by You-Know-Who and Drucilla
Disclaimer: Yadda yadda, not ours, blah blah blah. Read! Review! Read and review other stories while you're at it, go see You-Know-Who's library of infamy. Holtz, Tara, etc, not ours, again. The Gartan Mother's lullaby isn't ours either, but it's pretty.
Dusk is drawn and the Green Mans' thorn
Is wreathed in rings of fog;
Sheevra sails his boat till morn
Upon the starry bog.
A lyan van o, my child, my joy,
My love and heart's desire.
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.
-- Gartan Mother's Lullaby, trad.
Holtz appeared to be sleeping when Tara woke up. He was sunk low in a chair, anyway, his head lolling forward slightly, his posture slumped and relaxed. Tara yawned softly feeling better than she had earlier in the week. She looked around his home and decided that it wouldn't hurt to get up and stretch a bit. She was a little bit tired of remaining in bed anyway.
She moved to a sitting position and stretched a bit. She didn't know if she should risk moving around too much if she still was in pain. After a week or so of having to let him help her with absolutely everything, though, she was ready to start trying to walk again. She set her feet on the floor and started to stand. It wasn't so painful if she concentrated on other things. The place was so dark and dismal. She wondered why he lived in such an unpleasant place.
Tara began to walk around. The pain from walking was more stiffness than anything else, if she took care not to jar herself. The problem was, she thought she might be feverish as well. She sighed softly and wiped at the beads of sweat on her forehead. She began to walk around the large room, leaning against a piller when she was tired. After a while she sunk onto the floor leaning against it feeling a bit queasy mostly from the fever. "Oh ... oh no..." She said, trying to keep from throwing up. She covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes and tried to think of something else to concentrate on.
The arm around her shoulders and the cool cloth on her head provided an excellent distraction. She opened her eyes slowly and stared up at the man who had saved her gratefully. "You're fevered," he said quietly. "You should be in bed."
"S-sorry," she managed softly leaning against the pillar, concentrating on his voice and the cool cloth on her forehead. He picked her up as gently and slowly as he could, steadying her when it looked like she was going to fall, and half-led, half-carried her back to the bed. She tried as hard as she could to support herself on her own but was glad to have his help as she wouldn't have made it back to the bed without it. "Thank you," she said smiling weakly.
He grunted something that might have been a response and set about getting her settled back into the bed, keeping the cool cloth on her forehead as he did so. It was rapidly warming, a fairly good sign that she was feverish. She closed her eyes again and bit her lip to keep from whimpering in pain. He tucked her into the bed, then disappeared into some other part of the room.
She opened her eyes, a bit startled to find that she was wishing he had stayed, feeling mildly unsafe alone. She curled up on herself as best she could without causing more pain and started thinking of anything other than the fever. After a long interval he returned, with what looked like a box of bandages, medicines, and something that smelled suspiciously like alcohol. She looked at the supplies hesitantly and wiped at her watering eyes hoping he knew what he was doing.
He checked the bandage at her neck, pouring peroxide on a cloth and pressing it to her neck wound, and then replaced the cloth on her forehead with another, cooler one. She winced as the peroxide-soaked cloth touched her neck but concentrated on the damp cloth on her head. She blinked rapidly trying to stop her eyes from watering. He poured something into a cup, held it up to her lips. "Drink...."
She drank it slowly and uncertainly trying to discern what it was before she drank too much of it. It tasted like mint tea, with an aftertaste of alcohol. She felt slightly better after having it although she didn't particularly care for it's aftertase. "Thank you," she said again in a shaky voice.
He stared at her with what might have been a smile or a grimace. "You keep saying that."
Tara flushed apologetically, smiling slightly. "I'm sorry....." He shrugged with a fair amount of indifference and turned his attention instead to cleaning the wounds on her ribs, the scrapes and tears, and checking the state of her broken bones.
She shook her head slightly bemused. It wasn't like he said much either. She pondered what else there was to say besides "Thank you." She supposed she could ask for his name. She wasn't sure if she was being rude for not asking or if he was being rude for not telling. Or maybe he just didn't think it mattered.
