Vash and Chronica belong to Mr. Yasuhiro Nightow. I'm only borrowing. :)

Note: Serious spoilers in this chapter. You have been warned!

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Tales, Told and Untold

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Year 1736 month 3 day 10

One evening, at Seeds village, Nick decided to ask his father some questions.

Chronica knew that Nick had done some research on "Vash the Stampede" since last year, when he'd first learned that used to be his father's title. They'd spoken on the subject a few times. Apparently, he'd decided that he wanted to hear more from the original source.

"So, Papa," Nicholas said, "I heard that you used to be called 'Vash the Stampede.' Is that true?"

Vash scratched at the back of his neck. "Don't be too quick to believe everything that you hear," he said. "Sometimes –"

"It's true," Chronica said. She looked around at the gathered members of the Saverem family, most of whom had surprised expressions on their faces. "He never told you?"

Had he truly never told any of them? She looked around at their faces again, from Vash's surviving children to the young great-great-great-great grandchildren. Only Nick, Naomi and Alex appeared to be anything less than amazed.

Chronica had told those three herself.

"Please," Vash began, but Nicholas spoke up before he could continue.

"Tell us a story about something that happened when you were known as 'Vash the Stampede,' please, Papa?" he said. "While I'd like it best if the story included the man you named me after, I'd be happy to hear any story that you'd like to tell. Anything at all."

"Oh yes, please, Papa," Lina said. "I'd like to hear a tale about those times, too."

"Please, Papa?" Naomi said. "It would be fun to hear you tell a story. We've not enjoyed hearing you tell us a story since… well, not for quite a long time."

Every other member of the family began to ask also, even though some of them were several centuries old. The youngest were only in their early twenties; they pleaded with him the loudest. The enjoyment of hearing their father or multiple-times-great grandfather tell a story appeared to be something that none of them had ever outgrown.

Vash still seemed hesitant. Chronica couldn't understand this. Didn't he want his family to know the truth, and be able to distinguish between fact and rumor?

Chronica said, "If he doesn't want to tell a story about those times, then I suppose I could."

"No, that's all right," Vash said quickly. He scratched at the back of his neck again. He looked and smelled uncomfortable. "I'll tell a story."

Although Vash no longer used the name "Stampede," it appeared as if he'd lost none of his legendary boldness. He still showed some signs of feeling very much "put on the spot," but nonetheless he began to talk about the past.

"Before I tell you a tale," he said, "It will help if I remind you about the times when the events that the tale describes occurred. Do you all remember who Knives was?"

"He was your twin brother, a genocidal murderer," Chronica said, knowing but not caring how her voice showed her disgust.

She felt Nicholas' hand on her forearm, and turned her head enough to look at him inquiringly. He shook his head slightly, but he said nothing in thought or word.

She shrugged and returned her attention to his father.

Vash nodded. "Yes," he said, barely above a whisper, "that is how far he fell, from what he could have been. That is what I failed to prevent him from becoming." His eyes were very sad. He looked down, and hung his head.

Chronica could feel Nicholas' glare. She resisted an urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"I was first called 'Vash the Stampede' immediately following the destruction of the city of July," he said softly. "I was discovered numbly wandering around the rubble of that once-great city. No bodies were left behind by the blast that destroyed the city, because they had all been erased by a Plant's arm-cannon. I didn't find any survivors, no matter how thoroughly I searched."

Everyone quickly became hushed, solemnly contemplating the loss of so many lives.

"At that time, I had no memory of what had happened," Vash said. His grief and devastation were both plain in his face and voice. "I was disoriented, and in pain, and looking for anyone that I could assist. I felt empty, and I could barely remember who I was. People came to the ruins, to learn what had happened. They found me. Whispers began that I was responsible: that I had destroyed the city."

He hung his head, and his scent and emotional echoes were a blend of grief and shame.

"The people who came quickly turned into a lynch mob," he said. His voice and his emotional echoes carried many layers of grief, sadness, sorrow and shame. "I did the only thing that seemed reasonable under the circumstances. I ran. I ran fast and far. If cornered, I would fire my pistol only the bare minimum needed to slow my pursuers down so that I could get away. I was careful to only wound, and never kill."

He sighed, and shook his head sadly.

"But people didn't notice those things," he said. He was speaking less softly than at first, but still not loudly. Yet everyone was listening so intently that his words almost began to feel loud.

