Chapter 7: A Guardian Angel

Cold. That was all Raven felt when she regained consciousness. So cold in fact that she could barely even feel her own body, nor the soft material wrapped around her. Shivering violently, she tried to force her eyelids open with little effect. They opened just a smidgeon before they were slammed shut again, but she would not give up so easily. When she finally managed to force her eyes open, everything was blurry to her sight, and her eyelids felt as heavy as bricks. Something suddenly moved into her field of vision, a dark shape that she could barely make out.

"Who-" she tried to ask, but her voice broke down into weak coughs before she could finish, and that one act almost drained her. Then she felt a hand gently cupping the back of her head and easing her up a bit, soon followed by something being placed against her lips. Not really in a position to resist, she opened her lips on reflex and felt a warm liquid trickle down her throat. Soothing warmth quickly settled itself in her stomach, slowly spreading through the rest of her. Soon, her shakings had lessened, and she grew deeply tired again. Despite her best efforts, her eyes closed again and she drifted off to sleep again.

For how long she slept, Raven knew not. All she knew was that when she woke again, she was not as cold anymore. She could hear a fire burning close by, could even feel its heat warming her. Now that the stinging cold was gone, she could feel the thick furs wrapped around her naked body. Normally, the knowledge that someone had undressed her would have had her red with anger and embarrassment, but her mind was still too sluggish to care all that much. Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes yet again, to be met by the familiar sight of an open fire. Her eyesight was still weak, and everything had a hazy outline. Still, she could make out the inside of a cave, and the fact that she was alone. She tried to stand up, but her legs felt like jelly and would not obey. Still she fought on, until there was a sudden spike of pain from her right arm that sent her flat on her back with a scream.

Tears blurred her eyes, but she managed to raise her other hand and peel away the furs just enough to look upon her arm. She found it tightly wrapped up in cloth with pieces of wood to keep the arm straight. Right, broke the damn thing, she observed in irritation, still too groggy to actually be concerned about her situation. And as the pain went away, exhaustion crept back in. Soon enough, her eyes were closed yet again and she was fast asleep.

When she woke again, the shivers had returned. But it was not from the cold this time, as she was very warm now. In fact, it felt like she was boiling, with a burning fever turning her usually ashen grey skin a dark shade of red. She coughed and sneezed as her burning skin was sharply contrasted by cold sweats that left her shaking like a hypothermic victim.

"Damn it all," she croaked out, voice barely above that of a whisper as it got stuck in her parched throat. Suddenly, there was someone by her side, lifting her head up and placing a bowl at her mouth. On reflex, she drank deeply from its content, but quickly came to regret it as the vile concoction made her stomach turn and almost had her puking it all up. She tried pushing it away, making gagging noises to communicate her displeasure, but her caretaker refused to budge so much as an inch as the bowl was kept firmly in place and Raven was forced to drink it all. How long she spent coughing and shivering. She knew not. But finally, the agony began to subside, and Raven drifted back to sleep.

It was storming outside the cave entrance. Powerful winds that howled like gargantuan beasts and ripped up snow into the air so that you could not see further than your nose. Raven watched it all from beneath her comfortable fur blankets, eyelids heavy but refusing to fall asleep yet. The fever had broken, but her body was sapped of all strength and could do nothing but lay there like an invalid. It was annoying, not to mention humiliating, but she was too tired to get worked up over it. Slowly, her eyes trailed away from the cave entrance to land on her caretaker.

The fire was down to a few smoldering embers, casting much of the cave in darkness, including her mystery savior. All she could make out from among the shadows was a broad and heavily muscled physique. He was as still as a rock, for all intents and purposes no different than a statue. Yet Raven knew he was still alive, she could feel his eyes constantly on her, never once wavering as if he was worried she would vanish or die if he took his eyes off of her.

"Why… why are you helping me?" she managed to ask. A slight tilt of the head was the only indication that he had heard her, but she received no answer. In the end, she gave up and fell asleep again.

Raven could not remember the last time she woke up feeling well-rested, nor in such good health. The cave was empty, and the fire had long since burned out, but Raven had grown used to darkness. She could make out certain things inside the cave, like the pile of clothes placed right next to her. A quick inspection confirmed what she had feared, they were not her original ones. Figures. Tentatively, she managed to raise herself into a sitting position, taking care not to let the fur blankets fall off. Too late however did she realize that she was putting weight on her right arm. She braced herself for the inevitable pain, yet none came. What the…

Raising her arm up, she gently poked and prodded at it, but felt no pain. So she slowly removed the bandages and began flexing her arm around. Still there was no pain, it did not even feel stiff or weak. It was like she had never broken it in the first place. Impossible, I can't have been out of it for that long. My muscles would have completely atrophied if that was the case. Wonder shone in her eyes as she kept flexing her arm in front of her face. There was only one answer to this question, her mystery caretaker. But where was he? Well, she would not get any answer sitting here in the nude, so she grabbed the clothes obviously meant for her.

