Disclaimer and mild pre-story Note: I do not own the central character in this story. He belongs to Marvel, as does the main villain to be mentioned at a later date. The places and other characters mentioned herein are mine however, and are not to be used without my permission, although I'd probably die of shock if anyone asked. The song is "Faceless Man" by Creed. If you're one of those people who listen to music when they read, might I suggest 'Logan and Rogue' from the X-Men soundtrack, or the entire 'Gladiator' cd. This takes place sometime during the Hundred Years War (look it up, all kinds of bad stuff happened). If you want to archive it, simply let me know the addy and I'll be happy to comply (though, again, you'd have to resuscitate me for an answer). This is not an Elseworlds story, but something I think could have happened before "normal" continuity (I'll explain more at the end!). I stink at writing accents, so I hope you can tell this takes place in medieval England and not modern-day Kentucky. Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Remember, feedback makes for happy writers, and happy writers lead to...all sorts of bizarre sequel-type things.
And now I leave you to a tale of lost innocence, and a younger X-Man who's just returned from his first war...
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Unicorn
By Misty
* I spent a day by the river
It was quiet and the wind stood still
I spent some time with nature
To remind me of all that's real
It's funny how silence speaks sometimes when you're alone
And remember that you feel *
"Da?"
"Not now, Nathan." Peter was so intent on his work he didn't even glance at his son as he spoke. The fair would begin in only a matter of moments and he had no time to spare. Mind you, he was looking forward to taking a well-deserved day off from the fields, but his plow had broken- *again* - and he just *had* to get his work done today.
"But da-"
"I said not *now* Nathan! Go botha yer ma!" He cursed as the blade slipped and cut his finger slightly. Stubborn dirt. This makes the third time that the stupid thing had broken from the hard ground. It was a miracle anything would grow out of it, let alone the meager crops he *was* able to produce. The other farmers seemed to share his problem and he saw that they were tolling hard before the fair began as well.
"But-"
"Dammit Nathaniel! Do as I say boy!"
"But there's a man comin' out've th' woods, da."
"What?" Peter put down the plow and looked up to the boundaries of the field. Damned if the little bugger wasn't right. Peter could make out the blurred figure of a man lumbering through the undergrowth. From a distance he seemed to be covered in some brown thing from neck to toes. Peter squinted as the sun glinted off of something metallic on his back. A sword hilt perhaps? *Trouble, Peter me boy.*
"Go an' get me ax from th' house boy, hurry." He may not own this land, but he did work it, and, by God, he'd never let some French idiot take it. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered *What if he's got th' plague?* His thoughts shied away from that question, vowing that the man would never get close enough for him to find out.
The stranger stopped a good ten feet away from the farmer, keeping his hands in the open to not provoke attack as Peter sized him up, and vice versa. It was indeed a sword hilt poking up from his massive shoulder. The grip was bound in leather for better handling but the pummel was left bare of design and cover, radiating strength and power even sheathed. The brown covering the man wore appeared to be armor of some sort, although Peter had no idea as to what possible good it could be in a battle. Hard leather, connected at the sides and shoulders with pointed straps, wrapped itself around his chest, forearms, shins, back -- even his fingers were covered. His face was hard and calm, ragged features and stormy eyes giving away a past fraught with hardships.
"You don't need that." It was only when the stranger's rough voice broke the tense silence between them did Peter realize that it was the first noise he'd heard the man make during his approach. Eerily, he was completely silent as he moved, no clanging and clacking like every other soldier he'd seen.
Holding his ax a little higher, he said, "Where you from? I don't know that accent." *Well, at least he's not French.*
"Around. You don't need that." He nodded his head at the improvised weapon.
"I'll be th' judge o' *that*. Now git off this land b'fore I 'ave ta use this!"
Suddenly, the stranger was in front of him, holding Peter's ax. Peter never even saw him move, or felt the ax leave his hands. "I *said* you don't need this," he growled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Ice worked its way down Peter's spine as he stared into the abyss of his own death.
He grabbed Nathan by the shoulder and pushed the boy behind him, backing both of them towards their small cottage. He doubted that he could hold the man long enough to give the boy time to escape, but he'd sure as hell try.
As if waking from a dream, the stranger blinked and stared down at the ax in his hands. "Damn," he sighed, and threw it as far away from his reach as he could get it. He looked back up at Peter and read the fear in his eyes despite the masked expression on his face. He held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'm not gonna hurtcha. Just point me towards the nearest inn an' I'll be on my way."
"Only inn near here's in town. That'a way," supplied Nathaniel from behind him with a helpful smile. Leave it to the boy to not see the danger. Peter's heart stopped dead when the stranger's dark eyes zeroed in on his child. Prepared to fight- barehanded if need be- he was surprised when the man smiled back. It soothed the lines on his face and made him look decades younger.
