Twenty One:
The One With the Truth
Icy black liquid quickly filled the room. It was thicker than syrup, but it spread faster than any liquid she had seen before. The liquid had already reached her waist and she began to panic. She splashed around the tiny room, looking for something—anything!—to hop onto to get her to higher ground. There was nothing. The liquid was up to the middle of her chest now. There weren't any windows or doors to get out through. Why couldn't she get out?! She felt the liquid blackness close in around her throat like a pair of massive choking hands.
"Are you blind yet?!" a voice cackled and taunted from all around her. And then she went under.
Victoria slowly awakened only to find herself staring at an uneven, slightly mossy stone wall. The smell of seawater kept in an enclosed space for too long hit her hard, making her head ache and her stomach turn. She moved as if to get up and froze as she heard a soft rustle of fabric.
"Oh, look, boy," a cynically amused voice drawled. "I do believe she is finally waking up."
I know that voice, she thought, now completely and utterly awake. Victoria bolted upright on the tiny cot she'd been placed upon. Still sitting, she whirled to face the bars separating her from the rest of the room. "You!"
"Are we on the subject of me, already?" Reaver quipped, twirling his walking stick thoughtfully. Victoria noticed that, for some reason and somehow, Nero was seated obediently at Reaver's feet as though they had been friends for years. "As I'm certain you recall, I am my favourite subject."
"You'd better be thankful these bars are between us, or I might castrate you!" the Princess snarled.
"And why would you ever consider doing that?"
"You were the one following me in the castle; I should have known! You knocked me out!"
"I did no such thing," Reaver replied smoothly; something in his tone suggesting he was mentally shaking his head at her. "Rightly accusing me of following you is one thing, but insisting I harmed you is more preposterous than that ridiculous ensemble you're currently wearing. Really, you mustn't jump to conclusions so quickly, Princess. After all, why would I want to drag around an unconscious girl when a conscious one is so much more fun, hmm?"
"Good question," Victoria snapped, her temper growing short. "And why did you 'drag me around'?"
"You have something of mine; I want it back."
Victoria's heart sank; her anger fading to be replaced by slight fear and discomfort. She had almost forgotten that the Dragonstomper .48 was Reaver's. Well, that explained a lot. I'm such a fool sometimes. "Well, it's not like I have it on me right now, is it?"
She thought she had a very good point, considering she was stripped of weapons, and hoped that was enough to earn her a ticket out of her cage. Apparently, she wasn't clever enough for the smile he offered her was cold, calculating, and utterly absent of affection.
"Hmm, no…it's in here, isn't it?" he replied, a sly, scheming look in his midnight eyes as he picked up her father's bag. He studied the bag for a second before tossing it to her through the bars; it landed on the cot's thin, half-rotted mattress with a muffled thump.
Victoria slowly picked it up, looking at the brown leather uncomfortably. Though Reaver had given her no instruction, she knew what he was aiming for. It was a lesson in submission; she had to give in and get it for him. Of course, she could take the gun out and shoot him or even just toss the bag back to him and tell him to get his damn gun himself, but then, she knew, she would be stuck in this cell for a very long time. If she could say anything for Reaver…he certainly knew how to teach lessons.
Even slower than she had been about opening the bag, she found the Dragonstomper—not where it was meant to be, of course—and approached the slightly rusty bars. With the caution of one approaching a wild animal, Victoria extended the gun, handle first, to him. Reaver took it from her and holstered it with the care of a loving father.
Some people like their guns a little too much, she thought, unsure whether she ought to be relieved or not that he no longer seemed angry with her. "Are you going to let me out of here now?"
"Of course," Reaver drawled slowly, almost mockingly, though he was much quicker to sort through a ring of keys.
"How did you know I would be at the castle?" Victoria added once the door was unlocked and she was free. Immediately, she knelt down and gave Nero a much-deserved hug and some affectionate pats. Poor dog, having to deal with Reaver while she was unconscious. That must have been awful, given they'd never appeared to get along before.
"I thought you would be far more inclined to return to where your brother was dwelling than to abscond deeper into Bowerstone and face persecution at the hands of Logan's minions," came his, strangely cheerful, reply. As Victoria continued to shower her beloved collie with affection, Reaver added, "Though, I must admit, it was really only too easy to keep an eye on you once you'd returned to the city to make sure you didn't…wander. You might consider putting this on."