"The people who arrived there didn't know if I was truly responsible or not, and they didn't care," he said. "They'd lost friends and family. They wanted vengeance. They wanted blood. Even though my one life could never fully pay for the loss of so many, they wanted to kill me anyway."

"Rumors began, and spread," he said, his voice gradually gaining strength without ever growing noticeably louder. "Some whispered, 'the devil does exist.' Others spoke of a judgment from God. Those rumors were probably mostly responsible for the rapid spread of 'Wanted: Dead or Alive' posters with my name on them. Crimes committed by Knives were added to the list of reasons why I was wanted. Sheriff Central put a high bounty on my head. Anyone who brought me, or my corpse, to a Sheriff's office would be paid 60 billion double-dollars."

There were gasps from most of the youngest ones. Chronica began to grow suspicious that tales of "Vash the Stampede" had not been encouraged reading during the course of their education. The amount of the bounty on the head of "Vash the Stampede" was common knowledge to most schoolchildren.

She wondered why the (probably deliberate) omission existed, but chose not to permit herself to be distracted by curiosity on that subject just then. She'd heard that Vash could tell a tale well, when he chose. She allowed herself to relax, leaning against Nick's side. She would listen to the story, and learn for herself if Vash was good at storytelling.

"I spent six years running from both lawmen and bounty hunters," Vash said. "During that time, rumors about 'Vash the Stampede' kept growing. Those rumors of my supposed abilities, and alleged prior actions, grew to ridiculous proportions. Most rumors had little or no basis in fact. Some people actually began to call me a legend, as crazy as that sounds." He shrugged.

Chronica smiled to herself. She wondered what Vash would think if he knew that he was again considered a legend. When he applied for the job of Deputy Marshal under the name of "Nate Saverem," he had insisted that no one he brought in should be executed. Sheriff Central had agreed, initially, partly from curiosity at that novelty and partly because he had scored so high in his marksmanship tests.

However, his results in consistently capturing people that no others could capture, and his continued insistence that none he brought in would be killed, had quickly earned him a reputation. "No-kill Nate" had been responsible for more than one prison being built or substantially upgraded.

The loss of his wife and most of his family, and his continued insistence that those he brought in should be incarcerated instead of executed, had only caused the legend forming under his new name to grow exponentially.

"However," Vash said, "because rumors of my abilities had grown so dramatically (and inaccurately, I might add), people were terrified of anyone who called himself 'Vash the Stampede.' If a criminal claimed that name, people did whatever he asked because they were simply too frightened to disobey. They feared that their city would be destroyed as thoroughly as July had been."

"About the middle of year 0110," he said, "Sheriff Central, in combination with an insurance company, decided to change how they categorized me. At that time, they said I was 'a localized natural disaster.' Since no bounty could be put on an earthquake, they said, then no bounty should be put on me anymore, either. The bounty against me was repealed at that time, but the news of that change did not reach everyone right away. That news spread more slowly than the rumors about how dangerous I was."

"During the tenth month of that same year," he said, speaking more softly again, "is when the large crater you now see in the fifth moon was made. That is also when my hair began to blacken. Knives was largely responsible for that, though it was my arm that was fired."

Gasps of surprise, and concerned expressions, spread around the room. When he spoke again, Vash had everyone's undivided attention.

"Immediately after that," he said, "I tried to disappear. I had this foolish hope that if I vanished, Knives would waste his time and energy searching for me, instead of pursuing his plans to exterminate all ordinary humans. I thought it was the best way to protect the most people. Unfortunately, I was only rationalizing. The truth is that I wanted to run away. I wanted to stop being 'Vash the Stampede' and just live quietly instead."

"That's why, in the year 0113, I was staying with a twelve-year-old girl named Lina and her grandmother Sheryl. I never told them my name was 'Vash,' but instead I'd used a different name. Some of you have been to Kasted, so you know what that town is like now. It was significantly smaller then. While I was staying in Kasted, a band of thugs led by a man who called himself 'Vash the Stampede,' came to the town. They began killing people. The town's sheriff was one of their first victims."

"At that time," Vash said uncomfortably, "I was afraid to do anything. I didn't know if I could control my own body. You see, Knives had succeeded in firing my arm-cannon, or what some would call my "angel arm," in spite of my best efforts to prevent him from doing that. I was deeply worried that I would only make matters worse, if I tried to interfere with the gang to help the townsfolk."

