AN: So I wasn't sure at first whether to post this to Tumblr (where it first appeared). It has Dave as a central figure, but I feel like there should be more. The D&D fantasy world in which it takes place is completely cliche, and my attempts at language creation are, to me, cringe-worthy.
All that and I promised myself I'd finish my current projects before starting anything new. (Did you know I have a completely outlined story that's been completely outlined for the past four years?!)
But I'm still in love with the redemption story, with Dave's story, and this AU way to tell it wouldn't really leave me alone, and there's a little bit of Kurtofsky here, so… I wrote it. Here it is.
Rachel was less concerned than she expected at the sight of the corpses at her feet.
For one thing, she didn't know them very well; she'd just met them — the guard her father hired for her journey to Wexcomb — two days previous at the Graceport docks, greeting her cordially when her ship arrived. When they started on the journey, she of course didn't consort with the help; it wouldn't be proper for a lady of noble birth.
For another, she was too busy being terrified out of her wits as the bandits closed ranks around her.
They were a motley group — men and women of all builds and coloring and one burly figure that looked to be half-orc — but they had commonalities all the same, namely the look of lives harshly lived, and similar sneering grins. Rachel's knees buckled as she shied away.
One of the crew stepped forward, his bearing that of a leader (like recognizes like, after all, no matter what the social stratus). He was a solidly built man, the sides of his head were shaved to the scalp, leaving a strip of short cropped hair running down the middle. A rather odd style, to be sure, but Rachel was pretty sure this man wasn't interested in her opinions of his fashion choices.
"M'lady," the bandit said with a sarcastic half-bow. Normally, Rachel would've drawn herself up and demanded imperiously, "do you know who I am?!" But she had the sickening feeling that he knew very well who she was. "Fancy this, eh? I've always wanted to meet a noble's daughter." The group around them gave rough chuckles.
Finally, Rachel found her voice — a rare loss, even temporary, for her. Even she had to acknowledge that. "W-what do you want...?"
"Why, to make the acquaintance the great Lord Berry's pride and joy! I am honored!" The bandit sneered; Rachel's stomach churned. "Now that we've met, my crew and I want to extend ye an... invitation."
"I-invitation?"
"A fine feast back at our place, where you'll be our guest of honor! 'Course, the vittles ain't exactly of the quality you're used to, but it'll keep body and soul alive. While you're enjoyin' our hospitality, we'll send word to yer father of your... change of plans. I'm sure he'll be so happy that his lass is being treated like the princess she is that he'll happily, ah, reimburse us for our time an' trouble." His eyes focused somewhere distinctly under Rachel's eyes. She gulped. "Fine day, isn't it?" the bandit continued, oh-so-casually plucking his dagger from his belt and picking his nails with its tip. "Beautiful countryside. Not a soul around for miles to hear any screamin'." He leered sharply. "You can do a lot to make this go smoother, m'lady." She could feel the crowd press tighter around her. "Oh, don't worry about my mates; they won't lay a finger on you. You're my special guest—"
The explosion rocked the ground and punched her eardrums. It was a rather odd explosion, some distant part of Rachel's mind that wasn't in the throes of panic noted; there was no heat, and it seemed to have originated from right in the middle of the bandit pack. What it did have was force, sending many flying and knocking Rachel off her feet. The bandit barely stumbled as he looked back in shock.
"Wizard!" one of the other bandits shouted. He raised the amulet around his neck, which Rachel now saw bore the sigil of the Torrid Eye, and began chanting in the ancient tongue. The air around them sparkled, as if the sun were catching invisible flecks of crystal in the air. "Over in the trees!"
"Huh. So you've got a taskmage." The bored feminine voice came from the general vicinity of where the bandit gestured as a shapely brown skinned woman wearing a purple tunic and black leggings emerged from the forest. She had long black hair, and held a stout wooden wand in one hand, a leather satchel hanging from her opposite shoulder. "How annoying," she sniffed.
The bandit looked about wildly. The blast had taken out fully half of his cohort, who now joined the corpses on the ground possessing only a little more consciousness. But more than enough remained, and they were all drawing their weapons.
"I guess I should demand your surrender," the woman continued in the same bored tone. "Drop your weapons and blah blah blah..."
The bandits' leader regained his sneer. "Surrender? To who? You and what army, little lady?"
The wizard rolled her eyes. "Army? You think we need a stinkin' army?"
