A/N: Thank you again for following/ favoriting (I figure I can make that a word if I keep using it)/ reviewing. More detailed thank yous at the end of the chapter, but for now…
Chapter Fourteen
All in all, Gerhild changed her mind and grew thankful that Vorstag was with her. He proved a valuable hireling, his prowess in battle understated yet efficient. Though he did tend to rush forward and engage a little earlier than she would have advised, he was diligent in his duties, especially when it came to protecting her back. His fighting style wasn't flashy or elaborate, but simple, powerful, and most importantly effective. He didn't use wide and graceful arcs when a quick and forceful chop would suffice. And he could block with a shield far better than any other she had yet seen. His archery needed a little work, but that might have just been getting used to the new bow.
After clearing the trail up to the tower, they had taken a moment to exchange some loot before entering the dark interior. She had found quite a few useful items from the corpses of the Forsworn, and quickly passed over two small healing potions and nearly a score of salvaged arrows.
Inside the tower she led the way, but she knew he was only a pace behind her if she came across any enemies. They moved stealthily, crouched and shifting from shadow to shadow. Gerhild used her bow, killing the few Forsworn they came across from afar before they could be spotted. When they found a Briarheart, Vorstag made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. She didn't hesitate, her aim true, and within a heartbeat the creature was dead.
"What is it?" she asked, turning to look at him now that they had a moment.
He gave his head a small shake. "Those… Briarhearts unnerve me. You can see inside their chests, where their hearts used to be." He paused to shudder. "It's unnatural."
Her lithe eyebrow rose up as she asked, "Does this mean you'd have a problem fighting Draugr?"
He shook his head. "Fighting Draugr is as much about controlling your fear as anything else. Besides, they make sense; they were alive once, then died, then became undead. But Briarhearts are different. Their chests were cut open and their hearts were replaced, so they were never dead, but they're no longer alive." He paused to shrug. "See? Doesn't make sense."
Those last four words rang like the final say on the subject, as if he had argued his point for hours and had finally reached an indisputable conclusion. She lowered her eyebrow, deciding to let the matter drop. This wasn't the first Briarheart they had come up against, and he had shown no difficulty killing the others, it was just this time he had an opportunity to give voice to his discomfort.
She opened the door carefully, and was amazed to find they had reached the outside once more. There was another open area crawling with Forsworn, and they had been warned that she and Vorstag were coming.
"This time we stick together," she commanded, even as they engaged in battle. "The area is too complicated, too many ambush spots. I need you at my back!" She spotted one woman who was running at her full speed, a sword raised above her head, making a fearsome impression. Too bad Gerhild was hard to impress. She stepped up to the Forsworn, shortening the distance until they met. The Forsworn realized too late that she wouldn't be able to get her sword down in time, and Gerhild's war axe cleanly cut through her guts, spilling slippery entrails all over the ground.
"Replace that," she muttered.
Something that sounded suspiciously like choked laughter erupted from Vorstag's direction, but by the time she turned around, he wore a grim expression once more. He finished his own opponent, and quickly looked around. "Stick together," he repeated, sounding like he agreed. "Aren't you concerned some of them might slip past us and get away?" He stooped to wipe off the edge of his axe on the fur armor of one of the dead.
She used the short respite to scan the area. "Not any more, they're too fanatical. No one is going to run from us. It's more likely we'll have the opposite problem." She nodded in the direction of a group near the base of a large stairway, who were beginning to charge.
"Right. Let's go!"
He rushed forward, eager to do battle, before she could advise them to pick off a few targets first with their bows. She didn't waste time to call him back, but pulled out her bow and fired several arrows into the fray. As long as she didn't hit the person wearing scaled armor, she knew he would be alright.
At least, he was until the troll. It came up behind Vorstag, and even though Gerhild put an arrow into its chest, it didn't stop. She called out his name, and watched helplessly as he spun around to face his latest opponent.
"Son of a…" was as far as he got before the troll's club-like hand, full of razor sharp claws, swung in a powerful arc and sliced into him. He had tried to get his shield raised in time, but couldn't quite manage it. "Weergh!"
