The Second Life and Adventures of Benjamin Finn:
Chapter 6: In Which Words Cut Deeper than Steel
No doubt whatever ire Page had felt towards my previous misuse of our companion and queen was quickly enough swept aside, if not abolished entirely, at the prospect of the renewed threat that lay before us, for that fearsome glare she had directed at me dissipated with Wren's telling of how such perilous news had been brought to light. This seemed to have been precisely what Page required to fill in the lapses in the information provided to her, for she readily offered up her own findings upon hearing ours.
"I've had no reports of unusual activity at the docks." She conferred once Wren's recount had concluded. "And if they need Walter as badly as you say I can't imagine they'd leave without him."
"They'd need a hell of a lot more than a night raid to get him out now," I groused without reservation, recalling that the Swift Brigade would soon be securing the castle if they were not already. Wren's prior assessment of Major Swift's chosen few, while prideful, was also justified, as was my opinion of my former fellows. The men of the Swift Brigade had proven diligently that they could not only hold a fort against near constant threat without fail, they could bring the battle to their foes if called upon to do so as they had that fateful day the Crawler had breached Albion's borders and met its supposed doom.
Despite my steadfast confidence in those brave few elite, there was still the matter of decimating the cult where they lived, and for that cause Wren and I were on our own, a fact I felt it necessary to bring once more to light. If our encounters before Albion's gates and within the catacombs had been any indication of our capabilities Wren and I were going to require assistance; for as long as Wren felt it necessary to exercise restraint in the interest of my wellbeing, the pair of us would be no match for what lie ahead. It was then with a swell of relief that I witnessed as Bowerstone's beloved mayor took note of our predicament and announced her intentions to accompany us, only to be promptly thwarted by Wren's gainsay.
"I need you here, Page." The queen announced firmly. "I need someone with connections; someone who can keep an ear to the ground and her eyes to the shadows. I need you to raise the alarm if they breach our line. And someone has to stay behind to safeguard the people if things take a turn."
Though Wren's instructions were sensible and conscientious of her duty to the kingdom I could not help but to point out the obvious flaws to her plan, as they could only result in our spectacular failure. "I'll tell you, pal, I've never doubted your abilities before. But you're talking two against an army. I can't help but feel those odds are just slightly stacked against us."
If my argument raised any rankle in the queen she did an admirable job of hiding it. "We don't know their numbers, Ben." She explained dutifully. "We don't know anything; short of their need for my mother and Walter and that they managed to best my guards once. Right now our best offense is one that can't be seen. We have one advantage – Theresa's warnings. With her direction, indistinct as it may be, we at least have a chance at finding this mysterious weapon that can slay the Crawler. But if we go traipsing about with a large gathering we'll stand absolutely no chance of going unnoticed."
Subterfuge admittedly was a tactic I'd never before successfully carried out, and yet Wren seemed to have enough confidence in her plan and my ability to not foil it that I was left no alternative but to give up my protests. "Fine then. We'll do things your way. But if we encounter some bloodthirsty army bent on our destruction I'm leaving it up to you to come up with a plausible cover story. I'll just get tongue tied and start shooting them like the last time."
Despite the smirk my ribbing earned from my fair-skinned companion, Page's previous incredulity at my reappearance and the easy nature Wren and I were reestablishing returned. With a piercing glare from Page, Wren's mirth withered and she sighed somewhat reluctantly.
"Ben I think you need to step outside for a moment," the more congenial of my companions murmured, her gaze clearly and quite pointedly avoiding mine; "women's talk."
"You know I have it on good authority that when women talk in secret it usually revolves around men," I volunteered, suspecting that my faltering honor was about to take an unseen and possibly undefended blow. "So let me save you the guess work and answer your questions myself, alright?"
"Out." Page's order was hard as steel if not loud, and suddenly things like bruised honor or unknown secrets seemed insignificant to me. I had witnessed firsthand the onset of Page's temper in the past and had no desire to attract her irritation further as it would be at the cost of my well-being if I remained.
"Right then. Have your women's talk. But don't think for one second I'll just walk away from this fight because of some idiotic blunder I made."
"No one's asking you to, Ben. Now give us a minute. We won't be long."
And as it was Wren asking me to leave and not Page ordering me out – or so I tried to convince myself – I exited the sewers and returned to the fading daylight, suddenly as eager to be quit of the mayor as I had been desperate for her support not less than an hour before.
Despite Wren's promise that they would only be a moment, dark had fallen before the door at my back creaked open and torchlight spilled forth, announcing Wren and Page's reemergence, and even in the flickering glow of the torches I could see whatever they had discussed had Wren's parlor even more blanched than usual.
"Marco, Her Majesty and the Captain will be staying in the Plum House. See to their needs, whatever they may be. They'll be leaving in the morning."
