Reaver's Servants

To Err Is Reaver

The cold winter air was coming in from the mountains and the night was settling in. The town criers were shouting about the upcoming early snow fall and it had the residents of Millfields up in arms. Servants from each manor, including Lakeview Manor, were running about preparing for the snow.

Since everyone was busy making sure everything was inside and everything was closed up tightly, no one noticed a certain rogue make his way from Lakeview Manor with a chair, a bottle of wine, and a small bag. Reaver made it perfectly clear to Barry that he didn't want to be bothered and refused Barry's help when he asked if Reaver wanted him to carry the chair. Barry was taken aback when Reaver refused his offer and just left the house without anything else said.

Reaver dragged his chair past the gates to Lakeview, ignoring the guard's offer to carry the chair for him. He dragged it along the dirt path; ignoring the snickers of the nobles he passed by. Reaver dragged this elegant chair up the hill, over the rickety bridge and into the vacant woods where the old gypsy camp used to be.

Having cleared out the bandits, Reaver felt it was safe to perch his chair against a tree and have a nice sit. If not for the trees, he might have been able to get a good view of Hero Hill. He used to do this little ritual there until the hill started to crumble. So, he felt this clearing where the Gypsy camp used to be would suffice. After taking off his hat (out of respect, apparently), Reaver reached into his small bag and pulled out a wine glass and bottle opener. "I've been saving this for a special occasion." He murmured, pouring the wine into the glass.

"Maybe in my years on this wretched planet, I've been too hasty. Not that I regret it." Reaver crossed his legs and listened to the last of the crickets chirp. "But I find it fitting to come here once every so often and say my peace to you. It's a silly ritual, and frankly I could do without it. I ask myself every few years why I do this and each time I tell myself I need to stop. And yet here I am, sitting in the middle of an abandoned camp drinking some of my finest wine while talking to ghosts."

Reaver took a deep breath and then took a long swig before refilling his wine glass. The past few days, Reaver had been preparing for this. Every few years, as he couldn't be bothered to do it each year, Reaver would sit alone in the forest above his manor and meditate on his life. He wasn't sure why, but this particular forest seemed to be peaceful. Reaver had seen a lot in his many, many, many years and reflecting took a lot of energy from him than he was willing to admit.

The servants were worried, as Reaver was more despondent than usual. Where he was usually quick to punish (such as a broken vase or a late arriving meal), Reaver simply ignored it and went about his business. When asked about it, then Reaver would get mad and it had his servants running for their very lives. So, they decided to ask Barry. Of course, Barry yielded no answers.

Barry had been working for Reaver for years, having been hired around the time Lakeview Manor was constructed. But he never truly understood why Reaver felt the need to perch himself in the woods on the nights right before the first snowfall. It was always the night before the first snowfall, even when none was announced. Reaver always knew and he was always up there.

Reaching inside the bag, Reaver pulled out four dolls and placed them on the stump in front of him. Each one looked like someone from a point in time he wished he could forget. That day was the day he was dragged into the affairs of the world. "Alright, as usual, I'll start." Reaver took a big gulp from his wine glass and gasped when he was done.

"I know I say this each year, and I still mean it: I loathe each one of you with a fiery passion not unlike an erupting volcano. The very memory of you four make me want to vomit and that would be a compliment. It took me fifty years to repress what happened and then all of a sudden I'm forced to face my bloodline again when those troublesome rebels attacked almost two years ago." Reaver held up his gloved hand and stared at it. He picked up his wine glass and poured himself some more wine.

"Garth…" Reaver started at the dark doll with the glass eye patch. "I followed you to Samarkand hoping for a treat but instead you treated me like a tourist. But I must admit, watching you work and getting on your last nerve was quite fun. I don't know if you truly died that night. I slipped out while the tavern was rioting. So, if I am not speaking to your ghost, that's just fine as well." Sighing, Reaver turned his head for a moment and then back to the dolls on the stump. "I must say, you were a terrible tour guide. The nightlife in your homeland could use some work. I actually believe you were keeping the best places to yourself. Ahh, naughty, naughty."