At that last sentence, he tossed over a long, thick black cloak. Once she'd finished securing her bag to her waist, she slipped into the length of dark fabric. Reaver's scent filled her. She let her eyes close, relaxing as she breathed it in. She welcomed the comfort the familiarity brought her. What am I doing? Victoria quickly opened her eyes, coming to her senses and forcing herself not to fling the cloak away. Her relief had never been as great as when she discovered Reaver hadn't been watching her. Speaking of not noticing things…where am I?
The room they occupied was low-ceilinged and long. The cell she had vacated wasn't the only one in the room, judging by what little she could see in the guttering light of a couple old, soot-clouded lanterns, but it was certainly the most liveable cell. The stone walls were mossy and slightly bloodstained. Thick cobwebs hung from the ceiling at the room's corners, and Victoria thought she heard the scuttling of roaches and mice. She was unsure if the floor was earthen or just that dirty. And the smell…she'd thought it was bad when she'd woken up, but that was an understatement—she began wondering if the cells shared a wall with the sewers.
"Reaver? Where are we?"
He quickly glanced around, almost as though he was attempting to remember where he was, as he began to lead them to the door out. "This charming little hole just so happens to be a gangster's prison—one of Bowerstone's nastier secrets, unfortunately."
"I…take it you don't mean a prison where the Royal Army puts gang members."
"Not quite, my dear Princess, though I am sure more than a couple have found their way down here," he smirked as he held the door open for her, but he sobered quickly. "Your oh-so-intelligent brother enforced a curfew on the streets; we'll need to hurry."
"I don't understand," Victoria hissed as they raced up a nearby flight of stairs and into the cool night air, "why are you trying to make sure I'm not seen if Logan already knows I'm involved?"
A carriage was parked nearby, and, unlike when Reaver had brought her to his mansion the first time, this carriage bore his trademark double "R" symbol. She wondered if it was a warning to the guards to not stop the carriage or if it was a declaration of not caring what their rules were. She had a feeling it was a little bit of both. The night-black horses hitched to it tossed their heads and shifted on their hooves, anxious as if they sensed some feeling in the air that Victoria couldn't pick up on. It made her feel slightly paranoid. All around them, the streets were utterly still and utterly silent as though nothing in the city existed but them.
Reaver ushered her and Nero inside and gestured to the driver to hurry up and go as he too climbed into the carriage. Once the door was closed behind him, he—with an innocence no one could have ever possibly believed—said, "I might have forgotten to mention to your brother that you had gallivanted off."
Disbelief crashed through her and Victoria had the odd urge to laugh as she scratched Nero's ears. "You didn't tell him?"
"Hmm, no…I could never think of a good time to bring it up. You know how these things are, Princess; everyone is always so worried about their own problems, they forget others have the solution," he replied, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
Like you? Victoria thought, not daring to say it. Because, while Reaver seemed incapable of asking for help, she knew she was just as incapable…only she seemed to have worse results when things took a turn for the worse.
The carriage rattled along through Bowerstone Market, leaving them in silence for a long moment before, almost thoughtfully, Reaver added, "You might want to consider writing him somewhat soon."
Victoria, whose thoughts had turned to wondering if her friends were alright and what had happened, looked at him in confusion. "Why?" When Reaver didn't reply, she added more forcefully and with a touch of frustration, "What aren't you telling me?"
She'd always known Reaver had…little ticks—tells to show what he was really thinking at any given moment—but it had taken her a long time to get used to the few she knew. When he leaned on something, keeping it between himself and the other person—like his walking stick, for instance—or when he got annoyingly close to someone, she'd noticed he was usually defensive. His flirtation seemed to mask his uncertainty with a situation, while, in a strictly conversational setting, he either avoided the question or talked you in circles until you agreed with him because it was simply easier to agree than to figure out what the hell he'd just said.
That said, he didn't try to hide that it was against his better judgment when he tossed over a newspaper to her.