"Strando here can take care of your little tricks," the bandit said, only the slightest tremor in his tone. "And keep you busy while— Wait, 'we'?"
"Take 'em!" the wizard shouted. Then the chaos began.
At the call, a flurry of arrows shot out from the trees on the other side of the road. Some of the bandits were caught by surprise, falling with shafts sticking out of various sensitive areas. Others took the warning to raise their shields, while arrows aimed at the taskmage merely fell out of the air, as if arrested by invisible force.
At the same time, a very tall man wearing gleaming armor charged out from the trees behind the group. He was such a blur, Rachel was barely able to make out the crest of the Order of Saint Trefisus carved on his breastplate. With a roar, the armored man hewed down a bandit before he was even able to raise his sword. The others, startled out of their shock, managed to attack, but the paladin deftly caught the blows on his silver shield, then countered, leaving one groaning maimed bandit and one corpse in his wake.
In one swift, smooth motion, the bandit grabbed Rachel and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed and kicked, but his grip was too strong. "Strando!" he roared, "blast 'em to bits!"
"I'm trying!" the taskmage yelled, beads of sweat dripping down his brow. "But something's messing with my casting!"
It was then that through the tumult, Rachel heard the voice. She had no idea where it was coming from — it seemed to originate from all around them all at once. It was high pitched, but unmistakably male, and unmistakably beautiful. It sang a ballad whose tune she didn't recognize and whose lyrics were unintelligible, no matter how hard she concentrated on them. There was something about the song, the voice — a prickle in the air, perhaps? Whatever it was, she knew, in her soul, that what she was hearing was no ordinary song. She knew with equal certainty that it had something, or everything, to do with the taskmage's difficulties.
The bandit whirled around, so fast Rachel's brain rattled in her skull. He, and she (in reverse), saw the carnage around him: the majority of his crew unconscious or dead, the taskmage being pummeled by dazzling spells courtesy of the wizard, and the rest who were lucky enough to still be standing ready to fall to either arrows or the paladin's flashing sword, all while the music surrounded them.
"Well, m'lady," the bandit muttered, "seems we'll be havin' a little more privacy than I thought." She heard the uncorking of a bottle, and the bandit's throat gulping something down. Then the world began flashing by at entirely unreasonable speeds, increasing her dizziness. The trees, the skies, everything melted into a blur of smeared color. She had no idea how long it lasted, but it had to be mere seconds, no matter how long it felt.
When reality righted itself, resolving back into the shapes and forms she was used to, she and the bandit were no longer in the middle of the battle. It was raging down the road — close enough for her to see the distant figures and hear the wizard yelling something, but far enough that there was no way anyone in the group could catch up, especially not with combat still ongoing.
"There," the bandit's voice said, a little out of breath. "That's more like it." He turned towards the treeline, the sudden movement causing some of Rachel's hair falling in her face to catch in her teeth. She spit it out in annoyance. "Pity 'bout the boys, but havin' that ransom all to myself will be nice. Besides," he said as he stepped towards the dark dense wood, where one could search for years and not find a properly knowledgeable quarry, "there's always more where they came—"
He stopped, stopped speaking and stopped walking, so abruptly and completely that Rachel actually managed to twist her body around enough to see what was in front of them.
It was then she saw the face. The rest of the body was still cloaked in the shadows thrown by the trees, but the face was plain in the bright sunlight — as was the black braided tattoo running from the face's chin all the way up the side to the right temple. Even the highborn, relatively sheltered Rachel knew it to be the unmistakable sign of a Northheim barbarian — one of the most vicious, bloodthirsty, and short-tempered peoples in all the known lands.
"Eep," the bandit said in a high pitched squeak.
The face snarled, teeth gleaming menacingly.
"Screw this!" the bandit yelped. "This ain't worth it!" He then unceremoniously dumped Rachel off his shoulder.
The momentum carried her tumbling across the ground, then down a steep hillside before she could stop herself. She caught a brief glimpse of a pair of large leather boots in the direction of the face before her world turned into a tumbling riot of crunching leaves, snapping branches, and rocks jabbing her in very uncomfortable places.
Cursing up a storm as she rolled, using words she'd only ever overheard in the stables, she finally slammed against a tree. Still cursing, and dizzy with pain, she managed to sit up. She tried to get to her feet, but her left ankle screamed at her, sending her back to the ground. Wincing, she rubbed her ankle with one hand and picked leaves out of her hair with the other, trying to will her sight to stop spinning already...