Gerhild heard his scream and saw his body fall to the ground at the troll's feet. Her blood boiled, her vision darkening until all that showed was the monstrous troll. She dropped her bow, pulling axe and dagger as she ran, leaping into the air at the last possible moment before the troll could sink its teeth into Vorstag's unmoving form. It had been bent over, and her jump ended solidly on its back. She slammed her fist into the hair-covered hide, her dagger biting deep into muscle and sinew. The troll noticed the pain and straightened up, roaring and twisting, flailing its arms in an attempt to dislodge the discomfort. Her face grim, her lips set in a thin line, she swung her axe through the air and nearly lopped off its head. It wasn't a clean strike, but it did the job. The monster fell to the ground, Gerhild riding its shoulders the whole way.
She was panting, her vision slowly returning now that the danger had passed, when she heard a battle cry behind her. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that a Briarheart was charging, his axe poised for a deathblow. She tried to tug her weapons free, but both dagger and axe had bitten deeply into the troll and were lodged fast. Briefly she found herself wishing for a shield, and wondered if that would be her last thought.
A twang sounded from nearby, as well as the hiss and flutter of something moving through the air, something deadly and carefully aimed. She stared in amazement as the Briarheart fell to the ground dead, his artificial heart impaled by a well-placed ebony arrow.
"You're right," the calm, laconic voice droned from the ground beside her, "Fletching's more jagged than Nordic arrows."
She turned towards him, her jaw dropping in amazement. "Vorstag…" She had given him the advice about discerning the ebony arrows when she passed over the bow and quiver, and to hear it affirmed in such a mild manner, when they had both nearly been killed by troll and Briarheart, made her wish she could give a genuine laugh of relief.
"Aye," he answered, lying back down with a grunt. "For now." He closed his eyes to the pain, his chest heaving as he struggled simply to breathe. There were three large, bloody scratches that had made it through his armor, a fourth that had only nicked his arm right above the brace. They weren't deep enough to kill immediately, but left unattended he would eventually bleed out.
"I thought you…" she bit off the words, feeling a little too superstitious to speak about death in the middle of a battle.
"So did I," he agreed. His hand was fumbling at the pouch at his hip. She watched him as he pulled out one of the smaller healing potions and unstoppered the phial with his teeth. The liquid poured past his lips, and he took a few moments to continue to lay there, all his energies focused on the act of feeding air into his body.
At last she recovered her wits, and looked around them to make sure they were alone. It seemed like all the Forsworn on this level were dead, though she could hear someone moving around on the level above them. She got up from the troll's back and retraced her steps to where she had dropped her bow, giving Vorstag some time to heal without her hovering over him. When she returned, he was sitting up, staring at the troll with an enigmatic expression on his face. As she bent to tug her dagger and axe free, he chided her, "You have the berserker's rage. Tunnel vision. That can be deadly."
She saw his gaze turn to the Briarheart, and she knew he had a point, but she didn't want to admit he was right. She braced her foot against the troll's body as she attempted to pull her axe out of its neck. "You scream like a girl."
He narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but whatever protest he would have made was forgotten. Gerhild had given a final tug, her axe coming out of the troll's body with a wet sort of sound. The suddenness unbalanced her, and she ungraciously plopped to the ground, landing on her buttocks. The comical movement changed his retort into a chuckle. He quickly tried to stifle it, not wanting her to think he was laughing at her, but he was so relieved to be alive, that she was alive, that it was hard to suppress.
She heard the sound, full of life and joy, and for a moment she again found herself wishing she could join in. But they were in the middle of a Forsworn camp, enemies just above their head, and laughing would only give away their position. "We're not finished yet; there are several more on the level above us. Are you healed enough to continue?"
He finally managed to choke off his laughter, his expression returning to its usual, easy-going attitude. "Sure." He stood, feeling only slightly light-headed, as the wounds on his chest continued to heal quickly, leaving faint scars behind. He reached out a hand to help her to her feet, and then they started up the last flight of stairs.
After battling the Forsworn on that landing, they found yet another tower. "This just never ends," she sighed, opening the door and leading the way inside. In the first room they came across a Forsworn, but with his back to the door he was easily and quietly dispatched by an arrow from Vorstag's new bow. They crept up a spiral staircase next, finding more Forsworn, one of whom had managed to conjure a frost atronach. After battling the troll earlier, the little scuffle seemed almost routine.
With everyone dead, Vorstag took the time to look around them. There were two doors and one gate. "Which way now?"