He rebandaged her ribs, disinfecting them with gratuitous amounts of peroxide. Despite his hands coming within milimeters of ... well, certain areas, he seemed to be ignoring her entirely, as though she were a machine that required repair. She winced from the perioxde. Although Tara felt awkward speaking or asking him anything as he seemed to enjoy the silence, she decided to do so anyway. "I...Is...Could I ask you something?"
She was a bit surprised that he agreed so readily, but took courage from his..well, indifference. "I don't...want to sound rude, but...what's your name?"
He blinked a second. "Holtz." Then he began to pack up the medicines.
She resisted the temptation to thank him again although for some reason she really felt obligated to. He turned and went off to the part of the room she couldn't see.. or another room, for all she knew... before she could say any more.
Tara sighed softly, resting her head on her pillow. She'd have some reason to thank him later though. She was fairly positive of that. After a shorter interval this time he reappeared, taking his seat towards the table with the computer again and settling into it, watching her. She looked back at him slightly bemused. She cocked her head questioningly. He just kept watching her.
Tara covered a small smile with her hand before looking around the room as they continued to tiptoe around conversing with one another. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. He barely seemed to need to breathe, certainly he didn't move. She sighed faintly so it didn't disturb the silence and pondered ideas for conversation starters or topics or...anything....
"S-so..." she tried, feeling very foolish and young for doing so, "Wh-what do you do.... all day..." she trailed off. "I mean...besides.....this...Do you..hunt vampires?" She added after a slight pause. Holtz stared at her with something vaguely like shock on his face. He didn't seem used to actually talking with someone, having a polite conversation or feeling emotions of any sort, even one as mild as confusion. "I'm sorry," Tara said flushing. "It's just... well, the silence...is.....well.....I mean...."
"Yes," he said suddenly, still looking mildly shocked. "I hunt vampires."
"So you don't have much to do during the day then?" Tara asked hopefully she could draw him into continuing a conversation with her. He made some sort of noise that was probably a negative. "What do you do during the day instead?" Tara asked with a smile.
He stared at her, becoming decidedly unnerved at her determination to converse with him, to make pleasent and polite conversation as though she wasn't lying on his bed in an underground, forbidding-looking room, with severe injuries that might or might not kill her from the infections. "You should rest..." he said slowly.
"I am," she replied. He stared at her, uncertain how to respond after nine years of being a reclusive old curmudgeon even before being thrust 227 years into the future. "Oh...Sorry." Tara said realizing that 'You should rest' probably was more a hint to leave him alone.
"How old are you?" he asked suddenly, his expression changing to... something.
"A little over 20," she said pleasantly surprised that he had asked her a question.
"Ah." Something very like anguish passed over his face and was gone, squashed out of existance. "My daughter would have been very near your age..." this time he trailed off into silence.
Tara's face fell. Well, that had been....horribly devastating. Wow....maybe she should leave off attempting conversations. "I...I'm sorry....."
He stood abruptly, crossing over to her with the chair in hand, and sat down next to the bed. She looked up at him quizzically but relieved that he wasn't angry with her for bringing back painful memories. She frowned sadly trying to think of something even remotely comforting to say.
He watched her, made a move almost like he was going to pat her hand or something. Then he pulled back. "You should rest," he said again.
Tara nodded and winced. Yeah, resting would be a good thing. She tried to shake off feelings of guilt as she yawned and curled up against her pillow. He thought of something, seemed to think better of it, then rethought that and tucked her in. Then he settled back in his chair, thoughtful. Just as Tara was about to sleep she heard his voice, almost rusty-sounding with disuse. "Eeval from the Grey Rock comes To wrap the world in thrall.A lyan van o, my child, my joy, My love and heart's desire.The crickets sing you lullaby Beside the dying fire..."
She smiled softly and began to doze off.
She was asleep after the second verse but he kept singing, softly, watching her. It had been long enough since he'd sung any lullabys that he was very surprised he remembered them at all. After the last of the verses he knew he lapsed into silence, and kept watch.
Sahjan scowled from the corner in which he had been sulking and viewing this exchange. Either the girl left soon or he was going to get rid of her while Holtz was away. He made a disgusted face before turning to leave.