She heard the footsteps, harsh and heavy, rapidly approaching. Rachel blinked, her vision finally calming, only to see the huge shadow lumbering towards her. It was big — much too big to be the bandit, but this was little comfort as the same face of the same barbarian came into focus.
The man was large — not as tall as the paladin, but definitely heftier. He was rather what she imagined a bear would look like had he been transmogrified into a human, barrel chested and stout armed, with short brown hair and bright, gleaming eyes. Her heart leaped in terror.
But as her sight further cleared, and more of the figure came into view, the terror gave in to confusion. For one, the barbarian's face was no longer menacing — more like... almost concerned? Secondly, and more importantly, he wasn't wearing furs or even armor, but a white silk tunic (sleeveless, as if they'd been torn off by hand) bearing the instantly recognizable holy symbol of Arkhis, the First God. Further reinforcing her puzzlement was the staff the man bore, also instantly recognizable from her attendance at the many cathedrals across her home city devoted to Arkhis.
The man knelt by her, silent. A shiver went up Rachel's spine. She tried to speak, but found once again that her voice, her dependable voice, was failing her. He simply stared at her, and said nothing.
"David!" a male voice she didn't recognize shouted from the ridge above them. "Where the heck are you?"
"Here!" Even with that one word barked in response, Rachel's trained ears recognized in its rough growl a very heavy accent typical of those from the arctic lands.
Rachel soon saw that the second voice belonged to the paladin; he half-ran, half-slid down the hill. "Hey, you found her!" Her breath caught one more, this time for completely different reasons. He no longer wore his helmet, so she now had a full view of his visage — his handsome visage... As he knelt by her, she thought she heard him gasp sharply at the sight of her, but that may just have been wishful thinking. "Are...?" he said. He swallowed, then tried again. "Are you all right, miss?"
It was then that Rachel quite frankly snapped. Shameful, but given the stress and fear she'd just been through, she felt she had a right to be a little hysterical under the circumstances. "All right? All right?!" she screeched. "No, I am not all right! I'm thousands of miles from home, my guard was killed right in front of me, I was almost kidnapped by bandits, my ankle is broken—!"
"No." The large barbarian spoke again. "No broken," he repeated, his words halting, as if he were thinking deeply about each one before saying them. "Only... sprung...?"
The paladin's brow furrowed. "Sprung?"
"Sprained. He means sprained." The soft voice came from over her shoulder; Rachel gasped, startled. She'd been sure there hadn't been anyone there just a second before, and she certainly didn't hear anyone approach, but just like that...
The voice belonged to a young woman. She was dressed in green to match the local foliage, a bow strapped to her back. Rachel could just make out the points of the woman's ears peeking out from her long blonde hair.
"Britt! Finn!" This was a voice she recognized — that of the wizard, sounding a lot less bored and distant now. "You got her?"
"Yeah!" the paladin shouted up at the two shadows making their way down the hill.
"Finn, what happened to the bandit?" The other person was the owner of the voice she'd heard singing earlier — she was sure of it. He was a porcelain-skinned man, a lute strapped to his back in much the same way as the elf's bow was to hers. Though somewhat slight of build, Rachel was sure that this was not a man to be underestimated or dismissed. It was something about his air, the way he carried himself — she'd been around enough powerful people at home to see similar confidence.
"Escaped," Finn, the paladin, said with a grimace. "He ran off when he dumped Lady Berry. I would've followed, but I figured she was more important."
The bard nodded. "Right. Catching him isn't our job."
"Job...?" Rachel finally managed to rasp.
"Yeah," Finn said, "we..." His gaze roved up and down Rachel's face. "I... Uh..."
The bard pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mayu give me strength..." he groaned. "Finn! This isn't a tavern, and she's not some barmaid paid to endure you hitting on her!"
"Oh! Uh... Right! I'm Finn," the paladin said quite unnecessarily. "I'm from the Order of Saint Trefisus," he added just as unnecessarily. "I — we were hired by your father to protect you."
"My... father?" Rachel frowned. He hadn't mentioned hiring any paladins or bards, just the now-departed guard that met her at the docks. Still, she couldn't help but trust his word; he was a paladin, after all, and he and his comrades had just saved her life.
"No, not that father," the wizard said, now sounding bored again. "Your other father."
"Oh." It made sense; Daddy always was a worrywart, and very willing to make his own plans without telling Father.