"The gate undoubtedly leads outside," she reasoned aloud, "So one of these doors will lead to the switch that opens the gate." She walked up to one and tried the handle.
"This one is opened," Vorstag called softly from the other door.
"This one is locked, probably because the switch is this way," she deduced. She knelt to eye level and fumbled only briefly at one of the many pouches on her belt. He stood back and watched as she nimbly and expertly picked the lock.
"Wow. You're… pretty quick doing that."
She glanced sharply at him, recognizing the tone in his voice and the hesitation as he substituted an awkward comment for what he really wanted to say. "But you don't approve."
He shrugged, looking down and disappointed. "Suppose not, at least, not if you use it for a living. Never had much liking for stealing, or those who steal."
"Lock picking has its uses," she weakly defended herself, opening the once locked door. He didn't argue with her, but shrugged again and started down the hallway beyond the opening. "No! Wait!" she hissed, but it was too late. Vorstag was sauntering down the hall, unaware of the trap he had just triggered, when he turned around to see what she was upset about.
Gerhild lunged forward, knocking into his chest and sending them both sprawling to the ground. Half a heartbeat later a loud swooshing sound echoed in the tight space. His eyes were wide as he watched the battering ram swinging above their heads, the front end of the massive log sharpened into a deadly point. "That was close."
"Too close," she grimaced. Confusion clouded his features for a moment until he tried to lift her off of his body. Immediately his fingers found the warm blood on her shoulder, her slight body tensing with pain as she lay across him. "Damn it, Vorstag," she gasped, pushing his hands away.
"Just trying to help," he excused himself.
"Don't," she panted, pressing her forehead into his shoulder as she tried to get control over the pain. She felt him tense beneath her, holding himself perfectly still as if afraid to move. She should be feeling remorse for making him feel guilty for her injury, but it was his fault. As the battering ram lolled to stop, she found the strength to move.
She saw why he was being so still; one of her knees was perfectly positioned to cause him immense pain if she so much as twitched. Gingerly she eased back from him, knees first, until she could struggle to a sitting position. Panting she tried to find one of her healing potions, but Vorstag was quicker, pressing an unstoppered phial into her hands. She downed the contents without even taking the time to swallow.
Though her injury was healing quickly, her temper wasn't cooling. "By the Nine, Vorstag, watch where you put your fucking feet!"
"I…" he started, but she didn't let him apologize.
"There was a pressure plate on the floor," she nodded to the spot, and he saw one of the flagstones was raised slightly than those around it, "And your big fucking clumsy feet triggered it." She leaned in dangerously close to him, intimidating him though he must have been twice her size. "From now on, do what I do. If I stop, you stop. If I run, you run. If I crouch, you crouch, and step where I step, how I step, even if you don't see why. Understand?"
He didn't speak, but the heavy swallow and nod were answer enough.
She turned from him, her temper still flaring, and used the wall for support as she struggled to her feet. Carefully she negotiated around the battering ram to the end of the hallway. Opening the other door caused another curse to fall from her lips. "Shor's bones!"
"Wh… what is it?" he asked quietly, almost as if afraid to speak to her. As soon as he peeked over her shoulder, he understood. There was nothing before them but a small, railless balcony overlooking the valley they had just battled through. "A dead end? Why would they put a trap in a hallway that led to a dead end?"
She could hear the curiosity in his voice, undefeated despite her earlier outburst, though a little timid. "Who knows," she answered, beginning to feel slightly ashamed of yelling at him. "Maybe there was someone here as a lookout, and the battering ram kept intruders from creeping up behind him. Maybe it's a diversion, because obviously they would want to guard the switch that would open the gate. So to be devious, they put the trap behind the locked door, and the unlocked door leads to the switch." She paused to spit out over the edge. "And I fell for it."
He didn't answer, not knowing what to say, even after she admitted her fault. Sighing, she said softy, "We should go try that other door."
"Think it will hold another battering ram?" he asked, following behind her, watching carefully for more pressure plates.
"No," she shook her head, "Probably something much worse."
Gerhild wasn't wrong. The other door opened to a room with several Forsworn inside. The fight was fierce though brief, each of them taking on their own enemies. Near the end she turned to Vorstag in time to see one woman come up behind him and deliver a kick similar to the one she had given Dryston. Instead of curling into a tight ball, however, he merely grunted and spun, swinging his war axe through the front of her neck.
