A/N: So sorry this took so long. First I moved to a new city, this being the first time I've been out on my own, went back to school full time, started a new job, and basically this whole year has been one giant stress test. To the reviewer who asked me back in May I think if I would have a new chapter out soon and I said yes, I cannot apologize enough. I would have had this out on Christmas Eve, but I was away from my computer and my mom's laptop wouldn't recognize my external hard drive. So this is super, super late, and I'm so sorry.

Hopefully the fact that this is probably my longest chapter yet makes up for it a bit.

Chapter 14: If I Cannot Bring You Comfort….

"Ow!"

The exclamation of pain escaped Bernard's mouth before he could stop it.

"I haven't touched you yet."

Quinton had appeared out of nowhere only a minute after their master had left the room. Having thrashed the elf worse than ever, he had left Bernard on his knees in the middle of the room, tears streaming down his face and his breath coming in painful gasps. As Bernard tried to stand and failed, a pair of hands settled on his shoulders. He flinched away on instinct, but a voice whispered, "It's all right. It's only me."

Quinton had then helped Bernard to his feet and sat him down on the bed.

"Now," he said. "Where does it hurt?"

"What?" asked Bernard, clutching one side.

"We have a few minutes, and you're not leaving this room until your wounds have been tended to. I ask you again. Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere."

Quinton scowled but finally managed to cajole Bernard into stripping down to his trousers. His entire back was scored and bruised where he had been struck with a strap of some kind, and in some places, the skin had broken and bled thickly. Beneath these numerous scars stood out in white, just visible beneath the red and purple.

"My goodness..." whispered Quinton.

"Go on. Say it," said Bernard. Quinton frowned.

"Say what?"

"That I deserve it."

"You don't deserve it! Do you not listen to anything Lydia or I tell you? You don't deserve this, Bernard."

"Lydia!"

"She's fine. He tried to force himself upon her, but she escaped him, and she's fine."

"Where is she?"

"Sigmund found her half frozen outside and rescued her. He brought her to the elf maids."

"Thank goodness."

"Yes, I too am grateful she's all right. But you're not. Now, lean against the bed post."

At these words, Bernard turned white, and his entire body went rigid.

"What's wrong?"

"He says that to me. Sometimes."

Bernard's voice was barely audible as spoke, but he might as well have screamed it for the impact it made. Quinton's jaw dropped, and he felt as though a ball of ice had dropped into his stomach.

"I – Bernard, I'm so sorry."

"It's - "

"No. It's not. Just, turn around."

"Quinton -"

"Please." Quinton clamped his eyes shut in his earnestness and reluctance to engage in another battle with Bernard's stubbornness. Bernard nodded and faced away from Quinton as instructed.

The sight of Bernard's battered torso had shocked Quinton, but soon the pair fell back into their old banter.

After a brief examination of Bernard's more recent wounds, Quinton pulled out a small tin from the inner pockets of his tunic. When he pried off the lid, the mingled scents of mint and fresh pine filled the room, and as Bernard breathed it in, he felt his muscles begin to relax a bit. But as soon as something cold and slimy hit his skin, Bernard let out a not-so-manly yelp.

"What are you doing?!"

"It's a salve. It will help," insisted Quinton. Bernard felt a second attack of the substance, and the touch of Quinton's fingers over his bruises through the slime made him squirm.

"Is this really necessary?"

"No, Bernard, I'm only doing it to annoy you. Now, stay still," ordered Quinton firmly. As Bernard obeyed with a roll of his eyes, Quinton began working the salve into the worst of Bernard's wounds. After only a few moments, Bernard felt some of the pain easing away from his back, and the permeating scent of wood and mint began to sap the tension from his mind and body.

"What is that stuff?"

"It sort of works by wishing, as in 'I wish we had addressed this sooner.'"

"Where didyou get it?"

"From Hamish down in the infirmary. He taught me several useful little first aid maneuvers."

"What for?"

"These things are useful when Curtis is your assistant."

"Is there anything you can't do Quinton?" This question was placed not out of admiration but exasperation.

"No. Yes! I can't whistle."

"All right, all right, I'm fine. Can we go?" said Bernard. He got to his feet and began to pull on his shirt, but he gasped and winced as the motion pulled at his battered ribs.

"Yes, clearly you are the picture of health. It's a pity the salve only works on external injuries. You're sure you're all right?"

"I'll be fine. Promise."

"Excellent. We must be going. There's no time to waste." Quinton pocketed the salve and stood. Bernard, glad to be rid of Qunton's mother-henning, headed toward the door.

"Not that way, you fool."

"Quinton, the door is the traditional way to exit a room."

"We'll be seen if we go out that way."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"Of course. Don't I always?"

Bernard huffed, refusing to feed Quinton's ego, and watched him as he wandered toward the door to his closet. Bernard crossed his arms and took on the thoroughly unimpressed expression he had perfected over centuries of dealing with Quentin's various eccentric notions. He watched with a furrowed brow which began to cloud his face with confusion as Quentin pushed Bernard's clothes aside.