"I was also concerned that, if I did anything – even if I could successfully avoid using any Plant abilities like that arm-cannon," he said, "that Knives would then realize that I was there. If my brother found that town, he would come and hurt or slaughter the people there. I had begun to care for that grandmother and grand-daughter pair as much as I care for the people in the Seeds village here. The idea that they might be harmed, because of me, made me even more afraid to take any action at all."

(He's being incredibly honest about his faults,) Chronica thought, sending her surprise to Nick. (Most people would conceal their weaknesses better than that.)

(Papa often says that one of the best ways to learn is from mistakes,) Nicholas thought back to her. (He always hopes that we can learn from his mistakes, so that we will not need to make as many of our own. So yes, he's very honest about such things. He always has been.)

(I see,) Chronica thought back. Nicholas' father seemed to be an endless puzzle. Would she ever understand the man? She considered asking more, but she saw plainly that Nick wanted to hear his father's story. So she also sat quietly and listened.

"Because I was so afraid," Vash said sadly, "I did nothing. It was excruciatingly painful to sit by and watch, while feeling so helpless. I was completely convinced that anything I did would only make matters worse. I watched, day after day, while that man used my name as a weapon to frighten the townsfolk into obeying his ever-increasing demands."

"It was almost more than I could bear," he said. Remembered pain seeped into his voice and emotional echoes. "I tried to protect only the two that I stayed with, the ones who treated me like family. I hoped that if I limited myself that way, I wouldn't cause trouble."

"I feared both causing trouble directly, by bringing further wrath from the thugs upon the town," he reminded everyone, "and also indirectly, by attracting too much attention and causing Knives to come or send his assassins. I hoped and prayed that the townsfolk would somehow manage to escape from the gang, without my ever doing anything."

"As you know, problems like that don't simply go away on their own, nor do they simply take care of themselves," he said.

Vash then told how Wolfwood came looking for him. Nicholas D. Wolfwood arrived in town about the time that Lina was threatened by the false Stampede's gang. He told how he and Wolfwood, together, had rescued Lina and shut down the gang by putting most of them into the hospital.

"…As soon as the people of Kasted learned who I was, they wanted me to leave," he said softly. "I had lived among them for two years. Except for Sheryl and Lina, they all turned against me immediately upon learning my true name. They were not at all inclined to take 'no' for an answer. If I had wanted to stay, and tried to linger, they would have thrown me out. I doubt they would have been gentle about it, either."

He sighed sadly.

"However, I no longer wanted to stay there," he said. "Wolfwood had brought me information about Knives' activities elsewhere that made it important for me to leave immediately. So I bid Lina and her grandmother Sheryl farewell. After that, Wolfwood and I walked away, out into the desert."

He fell silent, apparently finished with that story.

Vash's family all clapped their hands and thanked him. He blushed deeply.

Chronica clapped with the rest, but found herself again intrigued by this paradoxical man. Maybe if she could come to understand the father better, she might better understand his eldest son. She pondered this as she listened half-heartedly to the family asking for another story, and examined Nicholas' face in profile.

"Tell us another story, please, Papa," Rem said. "You tell stories so well! We never get tired of listening to you."

"Yes, please!" came from a chorus of voices, again with the youngest being a bit louder about it than the adults.

Vash seemed hesitant, again. He scratched at the back of his neck, and his face looked anything but eager. He opened his mouth as if he might be planning to decline.

"It could serve as a bedtime story," Tessla suggested. "It is getting late, and your story could be something interesting for us to think about as we fall asleep."

A chorus of agreement greeted her words.

Vash smiled, and slowly raised his hands as if in surrender. "All right," he said gently, "I'll tell you another story."

There was a brief round of cheers, and then a bit of shifting while everyone settled comfortably to listen again.

Vash waited patiently until everyone quieted down.

"I'll tell you about when I first began to hunt criminals who were claiming to be 'Vash the Stampede,' then," he said. "This happened about 1600 years ago, not long after I brought Shyla here to Seeds village, back when she was still a child. The sixty billion double-dollar bounty had been put back on my head by Sheriff Central."

"I could not join forces with the law as long as I remained wanted as 'Vash the Stampede,' because the lawmen would be obligated to arrest me. Even if a lawman didn't care about the bounty, his job would still require that he put me in jail," he said. "I also had to avoid bounty hunters, because most of them were not very concerned about the safety of others. My past encounters with bounty hunters frequently resulted in someone getting hurt, so I always did my best to avoid them."

"It didn't help that the posters all said that I was wanted 'dead or alive,' either," he said. "Because the bounty was so high, and I had a reputation for escaping, most who hunted me tried to kill me before I realized that they were there. That practice, on their part, was one reason why I worked hard to always pay attention to everything going on around me. If I grew careless, I probably wouldn't be the only one who died."