And that quickly the fight was over. She stood amazed, one eyebrow lifted as she watched him double check that the fallen were dead. Her silence must have gotten to him, because he finally faced her and asked, "What is it?"
"You adjusted your armor," she gestured to his groin.
A sheepish smile crossed his lips, making him look like a mischievous little boy. "Thought it prudent, after seeing what you did to Dryston."
She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could comment another door opened and a Forsworn walked in on them. He seemed as surprised to see them as they were to see him. Gerhild recovered first, leaping towards him with her dagger drawn. Despite the barbaric and outdated armor, the disfiguring face paint, and elaborate headpiece, she had recognized Cosnach. Before either man could react, she had him pinned beneath her, her legs straddling his chest, her dagger at his throat.
"No… no…" he groaned, paralyzed by fear. "I killed you. I shot you. With your own arrow."
"I lived, you son of a bitch!" She pressed the side of her dagger into the soft flesh of his neck. "But you won't."
"Wait!" he gasped, "Wait! You don't understand. I didn't have a choice! I didn't mean to betray you. I just wanted to get out of Markarth. And I needed a weapon, so I took your bow." He was babbling incoherently, saying random things, anything, to try to garner favor.
"You not only tried to kill Lady Gerhild," Vorstag said, looming above her shoulder as he stared at Cosnach, "But you tried to betray Ogmund, a man who's treated you fairly and honestly your whole life. You tried to find evidence of his Talos worship, to present it to Ondolemar, so Ogmund could be arrested. You're a coward, Cosnach, and you deserve death."
"What do you know?" he hissed, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth. "Once I took Ondolemar's job, I was trapped. He threatened me if I didn't succeed. What else could I have done?"
"You could have refused to take his job," he countered. "I did. Nothing the Thalmor could offer is worth more than the price of loyalty."
He tried to spit in Vorstag's face, but the spittle never made it past Gerhild's shoulder. Looking at the insulting drip, she sighed before pitting her cold, dead eyes against his. "I'll tell you what, Cosnach. We'll let the dagger decide. It's enchanted; it won't harm the friend of the one who wields it. Therefore, if you're telling the truth, if you are my friend, I won't be able to slit your throat."
He believed her. He wanted to argue, to question her statement, but she looked at him so calmly and deadly, that he found the words merely sputtered in the back of his throat. She pressed the blade a little deeper into his flesh and at last he found his voice. "Mercy!"
"One has to have a heart to feel mercy," she replied coldly. "The Thalmor killed mine. And you sided with them."
One final flick of her wrist, and the dagger cut cleanly through an artery. She pulled back nonchalantly, unconcerned that his warm blood was splattering over her. He tried to stop it with his hands, but the cut was too deep, though it took several minutes for him to finish dying. The whole time she refused to look at him, focusing instead on cleaning her weapons and returning her dagger to its sheath.
When at last his body stilled and his final breath hissed and bubbled through the puddle of blood in the back of his mouth, Gerhild turned to the door he had come through. "Looks like we go this way next," she said quietly, giving the war axe in her hand a practiced twirl. If she noticed that Vorstag was unusually quiet, she didn't let it show.
The room beyond held a soul gem firetrap. She had barely enough time to duck before a jet of flame shot at where her head had been.
"What do we do?" Vorstag asked, crouched similarly behind her.
She thought a moment, going over options in her mind quickly as she waited for the flames to cease. "Shoot them," she answered simply, pointing to the soul gems stationed around the room. She reached for her bow, but he was faster, so she let him knock the gems off of the enchanted pillars, disarming the trap. "Your aim's improved."
"Getting used to the new bow," he shrugged.
Beyond the trap was the switch, and retracing their steps to the main room to go through the gate, they reached the summit of the camp. A flight of wooden stairs led to another flight of stones stairs, and from the top Gerhild could hear the raspy breathing of their final enemy. "Wait," she said softly, her hand reaching to stop Vorstag. She didn't need to bother, as he was mimicking her actions just as she had commanded, and had stopped when she stopped. The backs of her fingers found the gashes in his armor, still sticky with his half-dried blood, and the warm, healed flesh of his chest behind.
He listened to the heaving noise for a moment before saying, "Don't like the looks of this. What's that noise?"
His breath was also warm, tickling the sensitive skin around her ear. "Hagraven," she answered, "And she knows we're here."