They were old school ones, composed of fur and leather with rough an uneven sewing keeping it together. Further inspection showed they were roughly in her size. Raven decided she did not want to know how her caretaker knew her size, or where he got his hands on these. Nevertheless, she was not in a position to be picky about it, so she slowly stood back up on her feet, an action that nearly toppled her over as her legs wobbled like trees in a strong wind. A few experimental steps later, and the strength returned to them, at which point Raven quickly shed her blankets and began dressing in her new clothes. They fit her surprisingly well.

"I must admit, that look suits you," Slade suddenly commented from behind her, which caused Raven to turn around with a disgruntled look on her face.

"Enjoying the show?" she snidely asked of him, prompting a light laugh from him.

"Please, you make it sound like I would actually want to be in a relationship with a teenager," he said in good humor, to which Raven gave him a flat look.

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," she deadpanned before walking to the cave entrance. Outside were open ice planes, broken only by jagged rock rising out of the snow. No sign of her caretaker though.

"I must say though, you surprised me yet again, to have survived for this long still. Though I suppose I shouldn't give you all the credit," Slade continued, and Raven was sorely tempted to just sock him in the face. Not that it would do much good in the end.

"Go away," she spat him over her shoulder, not even deigning to look at him as she leaned against the cave entrance.

"And go where? I'm dead, in case you forgot, not like I have anything better to do than haunt my killer," Slade commented, which had Raven gritting her teeth.

"You brought your fate on yourself, Slade. You were the one who lured us to Sweden, you were the one who toyed with powers beyond your ability to control," she stated.

"And yet it was your actions that led to my demise. Without your tampering, I would have still been alive," he quickly pointed out. Yet there was no trace of anger or bitterness in his tone. It sounded less like an accusation and more as a statement of fact.

"Don't try to pin it all on me here. You were the one trying to kill us all with that spell. If I hadn't done anything, me and my friends would have all been dead," she argued against him, to which he just shrugged his shoulders at her turned back.

"True enough, I suppose. But I am not here to shift blame or guilt trip you, I'm just stating facts," Slade admitted.

"Then go state your facts to someone who cares to hear them," Raven countered.

"Hm, I guess it's true what they say, the truth hurts," Slade observed, something which brought out the rage in Raven yet again.

"Shut up already, or I'll-" she began, but then halted mid-sentence, refusing to look at Slade.

"Or what? What were you going to do? Come now, you can't just leave a threat hanging like that, finish what you were about to say," Slade encouraged, but Raven refused to even acknowledge that she had heard him. Not that it seemed to deter Slade in the least.

"You were going to threaten me with your powers, right? You wanted to toss me around like a ragdoll and smash me up, just like old times, but then remembered that you can no longer do that," he continued.

"Because you're a ghost," Raven was quick to state.

"Because your powers no longer work," Slade was quicker to rectify. "You are powerless, weak, unable to even defend yourself, forced to rely on others to survive. That part must really hurt, for someone of your power and prestige to be reduced to a helpless invalid. Wouldn't you agree, Pride?" and now Raven could no longer contain herself as she spun around to glare at Slade, teeth bared in a snarl with her hands tightened into fists as if ready for a brawl.

"At least I'm still alive! You're either an impotent ghost too stubborn to pass on or just a figment of my imagination!" she spat at him, looking ready to lunge at him on a moment's notice.

"And there she is at last, the daughter of Trigon the Terrible. I feared for a while that she had been taken away just like your powers," Slade remarked with what could be interpreted as a happy voice. Realising she had been baited, Raven stormed back inside the cave while doing her utmost to act like Slade no longer existed.

"Hoping to ignore me again, are we?" Slade asked in amusement as Raven seated herself in a lotus position and tried to meditate, hoping it would be enough to make Slade go away. It did not.

"Trying to outlast me won't do you much good, I have all the time in the world," he pointed out to her, but Raven refused to rise to the bait a second time and so kept her eyes firmly closed while mumbling her mantra.