Victoria caught it before it could hit Nero, and quickly unrolled it. The edition of the Bowerstone Times was emblazoned with the title "Respected Member of Militia Arrested for Aiding Insane Revolutionary in Failed Coup against King". Fear twisted her gut and brought a tremor to her hands as reality finally began to sink in. The paper was dated the day after their attempted assault on Bowerstone, which meant…. "Reaver, turn the carriage around!"
He didn't move; he just watched her with intrigue as if she were some dramatic play that was about to kill off one of her main characters.
"You have to turn us around! He'll kill them! I can't just let them die!"
"You can't really believe that."
"Y—what?"
Reaver gave her a long look that seemed to pierce her to the core and command her to be calm. "Employ a little common sense, Princess. That article is two days old. If Logan had wanted to kill them, I would have handed you an article about an execution, not an arrest." The Princess began to protest, and he added sharply, "Victoria! If I had known you were going to react like this, I wouldn't have told you at all. Now, relax. Obviously, Logan is attempting to lord the matter over you and ensure your continued compliance, so you've nothing to worry about. Honestly, sometimes I do think you whine more than the mutt."
The Princess wasn't listening. Though the sound of her name had grounded her somewhat and was, to a point, keeping her from over-reacting and leaping from the carriage to find her brother, she couldn't keep calm. Guilt coursed through her body, weighing heavy on her as her mind brought forth a bevy of images of all that could be happening to her friends at that moment. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest, responding to her sudden fear, and her lungs struggled for a proper breath. Victoria felt as though she might be sick. She hated to admit that Reaver had a point, but…but what if he was wrong? She put her head in her hands and tried not to scream.
"Alright," she replied after several more quiet minutes had gone by, her voice slightly muffled. She slowly drew her head up to stare at him with desolate but determined eyes. "But, if I see or hear even the slightest hint that Logan means to harm them, there will be nothing you can do and no way that you will ever be able to stop me from going. I can't let them suffer for me, anymore, Reaver. Not after Aurora."
She didn't bother attempting to hide the threat. Whatever lingering fear she had directed towards him was minute now. She was stronger and more aware of her power than ever before and she was confident that she could handle anything he could attempt to do to her. After all…he'd already killed her once before.
"Oh, very well," he replied dryly, clearly not bothered by her as he waved her off. Something in his tone and expression suggested that he really wanted to roll his eyes at her. "I will concede to your logic…if only you'll tell me why the so-called dead land of Aurora suddenly has you in such a state."
"Worried about me?" she teased, trying to draw his attention away from the subject.
"Call it curiosity."
The Princess hesitated. On one hand, she didn't want to talk about what had happened in Aurora. Not ever again. But, on the other hand, she was worried for Albion. The problem was, with Walter and the other Resistance leaders imprisoned, she had no one to confide in or plan with; no one to share her fears with. She could no longer put any trust in the consenting-to-the-marriage plan and she knew that whatever chance there had been of Logan releasing Ben before was now reduced to zero with the others in custody. Victoria needed to choose whether to keep playing passively or to take a more active stance. Either way, she wasn't going to make any progress on her own. Perhaps it was time to see just how far she could really trust Reaver. "Make sure your window is closed, I've got something important to tell you."
Over the next hour or so, as they moved out of Bowerstone and towards Millfields, she quietly detailed what had happened in Aurora; starting with their crash-landing near Shadelight and ending with an extremely abbreviated and undetailed description of her hallucination, as well as her awakening within the Auroran temple. She failed to mention very much of his role in her hallucination apart from him killing her—she decided to let him think on that for a while. Reaver listened quite intently, though he couldn't seem to refrain from adding little japes and jibes between Victoria's sentences whenever she came to an exceptionally serious part of the tale, lightening both the mood and, however marginally, Victoria's mind. But those jokes and smart-ass comments never really gave her an idea what he might have been thinking. It was so like him, Victoria concluded, that he could listen to her speak for so long and still not grant her an actual opinion on the matter.
"And here I thought you'd simply found the books," he muttered when she finally trailed into silence. As Victoria wondered precisely what books he was talking about, Reaver added, "I'm afraid I'm still not certain about what you are trying to insinuate. Not that I really care, but for the sake of continuing along your train of thought, did it actually say it was a threat to Albion?"