He nodded, "Then why delay?"
He started up the steps even before she could curse, her fingers grasping too late at his armor. She snarled and raced after him, her quicker feet easily outdistancing him. She was therefore the first one at the top of the stairs, the first one the Hagraven saw, and the one it challenged. "I am Drascua," the ugly mix of woman and bird screeched at her. "You have defiled my sanctuary. You will pay with your life!"
Gerhild didn't bother with a response, other than a swing of her war axe. The Hagraven started with a sparks spell, trying to kill or at least weaken Gerhild before she could close the distance between them. The spell was powerful, and she had to warn Vorstag to stay back or the lightning would have extended to him, too. Alone she could barely survive it, but if it linked to him, it would have passed back and forth and intensified. Luckily he did as she commanded, and the energy quickly died away.
While the spell had been affecting her, she continued to close the gap between them until she was near enough to bring her axe to bear. Even in close combat, however, the fight was not easy, as the beast's claws were as deadly as its spells. Gerhild ignored any injury, focusing only on killing the Hagraven as quickly as possible, trusting Vorstag to take care of everything else. At one point the two stumbled a little too close to an altar, setting off a soul gem firetrap that struck both of them. Before she could order it, Vorstag anticipated her command and began shooting the gems out of position, disabling the trap to let her focus on the Hagraven.
It wasn't much longer before the abominable creature lay at her feet, screeching and gasping its last breaths. Gerhild knelt at its side and swung her axe, severing the head cleanly from the shoulders. She remained kneeling there, her chest heaving as she struggled to regain her breath. Though brief, the fight was vicious and required a lot of her strength. Having battled uphill for most of the day, and topping it off with a Hagraven, she was exhausted.
Vorstag came up to her side carefully, not sure if he should approach her or allow her to faint. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and inclined her head briefly. "I'm… alright…"
"No," he countered, pointing to a gash running across her chest and down her side. She knew the wound wasn't deep or life-threatening, but she didn't commented on it. Instead she took the healing potion he offered, and remained sitting as it began to take effect.
"Was there anyone else?" she asked finally, forcing herself to her feet to look around. The stairs led to a landing that held the firetrap she already knew about. Beyond that was the altar the Hagraven used to perform her terrible rituals that changed man into Briarheart.
"No, why?" His hands were steady as he held on to her, waiting to see if she'd keep her balance or not.
"I thought I heard someone…" her voice trailed away as her eyes swept the back of the landing behind the altar. Set within the side of the mountain itself, exposed to the elements for millennia but still clearly visible, was a Word Wall.
"There's no one here but us," he answered, "Well, now that Drascua is dead, there's just us. Before that it was just her." He didn't know why he was babbling, other than he didn't like the look on Gerhild's face and was trying to distract her. "What are you looking at?"
"Do you hear them?" she asked, her voice in a whisper as if she didn't want to drown out a nearby conversation. "Or is it just me?"
He looked around them, but other than the disarmed trap and altar, he didn't notice anything, especially any being. Following her gaze, he saw the strangely marked wall, but still didn't see anyone around them. "It's just us here."
Gerhild sighed, patting his arm as she moved away. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised that Vorstag couldn't hear the voices, chanting in an ancient language, filling her mind with the knowledge of the Dragon tongue. The Greybeards had said she was special, different, Dragonborn…
She reached the wall, surrounded by the rushing sounds of the antiquated voices, one word seeming to glow as everything else around her darkened. She couldn't hear Vorstag calling her name, her mind filled with the Thu'um as it imprinted itself on her soul. She felt herself lose touch with the physical world, pulled into that place where Thu'um and being were one without form, the only existence Intent. Hungrily her being consumed the Thu'um, melding it to her, holding fast the knowledge even as the voices faded into eternity.
"Gerhild!" he shouted again, tugging at her upper arm.
She blinked, but the darkness was gone. All around her was the world just as she had left it, with trap and altar and wall. And Vorstag, who stood looming over her where she knelt, a concerned crease in his brow. She glanced at the wall, but the words were as faded as the voices, except for one that still seemed to pulse with each of her heartbeats. Her fingertips lightly touched the scratches as she whispered, "Dismay…"
Vorstag didn't hear what she thought she said; instead he heard her say, 'Faas…' He swallowed; though not directed at him, he was still leery about any Shouts she might perform, and this one had been different from the 'Fus Ro' she had spoken in her delirium. "What did you say?" he asked cautiously.