"Ah ha!" exclaimed Quinton, as he stepped back with a triumphant grin.

"What 'Ah hah?'"

Quinton, implacable as ever, gestured like a showman for Bernard to enter the closet. Bernard stepped inside, giving Quinton a look that plainly said "I am only humoring you" and saw for the first time the narrow door built into the back wall of the small room. It stood open now, but when it was closed, it blended in perfectly with the wood of the rest of the wall. Beyond the door was a long tunnel, with torches embedded in the walls every few dozen yards. Bernard was astounded.

"How long has this been here?"

"A while. Now come along."

"Where are we going?"

"To see Lydia, of course."

"Where is she? Are you sure she's okay?"

"Yes, she's fine." Something in Quinton's expression gave Bernard pause.

"What?"

"You should know. He tried to force himself upon her," said Quinton hesitantly. Upon seeing the look of horror take over Bernard's face, he hastened to add,"But she escaped him, and she's fine. Sigmund found her half frozen outside and rescued her. He brought her to the elf maids. Now come on."

They took off at a brisk pace, but not quite a run. Quinton expressed a need for silence, despite the obvious secrecy of their route, but Bernard suspected that Quinton wanted to do Bernard no further injury with arduous running. For once, Bernard did not object to his friend's concern. They ran through the tunnel, turning this way and that at Quinton's lead. Bernard grew more puzzled by the moment, and the fact that Quinton seemed to know exactly where he was going only raised his curiosity. Where did these tunnels come from? How long had they been here? Who built them? Bernard had his suspicions but kept them to himself as Quinton led him around corners and uphill and downhill. Eventually, they came to another door. Quinton opened this and ushered Bernard inside.

The scene before him was blessedly familiar. The warmth of many fires crackling within ovens and the sweet smell of things baking wafted over him. Elf maids in little tiaras and pointed princess hats darted this way and that as they tended the ovens, but each one turned and gave him a friendly smile as they passed. The only stationary figure in the room sat on a stool in front of a fire roaring in its own hearth. At the sound of the door closing behind Quinton, the figure turned to face him.

At the sight of him, Lydia rose from her chair and threw her arms around him. Bernard gasped as her embrace tightened over his battered ribcage and immediately regretted it. The exclamation of pain did not escape Lydia's notice, and she pulled away.

"You're hurt!" she said, her face contorted with worry.

"I'll be fine," said Bernard, wishing strangely that she was closer to him once more. Lydia looked over at Quinton, who nodded solemnly. Bernard was telling the truth.

Lydia's gaze turned back to Bernard. Pity and concern flickered in her pearlescent eyes as they took in the sight of him. His chest heaved in quick and shallow breaths, as though the simple intake and outtake of air pained him. His clothes hung loose and rumpled over his frame. She put her hands on his cheeks and looked over his face, his limp curls, his weary eyes. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her in a gentle embrace, now mindful of his injuries.

Bernard had never been embraced in this way before, but he put his arms, rather awkwardly he thought, around her waist. He saw in his mind her face as they were torn apart, the terror in her eyes only for him as she was dragged away to her terrible fate, and he held her tighter. His face rested against the crown of her head, and he breathed in deeply, ignoring the tug at his ribs as he took in the scent and softness of her hair.

They remained that way for several long moments, until Quinton coughed quietly into his hand. Bernard and Lydia looked around and released each other.

"Now," began Quinton. "Shall we crack on?"

Quinton looked about him and found two more chairs and set them beside Lydia's in front of the fire.

"Do sit down," he said, as though he were a businessman about to conduct a meeting among investors. Bernard and Lydia both hesitated.

"We have a little time."

"What are you talking about? He must be looking for us."

"Not yet. Not himself anyway. He's currently in the infirmary with a fractured patella."

"What?"

"Our dear master seems to have broken his kneecap."

Quinton sent a suggestive glance in the direction of Lydia, who looked sheepishly toward her shoes.

"Did you really do that?" Bernard asked her incredulously. She looked up at him, her grey eyes fearful, and nodded.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," said Lydia. Bernard's expression of incredulity softened into one of wonder as he looked at her.

"You're amazing," he blurt out.

"Yes," interjected Quinton. "Word of what you've done is spreading through the Pole like wildfire. The elves know now that there is someone here willing to stand up to him."

"What can she do, Quinton?" asked Bernard, taking his eyes of Lydia to cast an annoyed look at the inventor. "You want her to kill him?"

"She could help us unite against him."

"How many times do I have to-"

"Why are we even discussing this?"

Lydia's voice cut through their argument like sharpened steel.

"I thought you wanted to help."

"What I want is to know why you need help in the first place. How did this happen?"

Bernard and Quinton looked at each other as though they had never even thought of this before, as though the routine of terror had become so normal, they almost couldn't remember things being different.