"We were your father's guard's backup," the bard said. "We've been following ever since Graceport." He shook his head. "Those bandits were good — really good. They didn't give us any time to step in before they attacked. That's something we'll have to fix for the future."
"But you're safe now," Finn said breathily, his eyes locked upon hers. Rachel found, for her part, that she couldn't tear her gaze away once their stares met. "We'll take you the rest of the way to Wexcomb." He held out a gauntlet-covered hand. She took it delicately, still dazed, as he pulled her to her feet...
Pain shot through her. She cried out, sinking to the ground once more.
"Oh, no, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I forgot...!" He turned to the others. "She sprained her ankle in the fall."
"Be still." The voice belonged to the barbarian; Rachel had forgotten he was still there, perhaps because the others were so obviously relaxed and familiar around him. Still, she couldn't help but twitch in nervousness as he gently placed his hands around her ankle. He closed his eyes. His lips began moving, but she couldn't hear any words. Straining her ears, she finally made out little bits and pieces.
Melisma... kha ross...
Rachel's eyes widened. Surely her ears were betraying her.
Spiritum... doma el...
But no, there was no mistaking the ancient tongue; she'd been praying and singing in the old language since she was a little girl. There was also no mistaking the warmth that now ran through her ankle, warmth that she knew had to be emanating from the barbarian's hands.
Quickly enough, the chanting ceased, as did the soothing warmth, much to Rachel's regret. "Stand...?" the barbarian rumbled. Gingerly, Rachel put weight on her ankle. She stood, easily and painlessly. Her eyes widened even further.
"Great," the wizard yawned. "Now can we get out of here? I don't feel like losing our bonus because we had to wait around explaining everything to the local guardsmen."
Rachel barely had any time or energy to think until that night, after she filled her belly with a surprisingly delicious stew in front of a crackling campfire.
Kurt — the bard — had decided that inns along the road were too risky now that it was clear that Rachel's visit and route were somehow known. So after retrieving their hidden horses (Rachel rode with Finn quite eagerly), the group dove into the thick forest, led by the elf, whose name was apparently Britt or Brittany, riding for long hours until the sun began to set and they made camp.
Rachel was the last to finish supper. The others were all around the fire with her; this was a relief, for she wasn't sure how her nerves would react had any one of them been out of her sight. Finn was the most welcome presence, his protective closeness warming her as much as the fire. Kurt was plucking at his lute, idly putting together a tune that Rachel could already tell was light and jaunty. Brittany was sharpening an arrowhead while Santana, the wizard, was deep in meditation.
But of course, the most fascinating and unusual of the group was David. She couldn't deny the evidence anymore — as absurd and unlikely as it was, he bore all the trappings, and apparently all the skills, of a disciple of Arkhis. But that was impossible, wasn't it? No matter how long she stared at his face, the braided tattoo stubbornly remained.
Brittany looked up from her labor with a small smile. "You're curious."
"Excuse me?" Rachel said, her spine stiffening in umbrage.
"About him," she clarified, cocking her head towards David, who looked up from the weighty religious tome he was reading.
Rachel felt heat surge into her cheeks. Now the others, including David, were staring at her, except for Santana, her eyes still closed. "Oh. Right. Um..." Well, she couldn't very well lie now, could she? "A little. I mean..."
"Yes, he was a Northheim warrior," Kurt said somewhat wearily. "I emphasize was. Now he is very much a faithful servant of Arkhis."
Rachel swallowed. "I... I'm of the church myself." David stirred, raising one eyebrow, but said nothing. "But the Northheim... They..." She tried to find better words, but could find none, and her curiosity would not be denied any longer. "They're savages!" she burst out. "Barbarians! How in the world did you make this one follow a civilized faith?!"
David, oddly, didn't seem at all offended; in fact, his face fell and his head bowed. Was this some kind of... shame, maybe? Or perhaps he couldn't understand what she said?
Kurt's eyes narrowed in a glower. "We didn't 'make' him do a damned thing," he snarled with much more hostility than she'd expected. "He joined us, and the church, of his own free will."
"Kurt..." David rumbled. "Do not... no offend..."
"Oh, come on, David, I'm sick and tired of people thinking the worst of you..."
"Is not her fault..."
"Making assumptions..."
"But I am barbarian..."
"Was! Was, dammit!" Kurt leaped to his feet. "You shouldn't have to justify yourself to anyone anymore!"