Reaver didn't finish this swig, but he still poured himself some more wine. "Hammer…" he murmured shifting to a doll with red hair. "Too friendly for your own good, but I must admit I admired your spunk. One of my maids, Willa, sort of reminds me of you sometimes. Strong, short tempered, but ultimately a friendly young lady. I wonder if she might be a distant relative of yours. I certainly hope not because then I'd have to do away with her. I like Little Bit too much to do that. I can't say that about many people, but I guess she's grown on me, as well as the other Circus Rejects."

Reaver put down his glass and glanced at the dolls again. "Oh, I hired some new servants. They used to work in a circus and I must admit it keeps things interesting." Reaver sighed happily and picked up his wine glass again.

The little droplet of wine swirling at the bottom made Reaver think hard about where this conversation with ghosts was going. He turned his attention to a hooded doll with what looked like silver pieces for eyes. "Theresa, you sneaky old witch." He murmured, disregarding his wine glass and taking a long swig from the wine bottle. "I have a seer amongst my servants. Though surprisingly, Rosie has more personality than you. And that's saying something, all things considered."

Taking one final swig, Reaver turned his attention to a rather elegant looking doll. When he first found this doll (or stole it after killing its original owner) it was wearing nothing but underwear. Reaver took it upon himself to dress this doll correctly. "My dear Sparrow…" Reaver murmured, saving the last little bit of his wine.

"How could I forget you? I can't, really. I've tried. I stayed in the background while you ran your kingdom, which is a feat even I admit wasn't easy. The limelight simply begs for Reaver, but you always know how to steal it away from me. All hail the Hero Monarch, Queen Sparrow! Yes, I yelled it as everyone crowned you and cheered and threw streamers and all that fun stuff I'm glad I didn't have to clean up. You were quick to thank Hammer, Garth, Theresa, and I for our help in saving this dirt pile you call a kingdom, though I didn't get to make a speech. Of all the constants in my life, you always seem to pop in and out. As a fellow Hero, as a Queen whose ass I need to kiss, but never as a friend. Rumors have it that you were quite the windfall under the bed sheets and I'm offended that you never let me prove or disprove those rumors! I think I hate you most of all."

Reaver downed the rest of his wine and stared at the dolls. All of them had happy faces which didn't change. "…but for everything I have done in my life, the only time I ever felt truly human was with all of you."

The wind blew softly through Reaver's hair. "…and I think now I'll sleep better knowing that I am still human and there are six people in my mansion that see me that way. For all my perfection and my very miniscule, practically nonexistent flaws, they accept me. I hate them for it, yet I cherish it. But let's keep that between us, shall we?"

With a wink and toss off the empty wine bottle, Reaver packed up the dolls into the sack and tied it shut. After putting his hat back on, Reaver placed the sack on the chair and started dragging it toward the bridge. To Reaver's surprise, at the end of the bridge stood Rosie, waiting for him. The winter wind blew her hair about as Reaver approached her. "What did you hear?" he hissed as he approached.

"Nothing, if it keeps me from waking up with a hole in my chest." Rosie responded in her usual dead-pan tone. Reaver nodded appreciatively and motioned for Rosie to take the chair as he walked down the hill. The snow was definitely on its way, as the overcast was pretty prominent. A few flurries flew about, but the real snow would come until late that night.

"Why were you at the bridge? I told you lot I didn't want to be followed." Reaver growled as Rosie dragged the chair with little effort.

"We were starting to get worried about you being out here all alone before the snowfall, so we all started looking for you. I felt a strong presence coming from the hill leading to Driftwood and followed it until I found you sitting in the clearing. Something told me not to go any further than the bridge, so I waited." Rosie shivered a bit as they made their way down the hill. She could see her own breath. "You've been walking around as if in a haze lately. We've all been worried about you. Miss Sarah is even making her ravioli specialty tonight in hopes it cheers you up."

Not sure of what to say, Reaver just stared at Rosie, urging her to continue. "We care about you a great deal, Mr. Reaver." Rosie shivered again as a stronger gust of wind took her by surprise.