"Yes," Victoria said for what felt like the umpteenth time. She wasn't sure what she was saying that wasn't getting through to him…unless he was actually trying to hint at asking something she herself couldn't make sense of. "It said it was going to come for Logan, for 'the crown'. And that it would cover the land in darkness. It said it had been waiting a long time to do it, too. And, as far as I know, Logan's known about this for a while and he's still done nothing to fight it.
"I don't know what to do," she went on, uncomfortable with the admission and with all that this could mean. "I really don't. I need to talk to Logan about this situation, but something tells me he won't be the most enthusiastic about the subject. Besides, admitting that I know about the Crawler would just raise more questions and possibly endanger…others. I just don't know who else who would even know about this or would have the slightest idea for what to do about it." She dropped her gaze to the guild seal in her hands—she'd removed it from her belt whilst talking in hopes that it would give her a sense of security and confidence, but…it wasn't working. An idea sparked slightly in the back of her mind and suddenly she had the terrible feeling of memory and logic colliding into a flash of painful realisation. 'Did the blind seer never tell you about us?' Her stomach dropped out, annoyance and hurt flashing across her scarred face as her skin crawled and her blood grew cold. "Of course she would know."
She could immediately see that she had lost Reaver at that, but it didn't matter. At that precise moment, almost as if in response to her words, Victoria's guild seal began glowing with a strange, arcane blue-white light that first resembled foxfire before growing to a painful brightness more akin to lightning. For a very short second, Victoria was incredibly pleased. Theresa was the only one who could force such a reaction from the seal and, after being relatively ignored by the seeress for almost a year, it was a relief to think she might finally be getting some answers to the problems that were so thoroughly frustrating her. But then she glanced up at Reaver, curious to see how he would react to the guild seal's behaviour, and felt confusion wash through her. Though it wasn't quite as bright, the very same glow the seal emanated had formed around Reaver, though its place of origin was almost impossible to find. What does this mean? Victoria wondered. Does Theresa need to speak with him, as well, or—
Noting the way Victoria was staring at him, Reaver fixed her an odd, perplexed look and began, "What are you—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the interior of the carriage was flooded with bright light…and then they were gone.
Victoria had never, in all of her times travelling via guild seal, had a single pleasant experience with being pulled into travel when she was not the one initiating it. Her body always went stiff in an attempt to resist it and she felt almost as though she were falling off a cliff. Needless to say, the landing was extremely unpleasant.
Victoria hit the grassy ground hard, landing on her stomach. Ow…let's not do that again. She coughed as she tried and failed to get her hair out of her face. What she could see of the world before her was starkly white and absent of any trace of colour. The grass rustled without a breeze and the water just off the sides of the path rippled languidly though it held nothing capable of producing such movement; it was as though someone had taken a chunk of Albion and drained it of its colour and life until all that remained was a blank, white imitation of the world. Strangely enough, it wasn't foreboding, just extraordinarily surreal. Everywhere one could look, the ever-present mist clinging to the ground still swirled and crept about like the real thing.
As she tried to convince herself to get up, Victoria heard a masculine groan—a groan that was more annoyed than pained—from beside her and she peered out from behind her veil of braids to see that Reaver had had the misfortune to land on his back beside her.
"Well, wasn't that fun?" Reaver muttered sarcastically as he sat up, his dark hair falling into his eyes.
"Oh, loads," Victoria groaned, getting to her, slightly wobbly, feet.
"Welcome, Heroes," a serene yet sharp voice stated from somewhere behind Victoria.
Reaver glanced over while he pushed his hair back into its usual position; he snorted as though displeased and rolled his eyes. Victoria thought his expression was more fitting of a child being pulled away from their favourite game than that of an infamous pirate-turned-industrialist who was facing the very likely possibility of being crowned Prince of Albion.
With a sigh, Victoria forced herself to gather her wits and turned to face Theresa. Hooded and cloaked in red and white, the seer looked mysterious and not entirely welcoming. She shuffled back and forth on her bare feet, only the tips of her toes showing beneath the hem of her skirt. Her hands were clasped almost politely before her, and, though her expression was as calm as ever, something about her seemed mischievous. Theresa always seemed mischievous.
