol, holding it to his head, "Back off." She cocked it, deftly, "Now."

The guy hesitated. He glanced at his mate, who shook his head, slowly, still held firmly in place by Blade's chokehold. He paused for a moment, and then nodded, slowly, backing away.

Blade shoved the other towards him, ferociously, "Get the hell out of here."

They retreated, slowly, glaring at her. She waited until they were out of sight, and then helped the other man off the ground, "Hey. You alright?"

He brushed himself off, looking up at her rather embarrassedly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Uh, thanks."

"Any time."

The man nodded, and then frowned at her, "Wait a second. You're Blade, aren't you."

She smiled, "Yeah. You're from Bowerstone?"

"Yeah, I was sent to find you."

"Me? Why?"

He gestured with his head at the large bag on his back, "Letter for ya. Just a messenger."

She paused for a second. Norman was standing behind her, watching them, frowning. She shook her head, "What is it, who's it from."

"Dunno. Haven't read it." The messenger pulled a small scroll out of his pocket, "Dear Chosen One -"

Blade winced and immediately held up a hand, "Okay, that's enough, let's see it."

Norman raised an eyebrow, "Chosen One?" he repeated, scathingly.

She shook her head, a little self-conscious herself, "I did the Temple of Light a few favours a while back, saved them from destruction, donated a bit of gold to get them back on their feet. They took it a little seriously."

She took the letter and glanced down at the closing script. Timothy Lightjoy. Father Lightjoy. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "I've told him so many times not to call me that..." She sped-read the note, frowning slightly. Then she glanced up, "When did you get this."

"A few days ago. I got a carriage to Westcliff, and then went by ship to the quay. I got here as soon as I could."

"No, I know that, it's fine. I'm just..." she hesitated, eyeing the lettering again, warily. Then she noticed Norman was still watching her, and she shook her head, adjusting the strap of her pack on her shoulder, "Tell your Lord I have things to do. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He raised an eyebrow, "He won't take that well."

"I couldn't care less. Tell him to take my word when I say this is important."

"He won't take that well, either."

"And, as previously mentioned, I don't care." She turned back to the messenger, "C'mon. Let's get moving. Get your ass back in that pub, Norman, and don't let me catch you following us. Understood?"

He nodded, slowly, "Sure thing, princess. See you later."

"Sure. Boy, come on, let's go."

Norman waited for a few moments before sidling out of the bar, heading down the path they had taken. He caught up with them near the bottom of the hill, stopped in a closed shop doorway, having what looked like quite a frantic conversation.

"D'you have any idea why?"

The messenger shook his head, "No, sorry. Not at all. The Abbot just... told me to find you."

"And she approached him?"

"You're well known around Albion, especially around Oakfield. She must have figured that if anyone knew where to find you, it'd be the Temple."

"That makes no sense whatsoever. Boy, quit that. How did Lightjoy find me."

He hesitated, and then shook his head, slowly, "We asked Michael."

That seemed to have been the wrong thing to say. A flash of anger moved over her face, "You what?!"

"Look, we had no other -"

"You know the ground rules on this, Harper. And he's one of them. Just stay the hell away from them, understood?"

Harper hesitated again, and then nodded, "Okay. Alright."

Princess shook her head, slowly, "Avo. It's like you lot are my goddamned stalkers." He gave a small smile, and she shook her head again, "Spade... the name rings a bell. And last heard in Wraithmarsh?"

"That's what she heard, ma'am."

"That name really rings a bell... Avo, who is she..."

"I don't know."

She paused, thinking. Then she looked up, "Will you see him? Michael? When you go back?"

"I could pop in, if you want."

She nodded, "Give him this." She dug in her pocket for a moment, and then pulled out a small brown feather. Norman frowned, but the messenger seemed to understand perfectly.

He nodded, tucking the feather away safely in his waistcoat inside pocket, "Listen, Spa-"

She pressed a hand over his mouth, lightning fast, "Don't call me that, not here." She glanced around her, and then shook her head, "Look, we can't talk here. C'mon, let's go. I'll walk you back to the quay. In case those idiots from the bar decided to follow us. Let's go."

Norman watched them leave, walking swiftly down the cobbled hill. The Temple of Light, looking for Reaver's little princess... Interesting... Reaver would be pleased with that information.

And Michael... the one she seemed to get so angry with them talking to... It was something to think about.

Norman shook his head. He still had a lot to find out. And seeing the people in this hell hole barely knew her name, he was going to have to go further ashore. And with whatever evil the young Hero was hunting down in Wraithmarsh... he figured he had time.