At that moment, something took Rosie by surprise. When she looked up, she found her boss taking off his jacket and draping it around her shivering shoulders. Reaver smiled appreciatively and fastened the top button for her as she blushed. Reaver then decided to continue with the sack toward the lakefront. "I'll be expecting that jacket back, Rosie." Reaver shouted as he made his way to the lake.

As Rosie and the chair went back towards Lakeview, Reaver made his way to the lake front. He opened the sack and tossed a few rocks from nearby in. With a few powerful swings and accounting for wind resistance, Reaver tossed the sack into the slowly freezing lake. He said nothing and only waved as the sack slowly sunk, leaving a few bubbles in its wake.

Reaver turned around and made his way back to his home as the snow started to fall. In front of the manor's grand doors stood his ever loyal servants, waiting for him in a straight line. Reaver didn't have to say anything as they bowed and let him go inside first. Each servant followed closely and let the doors shut softly.

Reavie mewed softly in her basket in the corner of Reaver's office as her master made his way in. The pampered kitty happily trotted to Reaver as he sat at his desk slowly. She hopped onto the desk and mewed happily as he scratched behind her ears. It was rare that Reaver not say anything, but tonight all he did was pull out his journal and fill his ink pen.

"I'm not sure who said it, but there is an old saying, 'to err is human, to forgive is divine'. I hate that saying with a passion, but I must admit there is some wisdom to it. When we are wrong, I believe we feel vulnerable. When we feel vulnerable, we tend to act as we truly are. To feel vulnerable; I hate that feeling, so I try to be as right as I can at all times. The servants usually have no problem telling me I am right, though I hear their murmurs of correction when they walk away. If they weren't so afraid of losing their jobs, or their lives for that matter, they'd probably be more straightforward with me. I like that. Servant/boss relationship status restored."

Looking up, Reaver glanced at the coat stand near the door. His coat had been promptly returned. Reaver placed the pen to his lips and smiled softly.

"To err is human, they say. I figured I gave up a big part of humanity long ago. Of course, my beloved circus rejects like to remind me, in their own special and somewhat demented way that I am indeed still human despite the perfection that practically oozes from my pores. Maybe I'll give them a little bonus in their next pay. Not a big one, I don't want them to think I'm giving them a raise. I'd like to give a few of them a raise, if you catch my drift, dear journal."

Reaver chuckled softly and closed his journal. Before leaving his office, Reaver glanced outside at the snow falling gracefully over Millfields. Reaver smiled and started to make his way out of his office. The servants had long since gone to bed and the manor was quiet, save for the tip-tip-tip of Reavie's paws. As Reaver made his way to his room, he felt a presence behind him. He turned around and saw nothing, but noticed Reavie stayed oddly close to him. With a soft chuckle, Reaver continued on his way.

"Good night, Sparrow. I do hope we all meet again."

N'cha!

Double update time! Isn't this awesome? I don't know why, but I've been on such a gnarly inspiration kick and I just had to get these bad boys out on time!

Where I live, the Southern United Sates, we've had some odd climate changes. One day it can be almost eighty degrees and the next it can be thirty. Of course, it's only cold on my days off from work. Can you believe it? Well, we had a snowstorm warning not too long ago and I think the clouds on a snowy night are amazing. We didn't get snow, of course, but the clouds in the sky that evening were something else. It was eerie, which gave me the inspiration to write this little number.

I sometimes do my best thinking during storms. The wind blowing, the rain (or snow, given the situation) falling, and just the atmosphere can be quite entrancing. Perfect meditation time. I wrote this chapter as a reminder that we are all human and we need to remember that sometimes. So, be mindful of others and don't forget to treat others as you wish yourself to be treated.

To err is human, as they say. It's one of my favorite quotes. Enjoy, my doves.

As always, I appreciate your viewership and hope everyone is still having a good time. I plan to update this more often, but keep an eye out for my other works as well. My Portal fic, a sequel called "One Big Aperture Family" is still alive (sorry about that) and just itching to be read right now and my other Fable fic, "A Maid's Story" is still updating, although sparsely.

So, as always my lovelies: Read, review, and be merry. I appreciate all feedback, so let me have it! (Be gentle, lol)

Reaver and Barry Hatch belong to Lionhead.