David also scrambled to his feet. His next words were a guttural, incomprehensible speech that rolled off his tongue much more easily and naturally than anything he'd said in her presence yet.
To her surprise (she didn't think she had any capacity for it left), Kurt responded in the same growling language, the harsh syllables sounding precisely like David's, without a hint of accent difference. He waved at her as he shouted, which made Rachel feel distinctly uncomfortable and annoyed.
David circled the fire, speaking once more in that unknown language. Kurt responded in a tone that Rachel immediately recognized as snide. For their parts, none of the others seemed particularly interested in the conversation, assuming they understood a word. Rachel was the only one staring and gawping as the two debaters shouted in each other's faces, practically nose to nose, their voices rising with each exchange...
Then came the next shock. In a sudden flash of movement, Kurt jumped up and hugged David's chest, his legs wrapping around the barbar— er, cleric's waist, and his arms around David's thick neck. The two kissed, so deeply and passionately that she could hear the wet smacking of flesh. Still kissing, David wrapped his own arms around Kurt and carried him easily into the trees, vanishing into the darkness.
Rachel blinked. Obviously, none of that had just happened. She must be dreaming, or hallucinating. Any second now, she'd wake up in her own bedroom, or in Sister Emma's sickbed.
Any second now...
Santana cracked open one eye. "They go off again?" she said wearily.
Finn shook his head with something like exasperated fondness. "Yep."
"I swear they must get turned on by fighting. Kurt just can't be normal in any way, can he?"
"I actually find it refreshing," Brittany said quietly. "Human courtship is so strange and complicated. They're more direct, like my people." She smiled a small, sly smile in Santana's direction. "I admire direct."
This time it was Santana's jaw that dropped; Rachel had the distinct feeling she was witnessing a rare event. It took only a few short seconds, though, for her to shut her mouth and her cynical expression to return. "Whatever. Maybe now I can get some quality meditation time without having to listen to that damn lute." She closed her eyes again, her breathing smoothing out.
Rachel was still staring at the space where Kurt and David once were, her mouth hanging open.
Finn drew his sword from its scabbard, examining its edge in the firelight. "Life's never boring with Kurt and David around," he said with a casual shrug.
Rachel felt like grabbing him by the shoulders and screaming in his face, "How can you be so calm?! Does anything about this actually make sense to you?!" But she knew she wouldn't, so instead she said, "So what is his story, anyway?"
"You should ask him yourself," Brittany said, nodding in satisfaction at her work attaching an arrowhead.
"What? David? But he can barely communicate!"
"It's his story," the elf replied. "He's the best person to tell it, if you're truly curious. Besides, he could use the practice."
"But you all must know it just as well!"
"We know parts of it, maybe most of it, but not all of it," Finn said. "Besides, we'd be biased, Kurt especially. I agree with Britt; I think you need to ask David about it yourself. Might be good for him too."
Rachel wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but didn't ask. She didn't know how long she gazed at the fire before the crashing of brush broke her reverie. Santana's eyes snapped open, and Brittany grabbed her bow, but it was only Kurt and David returning, both with smug grins on their faces and looking rather... disheveled.
"Eww," Santana groaned.
"Shut up," Kurt said pleasantly, sitting back down at the fire with a cheerful air. He immediately began plucking at the lute again, continuing the same song he'd been working on before — this time even more uptempo and upbeat.
"Okay, that's it, I'm going to bed before I see any more nightmare material," Santana said, rising. "We got an early day tomorrow, princess..."
"I told you, I'm not a princess!" Rachel snapped.
"... So you should do the same soon." Without any attempt to wish anyone a good night, Santana disappeared into her makeshift tent.
Finn stretched; Rachel wasn't sure if his hand brushing against hers as he did so was an accident, but she kind of hoped not. "Good idea," he said to her. "We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow." His eyes widened as the implications sank in. "About the job, I mean! I know you're going to meet your fiancee—"
"Jesse is not my fiancee," Rachel said softly. Not yet, but my fathers definitely want him to be. What did she want? She wasn't sure; she'd never met the man. But then, that was why she was going to Wexcomb, wasn't she? To find out?
This trip began with such simple intentions. How had they ever become this complicated?
"... And you're our client," Finn rambled on without seeming to have heard her. "We're professionals. Strictly professional. And I'm a paladin. Right." He lurched to his feet. "Good night, Ra— Lady Berry!" He beat a quick retreat into his own tent.