"You lied to me," Victoria blurted before she could stop herself. Everything was beginning to click together now, even though she'd not heard Logan's side of the matter. Logan had never been the real villain nor had freeing Albion been intended target of their quest; it had been fighting the Crawler all along. Theresa had known about it—which meant Logan had to have known as well—and so…did that mean their entire revolution had been nothing but a farce? Had she been fighting another person's battles and unwittingly parroting views that had never belonged to her simply because they seemed to be true and good? Had her entire tenure as a Hero—all the good she'd done, all the ill she'd wrought, all the lives she'd impacted—been a lie?
"No. I told you nothing but the truth," Theresa rebuked. Her voice was steadfast and firm, as though she were attempting to dissuade even the idea that she might have lied. "Albion will fall if left under your brother's reign. Only with a Hero on the throne will Albion be strong enough to survive the Crawler's threat. So, you see, what I told you is the truth…from a certain point of view."
"A certain point of view?!" Victoria echoed disbelievingly. Though she had never considered herself to be close to Theresa before, she still felt a sting of betrayal, as though she'd been used. Anger flared up defensively in its place and she added sharply: "And what would you have done if I had accidentally killed him before learning the truth?"
Theresa's ability to separate all traces of emotion from her work had never hurt Victoria more than the bluntness in her tone did at that moment. "Princess, you will find that, in life, many of the truths we hold near to us are only true from a certain point of view. Logan's death would have been an unfortunate, but necessary, loss if it got you to where you need to go."
"So we should just kill anyone who gets in our way and damn the consequences?" Victoria spat. "If only because it doesn't matter what happens except that it gets to the ending you planned out."
"Do not misinterpret my words, Hero—"
"There's nothing to 'misinterpret', Theresa, you've made your position as plain as day."
"As much as I love a good philosophical debate," Reaver interrupted, dusting off his white trousers, "if there is nothing you can think to use me for, I believe I'll just…go."
If Theresa had had eyes, Victoria had a feeling that the look she would have thrown Reaver would have been scathing.
"You will remain, Reaver," the seeress intoned, disapproval rolling off her in waves. "You were summoned here to listen, not to speak; I am hoping it will provide sufficient practice, for you, in thinking before you talk."
Reaver returned her frown with an expression that was somewhere between a frown of repressed loathing and a taunting dare, but he flexed his hands as though he were anxious to wrap them around Theresa's throat. Instead, he rolled his eyes and turned away from both women as though ignoring them would somehow transport him back into his carriage.
You two really don't like each other, do you? Victoria thought, momentarily taken aback. But how do you know each other? The question reminded her of the threat the Crawler posed and she dragged her thoughts away from her anger at Theresa and her curiosity over the Seeress and Reaver's previous dealings and she attempted to get to the real issue. "Theresa…the Crawler is planning to make good on his threat to attack Albion, isn't he?"
Theresa paused for the briefest of seconds. "Yes, it will make an attempt."
"Then how do I stop him?"
"You cannot stop it." Theresa's voice was blunt, unsympathetic. She must have known that her words had disturbed the Princess, but she went on nonetheless. "The Crawler will arrive in Albion regardless, and the only thing you can do now is prepare for it."
"And how, exactly, am I supposed to do that?" Victoria enquired, barely managing to rein in her frustration.
"You already possess an army, scattered though it is. However, you have very little time and there is scarcely much else you can do but wait and attack when the time is right." Victoria stared, disappointed, at her, and Theresa added in a slightly less cold tone, "The future is always in motion, Princess. Logan threw what little I can see out of balance by intertwining yours and Reaver's fates as they were never intended to be. It was an option I never could have foreseen, unbalancing both of your destinies. I hope, with two Heroes, we—"
Victoria's attempt at remaining on track abruptly failed. "Wait a minute…'two Heroes'? What are you talking about? I was under the impression that I was the only Hero left in Albion."
Theresa paused once more. "There are…others—some whom have played their part already and some who are oblivious to either their own unique talents or to the ways in which they could aid you. However…there is only one other who is close enough to you to be of any use."