"Thank you," he mock bowed to the boy with a wink. "You should tell your pa ta calm down some." Nathan giggled his agreement.
Shame rose in the farmer's face with the exit of the adrenaline that had rushed through his system. He was probably just a soldier on his way home from the war. Peter had been the one to provoke *him* with an ax in the face. "I'd like ta make amends for ma behavior, if I can. I treated ya harshly when all ya wanted was directions. Ya'd never get a place at th' inn, not today. Ya must stay wi' us. It's not as fancy as th' inn but it's better'n col' ground."
"Thanks fer the offer but all I really need are supplies. If there's no room at the inn I'll just get them an' get goin' -- What's that?" The man tilted his head like a dog.
"I don't 'ear anythin'-" And then he did. In the distance, the slow moan of the Announcing Horn. Nathan bounced as he heard it too, wanting his father to leave with him immediately. The fair! He'd forgotten all about it! He looked at the stranger in awe. *He must 'ave th' ears of a wolf!* "Tha's to let us know that th' fair's startin'. S'why ya couldn't get a room in town. I was takin' the fam'ly ta see th' knights. Yer more'n happy to come along in th' wagon."
The man seemed to weigh the idea heavily in his mind. He looked back at the eager shake of Nathan's head. A small, defeated smile crept onto his face. "All right. Should be fun, eh?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wagon ride seemed to take forever. The stranger felt ashamed as he watched the family around him. He'd almost attacked a man for the simple act of protecting what was his. Then the poor man had felt *guilty* about it, even offering him a place to stay for the night. It only reaffirmed his decision to leave as soon as possible. He'd just keep wandering until he found a place where there was no one he could endanger just by being nearby...
The little hairs on the back of his neck tingled and his skin quivered from someone else's nearby body heat. Poised to attack, he looked up, only to see the farmer's daughter settle down in a corner of the wagon several feet away. *Could've sworn she felt closer than that. Man, get a hold o' yourself!*
She watched him, her brown eyes peeking out through tawny bangs. She couldn't have been more than four and hid behind a beat-up rag doll. *These kids,* he thought, *so innocent. The only thing they worry about is make-believe monsters hidin' in the shadows. It's a shame that they hafta grow up and realize that the monsters are real, an' come in human shape.*
Smiling shyly, she gave him a baby wave. Throwing off his mood with some difficulty he gave her one back. Delighted, she giggled and put the doll aside. "What's yer name?" she asked softly, her voice as heavily accented as her father's.
"Logan. What's yours?"
"I'm Emma an' 'er name's Clarice," she lifted her doll in introduction and then pointed to her brother, who was sitting across the wagon-bed from Logan and trying very hard to remain uninterested in the conversation. "He's Nathaniel an' he's gon' be eight soon."
"Eight? Well, almost the man o' the house now aren't ya?"
Nathan grinned and gave up the fight, turning his attention fully on Logan. "Are ya a soldier?"
"Used ta be."
"Were ya in th' war?"
Logan shifted uncomfortably. "Fer a while."
"D'ya kill anybody?"
"Couple times."
"D'ya get hurt?"
"Couple times."
"C'n I see th' scars?"
"...No."
"Is that yer sword?"
"Yes."
"C'n I touch it?"
*"No."* Logan suddenly became burningly aware of the boy's mother's attention from the front of the cart. Apparently satisfied with his answer, Alice turned back around and continued to chat with her husband.
Movement drew his attention as the little girl suddenly arose from her seat and crawled shakily over to him. "C'n I sit wi' you? I'm gettin' bounced around a lot back here." Oh, God. Logan felt his pulse race as she locked herself against his arm, snuggling against his armor. His body went rigid, and his breathing became very quiet. He eventually calmed himself down enough to enjoy the ride. To his amazement, he even felt himself smoothing her hair with his hand, the girl chatting away about what she was going to do at the fair. He sighed as he realized that it had happened again; he'd let his guard down and the little girl had snuck in undetected. His inner being was appalled. *Oh how the mighty have fallen! Tough ol' Logan bonding with a kid. If the guys could only see me now...* He immediately banished the voice before it could dredge up memories of his fellow soldiers. If he never thought of them again it would be too soon... *What you need is a good distraction.*
"Enough pesterin' th' man children," Peter said as he pulled the cart to a stop. "We're here."
The two instantly shot out of the cart, pulling their parents toward the bright tents nearby. Music piped through the jugglers and dancers while dozens of tradesmen set up shop, calling out for passersby to sample their wares. Throngs of people wandered about, making Logan feel slightly claustrophobic as he followed the family.
Alice held her youngest child's hand to keep her from wandering. "Well, I do b'lieve Emma an' I 'ill go watch th' dancers fer a bit. Would'ya like that, dear?"
"Can we, mummy, can we?!"