"Well surely he cannot always have been this way."

"Well, no," attempted Quinton. "It hasn't always been this way, rather he hasn't – that's to say, it's a bit complicated – Bernard, you explain it! This is your area."

Bernard was about to argue that time was not on their side and they really ought to hide Lydia somewhere, but he saw the expectant look on Lydia's face and sighed.

"There is a clause," he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"A contract of sorts which binds a mortal man to the position," explained Bernard.

"I don't understand," said Lydia.

Bernard took several deep breaths, as though preparing for a long speech for which he had forgotten his notes. He then began to slowly explain the clause which bound one mortal man after another to the magical post, the symbolism behind the coat and the sleigh, and their connection to the magic of the Pole.

"So the coat is enchanted then?" asked Lydia, when Bernard's lecture came to an end.

"As good a word as any."

"And it's the source of the magic?"

"Not exactly. The coat sort of ties him to it."

"So any drunken louse can find the coat, or steal it, and simply walk in and take over?"

"I always did think that was a rather poorly thought out arrangement," said Quinton, looking over his calloused fingers.

"May I hear it through once more?" asked Lydia.

Bernard repeated the Clause once again.

"'Accident or design?' What does that mean?"

"It means he must maintain his position until he is incapacitated either in an accident of some sort or…." Bernard's voice trailed off as he found himself unwilling to speak aloud the alternative.

"Or?"

"Or he's killed," said Quinton.

"Murdered, you mean?" said Lydia slowly, letting the words sink into the air syllable by syllable.

"Murdered. Assassinated. Eradicated. Exterminated. Dispatched…."

"Yeah, we get it," said Bernard, bringing Quinton's recitation to an end. "What are we talking about here? We're talking about killing Santa."

"No. I will not have any elf commit murder," said Lydia.

"Well, we need to do something," insisted Quinton. "All of our lives are in jeopardy now."

"Killing him cannot be our only option."

Silence settled over them for a few moments as the conspirators all pondered their situation.

"What if we found a replacement?" said Lydia finally. "Someone willing to take the position from him?"

"It's not just you two he wants. He stands to make a fortune from this deal. He's not going to just step down now."

"The elves must rally against him," said Lydia.

"Good luck with that," Bernard scoffed.

"Sigmund said that he and his fellows would help if the elves stood up against him. They won't be alone. They must do something."

Bernard frowned skeptically and shook his head. Conspiracies, last stands, and rebellions were beyond him. They were toymakers, not rabble rousers. What chance did they have?

"We have time," said Quinton. "And we have allies. That's a start. The first thing we need to do is find out when he plans to do this terrible thing."

"How are we supposed to do that?" asked Bernard.

"You may leave that to me."

"How will you find out?" said Lydia.

"He has special powers."

"I have my methods," insisted Quinton, pointedly ignoring Bernard's sarcasm.

"But he knows now you've thrown your lot in with us," said Lydia.

"Lydia's right, Quinton. He'll just be waiting for you to try something now."

"It's the two of you I'm worried about. Orders are to seize you both on sight. You both need to leave."

"And go where?"

"I think the best thing would be for you to go to England. Would your uncle be opposed to hosting Bernard for a time?"

"I don't think he would object at all."

All this time, Bernard had begun shaking his head, his curls bobbing beneath his hat.

"I can't just leave."

"You have to!" Quinton held up a hand as Bernard was about to interrupt. "Your safety is more important."

A door slammed open somewhere nearby. A cacophony of voices resounded outside the kitchen, but one familiar roar sent a chill through the three conspirators.

"WHERE ARE THEY?! I know they're in here! Where are they?!"

"Go!" urged Quinton, grabbing both Lydia and Bernard by an arm and lifting them from their seats.

"How did he find us?" asked Lydia in a shaky voice.

"It doesn't matter now. Just go!"

"I can't-" began Bernard.

"You must! Go now!"

The elf maids stopped and stared at the door with terror on all their little faces. Their trays shook in their hands as bang after bang sounded against the door. Judy walked over to the three, and put her hand on Bernard's arm, and tried not to show the fear in her eyes.

"We'll be fine, Bernard. Just go."

Bernard looked at Lydia, who looked back at him and said nothing, though her face showed that she wanted him to escape just as much as she would stand by him if he insisted on staying.

"Take my hand," he said.

Their palms met, and their fingers locked together. Quinton disappeared behind the door from whence he had come, and Bernard and Lydia vanished into the air, just as the doors to the kitchen burst open to reveal their irate pursuer, his face red with murderous rage as he stared about the perfectly normal hustle and bustle of the busy kitchen.

A/N: Moving right along with the plot. The next chapter should be a bit shorter and less plot-y so hopefully it won't take me as long.

I also want to say, I appreciate all the reviewers who have expressed understanding with the pacing of my updates. Actually, I appreciate all my reviewers, so keep 'em coming please. It's good to know people are still interested in this story.

Late Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year if I don't see you!