"I'll take first watch," Brittany said as she stood. Without a whisper of sound, she melted into the trees. It was actually a little scary.
Now they were down to three. Rachel glanced at Kurt and David. The former was putting away his lute, while the latter had returned to his weighty tome.
"Well," Kurt said, "I'd better get some shuteye before Finn's snoring attracts half the monsters in these woods." He glanced between David and Rachel as he stood, which was odd. After all, he had no idea of the conversation she'd had in their absence, so what could he have been thinking? "Good night," he said with a nod to them both.
"Good night," Rachel said absently. He left, and by simple subtraction, that meant the only two left were her and David.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of crackling fire and snapping logs. Rachel stared into the dancing light, unable to bring herself to do or look at anything else.
What could she possibly say to this man? What could he possibly tell her?
But then, if she just did nothing and went to bed, as she was tempted to do, she'd never have answers to any of her questions. Somehow, that felt like a worse hell than the one she currently found herself trapped in.
Oh, enough already! an inner voice chided. You are a Berry — now act like one!
She took a deep breath and opened her mouth. "So, ah..." David's head jerked up. His eyebrows rose in an obvious sign of anticipation. "Do... do we have enough wood for the fire?" She wanted to berate herself as an idiot, but for some reason, she kept on going. "Because if not, I could find some. I won't step too far from the camp, I promise..."
"No. Enough." He nodded towards a pile of wood nearby, nearly hidden in nighttime shadows.
"Oh. Of course." Feeling doubly foolish, she returned her gaze to the fire. Well, finding out more about David was now completely out of the question. Way to go, Rachel, humiliating yourself like that like some common—
"You want...?" She looked up; David was still looking at her earnestly. "You want... know... about me...?"
Rachel gaped. "I... Uh, I don't want to intrude, I..."
"No. No intrude. Most wander. No, not wander... Wonder...?" He put down his book, stood, and circled around the fire towards her. It took all she had not to flinch away as he sat down cross-legged a couple of feet away. "I am not... common cleric," he said with a small smile she had to describe as wry.
"Well, you're certainly... unique in my experience. I don't think I've ever met an apostle of Arkhis as... uh, large as yourself..."
David chuckled; his massive arms sticking out of his tunic flexed unconsciously, as if emphasizing the point. "No, most not like me." He glanced at her. "Ankle feel good?"
"Hm? Oh, oh, yes, it feels fine, thank you for asking."
"Good. Glad could help." And he looked sincere — as if the knowledge he'd helped her was the most important thing in the world to him. When taken with his physical stature and that tattoo, it was quite a discombobulating clash.
Which was why Rachel's next words were, "It's important to you. Helping people."
David looked at her silently before giving a small nod. "Was grown up in Northheim. Was warrior. Furious. Feared." His face turned dark. "Did much... much bad. Things not proud." He closed his eyes. "Can remember always. Hear sometimes. Screaming."
"Did... did you kill?" Rachel had no idea where the courage to ask came from.
David looked her directly in the eyes. "Yes," he said, strongly and without the slightest tremor in his voice.
"Why?" She wasn't sure what she was asking — why he did it, or why he regretted it now. As fate would have it, he answered both.
"All I knew was fight. All was born to do, raised to do. Was very good. Am very good. Very proud of self. But also... Always knew was not like other warriors."
"In what way?"
"Many friend... They were..." He hesitated; she could almost see his mind search for the right words. "They liked doing some... bad more than I did." Rachel wasn't sure if she wanted clarification. "Called soft sometimes. Weak. Made me angry. Made me fight even harder. Show them they were wrong. Fight all the time. Angry all the time." He shook his head slowly and sadly.
"So what happened?"
"Met Kurt and Finn. They were enemy. I slattered... slandered...?" His face twisted in perplexity; finally he shook his head again and went on. "I killed many their friend. Then... Azimio..."
"What's an azimio?"
"One of friend. Best friend. I thought." He stared into the fire, but she had little doubt he was seeing not flame, but memory. "Saw me let children run from village. Shouted at me, asked why I did not behead all." Rachel shuddered. "We fought... with word? He called me weak, lover of man. Said I betray him, betray king, betray Northheim. New king command us that to survive, must be feared. Must show everyone that we will kill any who stand in way. You or us. Kill or be kill. Baby must be stomped to death under boot to make rest of lands leave us alone." Rachel gasped involuntarily. "That not way I was taught. I taught we fight for survival, yes, and pride, but we not cruel. We not kill young and women just to make point. If that make me lover of man, well..." He shrugged; he was trying to be casual, but Rachel could tell he was failing. "Tried to turn away, and he..."