Victoria had just begun a mental rant about how it was going to be impossible to scout Albion for other Heroes when something about Theresa's words drew her up short. "Only one that's close enough to be of any use?" Expression growing blank with realisation, Victoria slowly turned to look at Reaver.
The deviant was far from paying attention, having instead chosen to peer intently around the fog-shrouded world around them as if he were studying some strange painting. As if sensing their attentions were finally upon him, Reaver turned toward them. He cocked a dark eyebrow, affecting immense boredom without needing to do much of anything else. "What? Have you suddenly developed an actual need for me, or is my attention still optional?"
"You—you mean him?" Denial and disbelief had finally caught up with her surprise, clashing together in a frustrating wave of emotion. Pointing at Reaver as if he was a misbehaving child, she turned back to Theresa. "He's a Hero?"
"Always that tone of surprise," he muttered dryly when Theresa said nothing. Somehow he refrained from flinching as Victoria turned on him.
"You're a Hero?!"
Despite the growing irritation in her tone, Reaver appeared disinterested and took to fiddling fastidiously with his gloves as he replied, "Not in the strictest sense, you can be sure."
"Enough," Theresa told them as Victoria began to re-repeat her previous question. "With two Heroes involved, there is hope that Albion will survive with Logan on the throne. But time is beginning to run short."
Victoria shot Reaver a glare. She couldn't believe Reaver had kept that from her this entire time—actually, when she considered how much of a pain in the ass he was, she could. We are so going to have a discussion about this later. With an annoyed sigh, she turned back to Theresa and tried to focus. "How long do we have?"
"The Crawler will descend upon you in three months."
Victoria's heart dropped down into her stomach.
"Could you have, just maybe, told me about this last year?" How, by every god above and below, were they supposed to prepare Albion for an invasion in three months?
Reaver must have been paying more attention than Victoria had given him credit for, for he was staring at Theresa with an expression that clearly said she was mad and in need of slaying.
Theresa apparently had no more advice to give and, instead, simply gave them an enigmatic smile. "Good luck, Heroes."
Before either Victoria or Reaver could protest, Victoria had the jarring sensation of being dragged bodily through time and space before the pair found themselves back in the carriage.
Victoria's head ached, throbbing in time with her pulse. She picked herself up from where she'd fallen over into Reaver's lap and sat down properly beside him. Nero watched them from the other side of the carriage as if they were ruining his nap. Three months. And the wedding was in a little over two. How were they supposed to prevent both? In a way, she couldn't help but blame herself. She'd left Albion in late winter and had only returned in the summer. If only she hadn't been gone so long…if only she'd insisted the preparations for the battle had gone faster…maybe they'd have a little more time now. But she knew it wouldn't have mattered. The only difference would have been that Walter might not have survived the Crawler's assault. How am I going to do all this?
Reaver, however, didn't have quite the same concerns as Victoria. It took him a second, but, when he'd finally finished settling himself in—quite fussily, Victoria thought—he huffed irritably, and told her, "I loathe that woman."
"She's…a hard one to figure out," Victoria replied softly, unsure if she agreed or not. Theresa confused her too much, and she only just realised how tired she was; tired enough to lie down and never wake up. It had been such a long night, just another one of many. Victoria decided that, before she wrote to tell off Logan and before she began planning for either of the coming apocalypses, she was going to sleep for a day. How that would be nice….
They sat in relative silence and Victoria simply stared out her window at the pitch blackness beyond the glass. There were things she needed to say—things she wanted to know and make known—but she let them slip away into that realm of things untold and continued to preserve the silence. Pull yourself together, Rochester, she scolded herself. Try and get a plan together. There's no time to waste.
From across the carriage, Nero thumped his tail against the bench once and laid his shaggy head back onto his paws as though he knew it was going to be a long trip.
By the time the sun had started to peek over the horizon, Reaver had already begun scribbling away at his latest journal entry. At first he'd been hesitant to do so—the thought of Victoria attempting to read over his shoulder vexed him immensely—but, as time went on and the Princess kept to her side of the bench, he slowly felt more comfortable about penning his thoughts.