"Oh well, if you're so determined to ignore me, then I'll just come back another time. Besides, I think there's someone else here to wants your attention," Slade's comment had Raven throwing her eyes wide open and turning towards the cave entrance. There stood a massive man, easily the equal of Cyborg in height and just as broad. He stood bare-chested in the stinging cold, with only a few straps running across his chest to keep his metal shoulder pads in place and torn leather pants serving as clothing, and yet there were not a single sign of frostbite to prove his choice of attire as folly. Muscles that looked like they could crush her skull swelled under his almost deathly pale skin, and Raven idly wondered how he managed to keep such a physique in a land as sparse as this.

Raven noted with some trepidation the twin sword handles poking up from behind his back, not to mention the assortment of knifes sheathed in his belt, with his fur-lined boots ending in wickedly sharp iron spikes that looked like they could punch straight through a man with just the right kick. But what his face looked, Raven could not tell, for it was concealed from her eyes by an iron helmet that completely enclosed his head, with only eight small holes serving as a way to peer out of it. How in Azar's name does he even see where he goes?

"Hello?" Raven tentatively began, hoping she was dealing with her mystery savior and not another random local. That last thought brought up images of a hauntingly handsome face that almost had her retching in revulsion. The still unnamed stranger however did not answer her as he strode inside the cave, and only now did Raven note that he was actually carrying something slung over his shoulder. She assumed it to be an animal of some nature, but then she remembered the creature that once attacked her, and she was no longer as certain. Nor did she truly want to know, now that she thought about it.

"Who are you exactly? Why did you help me?" she asked of him, but was yet again ignored as he threw his catch onto the ground next to the fireplace. That was when she remembered the trouble with communication from previous encounters and tried something else.

"Do you even understand me?" she tried again, this time in German. This elicited a reaction from the stranger, as his head instantly swiveled towards her. Raven suddenly got the distinct feeling that she had said something wrong. That feeling only got stronger when the stranger started walking towards her. But Raven refused to be cowed as she remained where she was, even when he loomed above her seated form. Still, she would not deny the way her mouth turned bone dry when he crouched until they were face to face. Well, face to metal plate.

Invardly, she felt humiliated at the thought of being terrified by a mere man, as she had the power to just send him flying to the moon if she so desired. But that was the thing, she no longer had that power, and with only her lithe frame and slender muscles to rely on, this mere man suddenly looked like the most terrifying thing in existence. Then he reached for something in his belt, and Raven was sure that a knife was about to be drawn on her. She was half right at least, as one hand presented her with a knife hilt-first, while the other hand offered her something else. In fact, that something looked a bit like dried meat. Was he offering her food?

"Uhm, thanks, but it's not really necessary," she tried to decline, right before her empty stomach gave a long an audible growl. Traitor, she thought as her cheeks gained a rosy color. The stranger remained unmoved as he continued to offer his gifts.

"Really, I'm fine," she once again tried. Not out of a lack of hunger, but out of a lack of trust. Who knew what could be in that meat? But the stranger still would not budge, and her stomach continued to protest. In the end, her body beat her spirit.

"Thank you," she said quietly as she accepted the offerings. The second her hands were firmly grasped on his gifts, the stranger moved back to his catch and set to work skinning the beast. Raven for her part cut a small part of meat and carefully nibbled on it. It carried a strong taste of smoke and a bit of salt, so much so that she barely tasted the meat itself. Not too bad of a snack, as long as she did not ask where the meat came from. Having determined it was safe enough to eat, she settled in and watcher the stranger work as she cut herself more slices to munch on.

All her attempts at skinning animals could at best have been described as sloppy and wasteful, but watching this man work made her efforts look more like the work of an angry toddler. Each precise cut of his knife parted the skin at just the right place, peeling it back bit by bit with barely and signs of damage on either the skin or the meat underneath. Then he set about cutting the meat up, splitting it with the skill and precision of one who had undoubtedly spent decades cutting meat. She desperately tried not to let the implications of that sink further in.

But the skin and meat were not the only things he worked on. Every part of the body, from the bones to the organs, were carefully taken care of with extreme care. As a matter of fact, watching him work was almost soothing to Raven. It gave her something to focus on, something to distract her thoughts with. But eventually, with her piece of meat eaten, her stomach settled, and hours of watching, Raven began to feel tired again. And that was when her paranoia came back. Was it truly safe to fall asleep with this stranger so close by? Part of her said yes, because she had done just that for Azar knows how long already. But another part, the one that remembered the handsome face, said firmly no. In the end, even that part of her was not strong enough to resist the temptation of sleep.

Nevertheless, Raven still took certain precautions. The knife she had been given was kept close at hand as she withdrew to a small corner, resting with her back towards the wall. The stranger only spared her a quick sidelong glance before resuming his work, and Raven soon fell into a light sleep.