David paused. He turned his back towards Rachel and lifted the hem of his tunic. Rachel gasped once more at the huge, jagged, puffed up scar that ran down his back. She actually reached out towards it before she realized what she was doing and let her hand drop. Instead she waited for him to lower his tunic and continue.
"Kurt and Finn... find me. They know who I am. They see me kill friend. But they..." Tears began to well in his eyes. "They take me. Heal me. Treat me like... like friend. Offer to take me back to Northheim, offer me home when I say why I cannot." His head bowed. "Then I know: I not want to fight. I not want kill, never again. Tired of pain and anger and hate. Want to protect, like Kurt. Want to make laugh, like Finn. They help me enter church. Most afraid of me. Some laugh. But Father Schuester, he tell me I can do. Teach me your language, and how to be Arkhis servant. I become cleric faster than any raised here." His chest puffed with pride; Rachel couldn't help but chuckle. "Much happy now. Not hate and anger. Love." He cast a misty eye towards Rachel. "Love Kurt." She was about to say she could tell when he continued. "Love Finn too. Santana, Brittany... Love everyone. Want to keep safe. Want to heal. Pay back Kurt for kindness by being kind." He grinned — no, more like a pained half-grin. "Hard sometimes. Big man. Tattoo not go away. Still temper sometimes. But try. Try every day, because still from Northheim, which mean strong. Not give up." He smiled fondly. "Kurt could be Northheim. He strong too. But also kind. Want to be like him."
It was almost a little dizzying, what she was thinking and feeling and imagining of David's story, yet she still knew she'd barely begun to scratch the surface. Did being a "lover of man" hold two meanings, and which was the actual sin in the eyes of this Azimio? How did he come to be raised to at least recognize the concept of honor when those around him only obeyed their liege? How had this new king so changed the culture of Northheim? She also sensed there was also much to his time with Kurt and Finn that he had not spoken of — even more reason to be curious.
But somehow, even though Wexcomb was less than a week's journey away, she knew she had the luxury of time to answer her questions. Instead she said, "I think you are well on your way." She paused. "I... I want to apologize. You are obviously not a barbarian, not anymore, and I was remiss to call you that."
David shook his head. "No. I know I scare—"
"But that's not an excuse. I am a child of the House of Berry; I should be better than that." She stuck her nose in the air. "If commoners like Kurt and Finn could be better people than me, then I should at least try to raise myself to their level." David frowned in puzzlement. "Never mind. The point is... I do believe you when you say you're trying, and I think that's the most important thing of all." She paused, considering her next words. "I think Kurt is very proud of you."
David brightened, his joy at the thought overwhelming even the light and heat of the campfire. "You think so? He say sometimes, but I not think so..."
"Kurt does not strike me as a man who hides what he's feeling."
David laughed. "No, no, he not. He and Santana... very same!"
Her own laughter died as she bit her lower lip, considering. "So, um... It's almost time for nightly vespers..."
"Yes."
"Would... you lead me? You being a cleric of Arkhis, I think it's your duty here..."
David's eyes widened. "I..." he stammered. "Yes... Yes, you right. I... Yes." He set his shoulders, grabbing his staff from behind him. "Yes. We pray."
"All right, then." She rearranged her legs below her into proper position, watching David do the same with the unerring ease of years of practice. He stuck the staff into the soft dirt in front of him, gripped it just under the knob tightly, and closed his eyes. Rachel followed.
Ta kol munda Arkhis oya...
He sang the first verses of the ancient prayer softly but strongly, his accents once again perfect, his tone rich and precisely pitched. With her eyes closed, Rachel could easily imagine this voice coming from a bishop back home.
Si koi rashma, des kol munda va'a...
She joined in on cue, her mind noting with pleasure that she was matching his practiced ease with her raw vocal talent alone. Then she remembered she was supposed to be reaching out to Arkhis with open heart, and tried to concentrate on the meaning of the words.
Sanct'im kori babane far russ...
With their eyes closed, neither Rachel nor David had any chance to see the others open their eyes and look towards them, or Brittany smile from her post in the trees.
Cleric and penitent called out to their shared god, voices and souls united.