She looked back at him, shaking her head. "Nothing, I… never mind. Help me to my feet."
He seemed more than glad to do so. Even after she was once more upright, he held on to her arm, afraid she might faint after all. "Are you…" he began, but stopped himself before he said 'Dragonborn.' He couldn't ask her that, no matter what strange things she did, or Shouted, or heard that no one else could hear. Of course she couldn't be the Dragonborn; that was a myth. Instead he finished lamely with, "…alright?"
She took a moment to look around them before answering. "A little light-headed," she admitted, "But that's to be expected. You?"
He shrugged. "I'll live."
"Good," she finally tugged herself free of his grip and brushed the dirt and dust from her hands. "Then let's find Hrolfdir's shield and get the hell out of here. It's getting late. And I don't know about you, but I'd rather walk back to Markarth in the dark than spend the night here."
She limped over to a chest she had spied earlier, pried it open and rummaged inside.
After a few moments, his voice sounded from behind her. "What do you think this is?"
She turned at his question, to find him standing at the altar, a strange sort of stone in his hand. "A pommel stone," she answered, "Probably to an ancient sword. Come on, I've got the shield." She gestured with the heavy steel shield in her hands.
"What should I do with this?" he asked, bouncing the pommel stone in the palm of his hand.
"Keep it as a reminder of our adventure." Again she had spoken impishly, impulsively, and even teasingly; so completely out of character for her that it almost scared her. Besides, it wasn't as if he would wish to be reminded of this adventure. Or that he wished to be reminded of any adventure. He had told her his possessions were few, only those things he could use like armor and weapons. A piece of junk off of a broken sword to remind him of the time she berated him for his clumsy feet setting off a trap…
"Maybe I will," he said softly, bouncing the stone thoughtfully in his palm a few more times before dropping it into his pouch. When he turned to find her staring at him, he almost flushed. Not wanting her to guess why he would want to keep the stone, nor wanting to look too closely himself at his motives, he gestured towards the stairs. "You lead. I'll follow."
Caught up in his own discomfort, he didn't notice how willingly she took the opportunity to drop the subject.
As they climbed down from the camp, in the fading light of the day, Vorstag noticed all the places where her armor had been penetrated. He decided that he would suggest they stop for the night, once they were well clear of the Forsworn camp, if only to make a few quick repairs to their armor before entering Markarth.
A/N: Thank you all who've taken the time to post a review; it really makes me happy! XD
To demonichazard, don't worry too much about spoilers for the civil war quest line. I kind of have Gerhild doing her own thing instead of "Take this fort" and "Blackmail that official." I will say this for Bethesda: no matter which side you take in the civil war, you don't feel too good about it. Both sides are tyrannical racists too stubborn to see that the dragons are a greater threat and their petty war is only destabilizing the region and playing into Thalmor hands… *takes a deep breath* ...but I digress.
To CeliaB, I'm glad you find Gerhild complex and so different from other Dragonborns; I put a lot of time and effort into creating her past and destroying her humanity so Vorstag can redeem her. Hope you still find her interesting, not necessarily likable, but interesting.
I'll guess I'll stop worrying about how long some of the chapters get. I was concerned some of them were too long, but since no one has complained…
And as for Vorstag *sigh* he had me at hello. Well, actually, he had me at "Sure. What have you got?" After traveling around with the passive/aggressive Lydia (I'm sworn to carry your burdens) and then deciding to give the condescending Marcurio a try (I am an apprentice wizard not a pack mule), I said screw it and started a new character. Researching Nord followers who are also potential mates, I came across Vorstag (I went anti-alphabetically), and the first time I asked to exchange stuff with him, and he said that line, I was like "I need an Amulet of Mara, STAT!" I know, I know, he looks like "Handsome Stranger"—fifty points to whomever gets that reference—but he's so sweet and easy-going.
Okay, enough rambling. Thanks again for reading. The updates are going to be slowing down now as I'm finding I want to rewrite a few scenes before posting. What can I say; reviews inspire me. Also, I've nearly caught up to my original story, so I'll be writing that in Pages (yes, I'm a Mac user), converting it to Word (and I have Word on my Mac), and then uploading it to fanfiction… The things I go through to avoid serious work.