Peter laughed as his wife hurried after Emma, her arm almost torn form its socket from the little girl's excitement. "Catch up to ya later, luv!" he called to her back. "Well," he said to his boy, "now that th' women 'r gone let's us head over t' th' fights, eh boy?"
"Yeah! C'n we watch 'em joust da?"
"If we hurry. Care ta join us Sir Logan?"
He grimaced at the title he didn't deserve. "Its just Logan, no 'Sir'... Fights, huh? Should be interestin'." This could be just what he was looking for...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now I leave you to a tale of lost innocence, and a younger X-Man who's just returned from his first war...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Unicorn
By Misty
* I spent a day by the river
It was quiet and the wind stood still
I spent some time with nature
To remind me of all that's real
It's funny how silence speaks sometimes when you're alone
And remember that you feel *
"Da?"
"Not now, Nathan." Peter was so intent on his work he didn't even glance at his son as he spoke. The fair would begin in only a matter of moments and he had no time to spare. Mind you, he was looking forward to taking a well-deserved day off from the fields, but his plow had broken- *again* - and he just *had* to get his work done today.
"But da-"
"I said not *now* Nathan! Go botha yer ma!" He cursed as the blade slipped and cut his finger slightly. Stubborn dirt. This makes the third time that the stupid thing had broken from the hard ground. It was a miracle anything would grow out of it, let alone the meager crops he *was* able to produce. The other farmers seemed to share his problem and he saw that they were tolling hard before the fair began as well.
"But-"
"Dammit Nathaniel! Do as I say boy!"
"But there's a man comin' out've th' woods, da."
"What?" Peter put down the plow and looked up to the boundaries of the field. Damned if the little bugger wasn't right. Peter could make out the blurred figure of a man lumbering through the undergrowth. From a distance he seemed to be covered in some brown thing from neck to toes. Peter squinted as the sun glinted off of something metallic on his back. A sword hilt perhaps? *Trouble, Peter me boy.*
"Go an' get me ax from th' house boy, hurry." He may not own this land, but he did work it, and, by God, he'd never let some French idiot take it. A tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered *What if he's got th' plague?* His thoughts shied away from that question, vowing that the man would never get close enough for him to find out.
The stranger stopped a good ten feet away from the farmer, keeping his hands in the open to not provoke attack as Peter sized him up, and vice versa. It was indeed a sword hilt poking up from his massive shoulder. The grip was bound in leather for better handling but the pummel was left bare of design and cover, radiating strength and power even sheathed. The brown covering the man wore appeared to be armor of some sort, although Peter had no idea as to what possible good it could be in a battle. Hard leather, connected at the sides and shoulders with pointed straps, wrapped itself around his chest, forearms, shins, back -- even his fingers were covered. His face was hard and calm, ragged features and stormy eyes giving away a past fraught with hardships.
"You don't need that." It was only when the stranger's rough voice broke the tense silence between them did Peter realize that it was the first noise he'd heard the man make during his approach. Eerily, he was completely silent as he moved, no clanging and clacking like every other soldier he'd seen.
Holding his ax a little higher, he said, "Where you from? I don't know that accent." *Well, at least he's not French.*
"Around. You don't need that." He nodded his head at the improvised weapon.
"I'll be th' judge o' *that*. Now git off this land b'fore I 'ave ta use this!"
Suddenly, the stranger was in front of him, holding Peter's ax. Peter never even saw him move, or felt the ax leave his hands. "I *said* you don't need this," he growled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Ice worked its way down Peter's spine as he stared into the abyss of his own death.
He grabbed Nathan by the shoulder and pushed the boy behind him, backing both of them towards their small cottage. He doubted that he could hold the man long enough to give the boy time to escape, but he'd sure as hell try.
As if waking from a dream, the stranger blinked and stared down at the ax in his hands. "Damn," he sighed, and threw it as far away from his reach as he could get it. He looked back up at Peter and read the fear in his eyes despite the masked expression on his face. He held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'm not gonna hurtcha. Just point me towards the nearest inn an' I'll be on my way."
"Only inn near here's in town. That'a way," supplied Nathaniel from behind him with a helpful smile. Leave it to the boy to not see the danger. Peter's heart stopped dead when the stranger's dark eyes zeroed in on his child. Prepared to fight- barehanded if need be- he was surprised when the man smiled back. It soothed the lines on his face and made him look decades younger.
"Thank you," he mock bowed to the boy with a wink. "You should tell your pa ta calm down some." Nathan giggled his agreement.
Shame rose in the farmer's face with the exit of the adrenaline that had rushed through his system. He was probably just a soldier on his way home from the war. Peter had been the one to provoke *him* with an ax in the face. "I'd like ta make amends for ma behavior, if I can. I treated ya harshly when all ya wanted was directions. Ya'd never get a place at th' inn, not today. Ya must stay wi' us. It's not as fancy as th' inn but it's better'n col' ground."