Far to the west, on the very coast of Norsca, lay one of the few permanent settlements in this inhospitable land. A collection of huts and wooden structures, with a primitive harbor packed full of fearsome longships, its simplistic and oftentimes brutish exterior reflected its equally simplistic and brutish population. In a land rife with death and conflict, no one walked alone on the icy mud tracks that served as roads, and even the old and the crippled walked with weapons on open display. Not that there were many of either of them to begin with, for the weak do not survive long in Norsca.

On this evening, only the young and the womenfolk were seen wandering outside, with the children playing their games under the watchful eyes of their mothers, who walked with swords and axes in the belts to protect their young should the need arise. Which was not an uncommon thing here, were rival tribes and hungry predators were a constant threat. But while the young played, the men celebrated. At the great long hall at the very heart of the settlement, a feast was being held to celebrate another successful raid.

Scarred and battle-hardened killers laughed as they toasted horns filled to the brim with mead, boasting about their many kills and glories while the bounties of the soft south lay in great heaps before them. Frightened thralls scurried between the tables, pretty little girls in torn dresses that had been snatched from their homes in the lands of Sigmar and the Lady, carrying drinks and food for the voracious Norscans. Few of these girls would be alive come morning, having either met their end at the hands of jealous Norscan women or simply taken their chances in the savage wilderness.

But even as all this revelry was taking place, one man could not find the will or the energy to join in the festivities. Seated at the great table, on a throne-like chair decorated with the skulls and bones of beasts and men alike, and with his personal banner of a pitch black raven with a blood red eight-pointed star as its heart hanging above him, he stood out from his muscled kin with a more lean frame that would not have looked out of place in the weakling south. Some Norscans would have laughed at what they saw as a scrawny physique, but those that did often came to regret their decision once they looked him in the eyes. Clear and blue like the morning skies of the open sea, but colder and harsher than even the cruelest of winters, these were the eyes of more than a simple brute or a killer. These were the eyes of a ruthless and ambitious conqueror.

This man was Ragnar, jarl of Finnsvik, and he was deeply troubled. He really should not be troubled, not with how well things were going. All his rivals were either dead or keeping quiet, every raid brought in more wealth than he knew what to do with, and he commanded the absolute loyalty of his people. Life should be good for Ragnar, but it was not. As a man of vision, of dreams beyond mere plunder, he lacked the one crucial thing that would secure his legacy. An heir. A son to carry on his name and continue his work when he finally passed away. Many a time had he tried to produce a son, to little avail.

Already, there were men whispering that Ragnar was cursed by the Gods, that his ambitions were too big for one life and so the Gods gave him only one life. None dared whisper these things within hearing range of Ragnar though. At least, not yet. But that alone was not enough to sour Ragnar's mood, as that was a problem that had plagued him for years now. No, what truly drained the joy out of him were the dreams. For days now they had haunted him, assailing him whenever he so much as closed his eyes. His dreams were of war and bloodshed, of all Norscans marching under the black raven to desecrate the weak lands to the south. They filled him with hope and dread at the same time, for although it was his banner leading the teeming masses of the North, he never saw himself at the head.

What did these dreams mean? Fantasies conjured up by his own mind, or portents of things to come? For the life of him, he just could not figure it out, and it was driving him mad. Suddenly, the doors leading inside were thrown wide open by a sudden gust of wind, knocking men and thralls over with its force. Drunken Norscans instinctually reached for their weapons, expecting a battle to break out in the middle of the hall. Would not have been the first time. But there was no horde of enemies that poured in through the door, only a single bird. Its feathers were as white as the snow, and its eye shone like jewels as it flew across the hall. Every pair of eyes were transfixed on this strange bird as it circled above them before settling on Ragnar's throne with a brief squawk.

"You'll have to forgive my friend here, he is not what you would call a patient fellow," someone spoke from the doorway, causing every head to swivel in that direction. There they found an elderly man, gaunt and weak enough that he constantly leaned against a wooden staff. Even as he hobbled inside, his milky white eyes continued to look ahead with no signs that he saw anything else around him. His very presence put everyone ill at ease, for no one as frail as this old man could possibly survive in Norsca. Unless they carried the blessing of a being beyond mere mortals.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in my hall?" Ragnar demanded as he rose from his seat. The old man in turn bowed deeply in subservience, exposing his nearly bald head.

"Oh, I am but a humble old man, and I have come to offer my advice to you," he introduced, which had many in the hall quietly chuckling to themselves.

"Really? And what use would I have of the whisperings of an old crippled, who can't even see where he puts his foot?" Ragnar sneered at him, with many of his followers openly laughing now at the old man's expense.