"We're staying?" In response to my mild surprise at Page's courteous use of my title and the news of our delayed departure Wren nodded, somewhat pulling herself from her partial daze.
"We haven't slept a full night since our journey to Theresa's spire, and I could do with a hot bath and a soft mattress. We'll stay here tonight in case they attempt to smuggle my mother out under the cover of darkness.
"Tomorrow, you and I are going back to Aurora to find the bastards where they live."
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In the two hours that had passed since our arrival at Plum House, a small but stately residence which had been renovated for the purposes of hosting visiting officialsof boarding about a boisterous taproom who did not relish the prospect of boarding above a boisterous taproom, Wren had spoken not a single word beyond agreeing to take her turn at the bath first and a murmured thanks for the bowl of stew she had failed to touch. With a steadily increasing sense of trepidation I naturally made pathetic attempts at conversation and humor before retreating to a task I held little love for but more than sufficient need: the darning of our garments.
Having had no daughters to pass down her knowledge, my mother had chosen to school me in the art of needlework; a skill that, while embarrassing to disclose to my peers, had ultimately preserved my precious uniform and the vestments of a great many comrades while at the same time placing a few additional coins in my pocket. In no time at all Wren's highwayman garb was mended, a few fresh darts strategically placed to conceal the worst of the damage and lending the fabric a more formfitting appearance. Not my worst work to be certain, though the reaction it elicited was lukewarm at best.
"I suppose that's if all else fails I could go into business as a tailor," I volunteered in another vain attempt to break Wren's melancholy. "It's these small hands – they work magic with a needle and thread."
The pun earned not so much as a roll of her eyes, and so I abandoned my efforts at levity, setting to work instead on mending my own clothing in silence.
"Do you… remember what I said to you… at Aunt Rose's casket?"
The inquiry had come abruptly amidst the standing silence, and yet had been delivered with more hesitance than I'd have thought Wren capable of. I set aside my handiwork to find my Heroic companion appraising me with eyes the color of burnished steel, and once more I found myself apprehensive in her presence, yet this time I did not fear for my corporal safety. In truth I wasn't ready to renew my aggravation with her self-depredation despite my willingness to enjoy the ease of tension it provided.
Even still, there was no point in postponing the inevitable with lies. "I do." I provided no clarification of exactly what I recalled and Wren seemed to require none, for after a moment she pressed on.
"I've been thinking a lot, and I know that… that I owe you an apology. And an explanation."
"You?" Ordinarily I would have laughed at the absurdity of being owed anything by this woman other than a swift and righteous beating, yet from the absolute lack of jesting on Wren's part I decided it was best that I kept my humor to myself for the moment. "Page must have done a fair job at raking me over the coals back in the sewers if even you're feeling sorry for me."
The stare that was levied upon me made me almost nauseous with worry; she'd never looked so frightened of anything save the Crawler – and I for one shared the popular belief that anyone who didn't fear the Crawler should be placed in a sanitarium.
"The harsh words she had were for me not you, and with good reason." I watched as Wren fretfully licked her lips and averted her eyes anywhere and everywhere but to mine. "She was right, though. For too long I've been hiding from you behind my anger.
"I had tried to tell you at first," her voice came out in barely a whisper, the words speeding along faster and faster much like a barrel rolling down a hill. "But then I… you weren't coming back and I was so angry that you had left to start with; that you hadn't been there. Being angry with you was easier, you see. So I hated you with everything I had because at least if I hated you I didn't have to feel the loss… and if I don't say it now I never will."
The moment in which Wren closed her eyes and took a bracing breath I did the same, attempting to steel myself for what was to come, confident that it would not be something easily withstood.
"Ben I didn't want to hate you because you left without a goodbye. I wanted to hate you because you were nowhere to be found when I lost our baby."
Our…baby…
There is absolutely nothing in my past experiences I can draw from to describe this moment; what I experienced at Wren's revelation.
There are no words that could adequately relate to you that singular moment in my life.
One would think that learning one had been a father would be an occasion of some note. But in truth in that instant I don't believe I remembered my name; the world and all of its sensations vanished around me in much the way sand does when the tide pulls it out from under your feet. I recall having a removed awareness that Wren was still speaking to me, though her words were little more than a faint buzzing in my ears. At one point I must have spoke, however, for I hazily remember her voice rising, as though in response to something.
The first semi-coherent thought that I can recollect with any certainty was that there was entirely too much noise around me; that the noise was making it impossible for me to think. It was on numb legs that I stood and left, unknowing of my destination, my intentions, or the woman who was presently just as I had left her: on her knees beside my chair and the torn vestment I had not yet finished repairing.