"Thanks fer the offer but all I really need are supplies. If there's no room at the inn I'll just get them an' get goin' -- What's that?" The man tilted his head like a dog.
"I don't 'ear anythin'-" And then he did. In the distance, the slow moan of the Announcing Horn. Nathan bounced as he heard it too, wanting his father to leave with him immediately. The fair! He'd forgotten all about it! He looked at the stranger in awe. *He must 'ave th' ears of a wolf!* "Tha's to let us know that th' fair's startin'. S'why ya couldn't get a room in town. I was takin' the fam'ly ta see th' knights. Yer more'n happy to come along in th' wagon."
The man seemed to weigh the idea heavily in his mind. He looked back at the eager shake of Nathan's head. A small, defeated smile crept onto his face. "All right. Should be fun, eh?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wagon ride seemed to take forever. The stranger felt ashamed as he watched the family around him. He'd almost attacked a man for the simple act of protecting what was his. Then the poor man had felt *guilty* about it, even offering him a place to stay for the night. It only reaffirmed his decision to leave as soon as possible. He'd just keep wandering until he found a place where there was no one he could endanger just by being nearby...
The little hairs on the back of his neck tingled and his skin quivered from someone else's nearby body heat. Poised to attack, he looked up, only to see the farmer's daughter settle down in a corner of the wagon several feet away. *Could've sworn she felt closer than that. Man, get a hold o' yourself!*
She watched him, her brown eyes peeking out through tawny bangs. She couldn't have been more than four and hid behind a beat-up rag doll. *These kids,* he thought, *so innocent. The only thing they worry about is make-believe monsters hidin' in the shadows. It's a shame that they hafta grow up and realize that the monsters are real, an' come in human shape.*
Smiling shyly, she gave him a baby wave. Throwing off his mood with some difficulty he gave her one back. Delighted, she giggled and put the doll aside. "What's yer name?" she asked softly, her voice as heavily accented as her father's.
"Logan. What's yours?"
"I'm Emma an' 'er name's Clarice," she lifted her doll in introduction and then pointed to her brother, who was sitting across the wagon-bed from Logan and trying very hard to remain uninterested in the conversation. "He's Nathaniel an' he's gon' be eight soon."
"Eight? Well, almost the man o' the house now aren't ya?"
Nathan grinned and gave up the fight, turning his attention fully on Logan. "Are ya a soldier?"
"Used ta be."
"Were ya in th' war?"
Logan shifted uncomfortably. "Fer a while."
"D'ya kill anybody?"
"Couple times."
"D'ya get hurt?"
"Couple times."
"C'n I see th' scars?"
"...No."
"Is that yer sword?"
"Yes."
"C'n I touch it?"
*"No."* Logan suddenly became burningly aware of the boy's mother's attention from the front of the cart. Apparently satisfied with his answer, Alice turned back around and continued to chat with her husband.
Movement drew his attention as the little girl suddenly arose from her seat and crawled shakily over to him. "C'n I sit wi' you? I'm gettin' bounced around a lot back here." Oh, God. Logan felt his pulse race as she locked herself against his arm, snuggling against his armor. His body went rigid, and his breathing became very quiet. He eventually calmed himself down enough to enjoy the ride. To his amazement, he even felt himself smoothing her hair with his hand, the girl chatting away about what she was going to do at the fair. He sighed as he realized that it had happened again; he'd let his guard down and the little girl had snuck in undetected. His inner being was appalled. *Oh how the mighty have fallen! Tough ol' Logan bonding with a kid. If the guys could only see me now...* He immediately banished the voice before it could dredge up memories of his fellow soldiers. If he never thought of them again it would be too soon... *What you need is a good distraction.*
"Enough pesterin' th' man children," Peter said as he pulled the cart to a stop. "We're here."
The two instantly shot out of the cart, pulling their parents toward the bright tents nearby. Music piped through the jugglers and dancers while dozens of tradesmen set up shop, calling out for passersby to sample their wares. Throngs of people wandered about, making Logan feel slightly claustrophobic as he followed the family.
Alice held her youngest child's hand to keep her from wandering. "Well, I do b'lieve Emma an' I 'ill go watch th' dancers fer a bit. Would'ya like that, dear?"
"Can we, mummy, can we?!"
Peter laughed as his wife hurried after Emma, her arm almost torn form its socket from the little girl's excitement. "Catch up to ya later, luv!" he called to her back. "Well," he said to his boy, "now that th' women 'r gone let's us head over t' th' fights, eh boy?"
"Yeah! C'n we watch 'em joust da?"
"If we hurry. Care ta join us Sir Logan?"
He grimaced at the title he didn't deserve. "Its just Logan, no 'Sir'... Fights, huh? Should be interestin'." This could be just what he was looking for...
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