Theresa's declaration had put him on edge more than he cared to admit. He could see it all now: what had sparked every occurrence around him that had led to this point and where it was going—what was going to be asked of him before this was over. He was going to be asked to take a side soon, and he was going to have to decide whether he was willing to remain in Albion or if it would be more beneficial to wait the coming danger out…elsewhere. It wasn't a matter of cowardice—he was perfectly confident that he could defeat any beastie that tried to attack him—but of personal principle. He was not a Hero, not in the way Victoria was at least, and he had no desire to be involved in some fool's crusade. …but was it too late to decide? Had Theresa waited so long to warn them about the Crawler to eliminate any possibility of them leaving Albion to its own fate? That sounded like something that blind hag would do.
Reaver paused, tapping a finger against his pen contemplatively. He supposed it wasn't truly too late. He could go and leave Victoria to deal with the Crawler (he knew better than to think she would go with him) and return once everything had been dealt with. Of course, the thrice-damned wedding still had to be dealt with. Reaver sighed in annoyance and froze as a light weight fell against his shoulder and left arm. He turned to frown at Victoria only to find his protest died in his throat as he realised she was asleep.
He wanted to push her away—she was dirty and bloodstained and there was no possible way that she wasn't going to utterly ruin his suit—but, for some inane, unfathomable reason, he couldn't. He watched her warily out of the corner of his eye as though she were some sort of venomous serpent while he attempted to find something to blame for his sudden lack of ability to do more than sit there. Perhaps it was due to the fact that, despite spending three days in a cell beneath Bowerstone, she still smelled strongly enough of incense and perfume to give him a head rush…or, perhaps, Victoria was indeed an enchantress that delighted in muddling his mind; he truly didn't know.
Resigning himself, he reached over to brush the hair from her face. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad having her back after all.
The sun was riding high in the sky and Reaver's pocket watch declared that it was nearing two in the afternoon when they finally turned up the long front drive to his mansion. Victoria had awoken about half an hour previously; though that was more of Reaver's fault than Victoria's own desire to get up for he'd "accidentally" elbowed her as he leaned forward to get the paper from Nero before it was completely shredded.
The Princess yawned and peered sleepily out of the carriage windows, feeling a spark of recognition flicker through her at every familiar landmark. I know those trees…oh, that damned gate. She yawned once more and rubbed at her eyes as they finally began to slow before the front door. "By the way, Reaver."
Reaver looked up from where he was getting his things, which had mysteriously spread out, back together. Hat…coat…walking stick; no, he definitely couldn't forget that one, could he? "Hmm?"
"There's something you never really answered, earlier," Victoria went on, gesturing for Nero to hop down from the bench. "Are you really a Hero? You certainly don't act like one."
Reaver gave her a lazy, slightly seductive smile. "Would you like to find out?"
She gave him a coy, innocent look as she let Nero out of the carriage before the driver could open the door. Biting her lip coquettishly, she beckoned Reaver to follow her out. And, when he moved to do so, Victoria slammed the door in his face with a laugh.
Victoria smirked and, heading toward the front door of the mansion with Nero trotting loyally behind her, chuckled under her breath to herself, "That'll teach him."
AN: Jingle bells, hobbes really smell, the sand goose laid an egg! I can't think of how to finish this song, but Reaver took ballet! HEY! *jazz hands**ducks rotten tomato* I can't believe it's basically Christmas. Where did the year go? My calendar has to be wrong, right? No? Ah well. As my present to you, have a nice healthy dose of Reaver. Warning: in large doses Reaver may prove harmful to both your status of living and the status of relationships you're in; indulge at your own risk. Happy Christmas to you all! Now I'm off to eat baklava and guess what my presents are...thank you all for reading! =D
Dev. Notes: I didn't want everyone to know Reaver is a Hero. That was one thing I kept in mind from the beginning. Why? Because the people of Albion seem very dependent on Heroes and I don't think Reaver would want people to be that dependent on him. The glory, I think, would probably appeal to him, but I can't picture him running off and helping people...which he would probably get asked to do if everyone knew. It's up to opinion, though. Also, Theresa paraphrases Obi-wan Kenobi twice this chapter. Why? Because, if this was Star Wars, Theresa would totally be Obi-wan. And Jasper would be C3PO...
[Edited; ver. 3]