"There were getting to be several thugs and bandits claiming to be 'Vash the Stampede' in various places around the world," he said. "People were still terrified of anyone who called himself by that name, and would quickly obey any demands such a person might make. It didn't matter how unreasonable the demand was, if it came from 'Vash the Stampede' people would hurry to obey from fear for their lives."

"I had been reminded in Kasted, with Sheryl and Lina," he said, "that sitting by and doing nothing was not a solution. I knew that something needed to be done, and it seemed unlikely that anyone else would or could solve this."

Heads nodded all around the room, in response to that statement.

"So, in the year 0139, I decided that I needed to begin shutting down those who falsely claimed my name, and misused it as a weapon to harm others," he said. "I planned to watch for them, and even infiltrate their gangs if necessary. My goal was to catch them when they were either sound asleep or else too drunk to put up much of a fight. Then I would tie them up, take them to the nearest law enforcement office, and leave them there for the lawmen to find."

"At the time, the worst one seemed to be based in or near Ripmela," he continued.

He told the story of how he had gone to Ripmela and dealt with the false Stampede. **

When he finished, everyone applauded. That made Vash blush again.

"Thank you," they all began to say, each in his or her own style. Then they all began to wish each other a good night.

Vash hugged each family member as he or she left the room.

Chronica hung back, waiting until nearly everyone else had left the room before she stepped forward and shook hands with him. "You didn't seem to want me to tell the only story about you from those times that I know from personal experience," she said.

"Please don't ever tell that story," Vash said, very softly.

She felt Nick approaching them from behind, so she whispered her next words directly into Vash's mind. (What's the matter? Are you ashamed that you cried so much?) she thought to him. (Are you embarrassed that the thought of your own death broke you so easily?)

(I wasn't crying for myself,) his thoughts replied calmly.

To her surprise, Chronica sensed absolute sincerity in his emotions. He was not ashamed, nor was he defending himself. He was simply stating facts.

(I cried for a sweet young Plant girl that I'd met, and recently left in the keeping of Seeds villagers,) his thoughts whispered. (She believed in me, completely and absolutely. It was beyond her capacity, at that time, to even begin to imagine the depth of my sins.)

Vash looked directly into Chronica's eyes, as his thoughts continued softly whispering into her mind. (I knew that my captors would torture and humiliate me as much as they could, before they killed me. Images and reports of those tortures and humiliations could easily shatter her young, innocent, affectionate heart. I cried because I saw no means to protect her from that pain.)

Shocked, Chronica could only stand and listen to his thoughts as he shared them with her. His emotional echoes backed up his words completely. She could feel the absolute depth of his honesty, which made each of his words quiver through her soul.

(If I was ever captured under circumstances where escape was impossible, I would take it to mean that God had decided I should die,) his thoughts said. (My own pain was meaningless, for it would be nothing more than justice – after what I had done to July. How badly it would hurt her, though, that is what I simply could not bear.)

(That's why I cried, Chronica,) his thoughts concluded. (She never stopped believing in me, not even on the day she died. She taught our children to do believe in me also, little as I deserve it. They taught their children… That story, it could hurt my family. Mock me all you wish, in private. But please, I beg you, don't do it where it could hurt my family.)

(I'm sorry,) she thought guiltily. (I didn't realize… I won't tell.)

(Thank you.) His nod as he released her hand from the handshake was nearly a bow.

He hadn't wanted her to tell Shyla either, she remembered. When she saw that Shyla's immediate reaction was concern over his injuries and his safety, she'd begun to catch the barest hint of a glimpse regarding why he'd neglected to mention it.

Now she was learning more.

Nicholas was the last to go. Chronica lingered nearby, her chin on her shoulder as she looked behind her to watch the father and son interact. From their facial expressions and postures, it seemed likely that they were conversing in thought.

Vash groaned in frustration as he hugged Nicholas goodnight, and then he affectionately mussed his grown son's hair.

Nicholas swatted his father's hand away from his hair, but he was grinning widely.

Nicholas Wolfwood Saverem followed her, to walk with her to the ship where she was staying while in Seeds village.

Chronica thought it a quaint custom, this idea of a male attending a female to protect her from those with hostile intent that might lurk in the darkness to threaten her. As a Plant, with reflexes faster than human, there were very few threats that were actually any danger to her. None of them were likely to be found in Seeds village.