"True, my eyesight is long gone for me," the old man admitted as he stroked his snow-white beard. "But as I lost one sight, I gained another," and that shut the Norscans up. Powers like the one the old man was insinuating was not something to trifle with.

"And what do you see, old man?" Ragnar asked, intrigued by the possibilities.

"And answer to your questions, and a solution to your troubles," he answered, which had Ragnar leaning forward over the table in anticipation.

"Then speak," he ordered.

"To the east, in the great mountain ranges, a young girl wanders. Her name is Raven, and she is the child of the daemon Trigon and a mortal woman. Through her veins flows the blood of the Gods, placed upon this world to usher in a new age. Find this girl, win her heart, and she will bear you mighty sons that will shake the very foundations of the world," the old man prophesied. Ragnar was ecstatic. Finally, the last piece of the puzzle, a true sign that the Gods favored him. Now here was a queen worthy of his name, a woman spawned from the realm of the Gods themselves. Ragnar knew, then and there, that he must have her. No, he would have her.

"Rolf, gather the men! We're going hunting! Any man that brings me the girl will be rewarded with whatever they desire! But anyone that dares to defile her will suffer a fate worse than death!" he roared at the top of his lungs, sending Norscans running for the doors in eager anticipation. Soon enough, only the old man remained, as even Ragnar himself rushed off to prepare.

"Foolish men," the old man chuckled to himself as he held out his arm, the white bird swiftly abandoning its old perch and landing on the offered limb.

"He calls me blind, when he's the one who can't see the path before him," he muttered while the bird moved from the arm up onto his shoulder. Then the old man leaned his head towards the bird, as if the bird was whispering secrets into his ear.

"Agreed. He will serve his purpose nicely. For now, let's just hope that he's faster than the elves. Otherwise, this whole venture will have been in vain,"

The last time Raven was woken up by another person, she was almost raped. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that when someone shook her awake now, her reaction included a frightened yelp and an instinctual stab with the knife. Fortunately the still unnamed stranger had reflexes far greater than hers, and simply caught her wrist well before the knife could strike anywhere vital. Still, with such a rough awakening, it took Raven a few moments of hyperventilation to register that she was safe and awake.

"Sorry," she quietly mumbled as she ducked her head in embarrassment. Satisfied that she was awake, the stranger released his hold on her and walked away. Moments later, he returned with a wooden bowl and spoon. A wooden bowl filled with a brown stew of some sort. She gingerly accepted the food and the stranger shuffled back to the fireplace. Slowly, she tasted the stew, and found the taste to be bland. Nevertheless, food was food, so she simply closed her eyes and tried to imagine that the brown sludge she was chewing was something else entirely. But while she ate, she could not help but observe her caretaker, who was currently hard at work packing everything up.

"Do you even have a name? Can you even speak?" she asked of him, speaking in German yet again in the hopes of gaining a reaction out of him. He only briefly turned his head towards her as a sign that he had heard her, and then resumed his task. It made Raven's paranoia increase. She was extremely grateful for his help, but she could not help but doubt his potential motive. Why help her, and why go so far out of his way to care for her? It did not make sense, and that made her feel ill at ease.

He also possessed an uncanny timing, as the second Raven finished her meal, he was back at her side to take the bowl back. Soon enough, he had their entire camp packed up and ready to move. He then stood before her, offering a hand to her.

"You want me to follow you?" she asked dubiously. He made no move, but he remained standing where he was. It made her uncomfortable, the idea of depending on this stranger who could turn on her at any moment. This level of cynicism was something she had hoped to have been rid of after her father's demise, but this place had brought it back with a vengeance. She really did not want to place her life in the hands of this unknown man, he who could betray her at any moment.

But in the end, what choice did she have? Her survival skills were at their most basic level, she did not know the lay of the land, the language barrier prevented effective communication with the locals, and most importantly, her powers were gone. It galled her admit it, but she was dependent on her powers to survive. Without them, she might as well have been a newborn babe thrown into the woods, lost and helpless. In the end, pragmatism won over paranoia, and she accepted the offered hand and allowed herself to be hoisted back up on her feet.

"So, where to now?" she honestly did not know whether he understood her or not, but she figured that there was no harm in asking. The stranger in turn gave her a hood and cloak, a gesture that earned him major brownie points with her as she all but snatched it out of his hands and wrapped it around herself. It was a makeshift work, with different patches of clothes sewn together into one form with animal fur added at the shoulders for warmth, but Raven cared not as she pulled the hood over her head.

"Lead the way then," Raven said, and the stranger promptly turned around and walked out of the cave, with Raven reluctantly following close behind.