However, she permitted him this simply because she liked the attention. She had no objection to him maintaining this habit, even when there was no danger, if it meant spending more time alone with him.

"What were you two talking about?" Chronica asked. She was curious.

"I warned him that I plan to ask for another story tomorrow," he said. "He thought I should tell a story about one of my more spectacular arrests instead, but I told him we were more interested in his stories. That's when he meddled with my hair."

Glancing toward him, she saw that he was again smiling. His scent and emotions united to suggest a strong affection for his father.

Then his attention focused on her. "You were talking with him, too, weren't you?" he said. "What was that about?"

"I…" she suddenly felt uncomfortable. She'd just agreed that she wouldn't say anything, and here she was getting asked to say something. "I know something about him, from when he was still known as 'the Stampede,' but he didn't want me to tell it. He was concerned that it would hurt the family. He said the strangest thing… he gave me permission to mock him in private all I wished, but begged me not to do it in a manner that might be overheard and upset any of you."

"That's Papa for you," Nicholas said fondly, though he also shook his head. "Always more concerned about everyone else than for himself. Mama often worried about him, because he doesn't recognize his own worth."

He sighed. "Mama thought part of that failing may have come from the decades when Papa traveled alone with Knives," he said. "If one hears anything enough times, it's difficult to avoid believing it. She said that Knives despised him, and he wasn't shy about saying so – and in no uncertain terms. She encouraged us to show Papa how much we valued him, and she hoped it would rub off enough that he'd begin to value himself, too."

He shrugged. "I guess it hasn't, or at least not yet anyway," he said. "It seems like if something gets rubbed in deeply enough when you're young, then it's hard to shake it off later."

"Hmm," Chronica said thoughtfully.

They walked some distance in silence before Nicholas spoke again.

"So, this thing that Papa didn't want you to tell us," he said, "can you tell me anything more about why he didn't want it to be told? Do you have any idea why he thinks that it might hurt the family?"

"There was a time," she said slowly, "when he was captured. If the deputies learned who he was, he knew that he would be condemned to death. It would take hours to describe how much the lawmen of that day hated the reputation of 'Vash the Stampede,' or how many terrible things they wished to do to him, if he ever fell into their hands."

Suddenly, she found herself crying. She wasn't quite certain why, but the tears were pouring down her face and she couldn't stop. She felt Nicholas put an arm around her shoulders in a comforting gesture, and she felt his friendship toward her. That helped, more than she'd imagined possible.

"He already knew your mother," she continued, when she'd regained some composure. "Shyla was only a child then. This happened long before they grew to love each other as a man and a woman. But she already adored him. When he started thinking how it would hurt her, if she learned he was executed as a criminal… especially if they took the time to do even half of the terrible things to him that they wanted to do…"

Nick's arm tightened around her shoulders. "That would hurt Mama almost as much as it hurt him," he said, "if not more. Even as a child, his death under such circumstances might have caused her to grieve so seriously that it could place her own life in danger. Since you know he was upset, I'm guessing he expressed his distress in some fairly obvious way?"

"Yes," she said softly. "He cried. He sobbed heartbrokenly for hours and hours. At the time, I thought he was afraid of dying. I couldn't entirely blame him, especially with how slowly that process was likely to happen, but… I disrespected him for what I thought was a terrible weakness in him."

"But he wasn't crying for himself." Nick's voice was not asking a question. He was making a statement. He knew his father that well.

"No, he wasn't," she said. "But I didn't know that until tonight."

"So … how did he get away?" he asked.

"I never told them who he was," she said softly. "I sent him out of town before they figured it out."

Nick almost laughed. "Good for you," he said.

"Not really," she said. "I'd expected him to be the same as Knives. I was looking forward to seeing him suffer with some relish, and it took me … well, more time than it should have, before I understood anything about what kind of person he is." She decided not to mention that she'd invaded his mind while he was asleep.

"But when you learned, you did right by him," Nicholas said. "In the end, that's what matters. We all make mistakes, sometimes even stupid ones. When we make things right, where possible, that's what makes the difference."

"I hope so," Chronica said.

"I know so," Nicholas said.

They walked in silence the rest of the distance to her room on the ship, and then parted for the night.

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** See "Search for a Stampede" chapter 8, "A Memory of a Stampede" if curious about what Vash did with the false Stampede in Ripmela. For the story about when Chronica captured Vash and considered turning him in, see chapter 7: "Stampede into the Sunset."