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It was slowly that my mind began to piece together what I had heard seated before that fireplace, and the more my mind grasped the more fervently I wished it wouldn't.
I'd never put much thought into a family of my own, having spent most of my years preoccupied with the thought of grand adventures abroad or of surviving the trials duty laid before me. Therefore I could not understand why this was having such an impact on me. I'd never asked for a wife or a child. I'd certainly never mourned the fact that I'd gone this long without either. It had been enough to simply enjoy the companies of women unattached, and some marginally less available for courting.
And yet somehow it felt as though everything I had ever held dear had been suddenly and irreversibly wrenched from my life; a feeling that boggled me, as how could I hold something dear when I'd never desired it to begin with.
Had I?
All of these things bounced within my head like a child's toy ball until my surroundings became familiar enough that I could unconsciously find my way to one particular door, my hand lifting to knock upon it by reflex. After a moment, and a slight shuffling noise from within, a dark figure pulled the door open, glaring at me from behind a single lit candle.
"Do you have any idea what hour- … Ben?" I was aware of Page holding her candle out before my face and presumably not liking what she found there, for in the next moment a hand gripped my arm and I was pulled into a comfortably furnished living room, lit only by the glowing coals of her fireplace and the candle gripped within her hand.
"Did you know?" I didn't feel the need to explain myself; there was nothing else in my world at that particular moment worth speaking of. Not the cult, not the Crawler, nothing but this. "You knew, didn't you? That's why you fought with Wren."
With one quiet look Page said more to me than any word or speech could have ever conveyed. She knew, of that I had no doubt.
"I was beginning to wonder if she would ever tell you." My dark compatriot admitted at last, moving towards the mantel where she busied herself with the task of lighting a small oil lamp. "She seemed terrified of the idea in the sewers today." The mayor spoke in a manner that would have customarily been much too gentle to have been addressing me, and yet there was no one else present. This newfound benevolence however, was one-sided.
"You bloody knew!" I lashed out bitterly. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it was not my place. Though I admit there was a moment or two today when I nearly forgot that fact."
"I had a child and it was 'not your place' to tell me?" The word 'child' seemed to stop my heart within my chest, and I found my hand clawing at my shirt in reflexive effort to restart it. I could not understand how or why this was so painful. It was still beyond comprehension and yet I railed on, unable to muster any reaction other than the one I was experiencing. "That's a bleeding load of tripe, Page, and you damn well know it!"
"No, it isn't." Looking back, I am both amazed and appreciative to the woman for her astounding exercise of patience she displayed, especially considering the man berating her in her own living room at such an obscene hour of the night was me. Page's tolerance of my eccentricities had always been thin, and my abuse of Wren had unquestionably caused the mayor's opinion of me to plummet, yet here she stood, holding herself firmly in check. "I agree you should have been told sooner, but if we told you before Wren was ready she would have had to relive the loss of the child without any warning. You weren't there, Ben. You don't know the toll it took on her."
There was no accusation in her voice, nor the insinuation that I had deserted Wren when she needed me the most, yet the knowledge was there as clearly as if Page had announced it for the world to hear, and I knew that I had no right to fault Page her discretion. Dejected, I felt the battle draining out of me, leaving only that terrible ache I could not bring myself to understand.
"You said 'we'. Who else knows?"
"Jasper of course, Wren's physician, Kalin and myself. Some of the castle servants as well, but they were sworn to secrecy. Wren had wanted you to know before anyone else. She'd asked Kalin and me for help in finding you when her efforts failed. We commissioned dozens of couriers and adventurers to search you out and bring you home. You were nowhere to be found."
Of that I had no doubt. I after all had been living my dream, or so I had believed, traveling the world like the adventurers of old, living only for the moment. I knew beyond certainty that it would have been impossible for someone to find me if they were beyond a day's journey from me. For two years I had never planned beyond the next day; how could a messenger be expected to find someone so capricious?
I soon found myself sitting in an overstuffed armchair, holding my face in my hands, unable to lift my voice beyond the harsh croak that seemed to have replaced my natural timbre. "How did it happen?" The words poured forth before I had the chance to realized I'd not wished to utter them aloud.
It was here that Page's response came with the careful, deliberate calm of someone trying their very hardest to maintain an even temper. "She didn't tell you?"
"I… I don't remember. I think I left before she could."
"You left her? Again?" At last there was anger behind her words, yet I could neither bring myself to argue my failure nor to care about Page's impending reaction to my admission.
"Please Page, just tell me how." Without warning hard fingers gripped me beneath either arm, pulling me to my feet and the stern, dark features of my hostess were before my eyes, glaring at me with a reproach I did not try to fend off.
"This is not a discussion you should have with me. This is something you need to ask her."
It was with these parting words in my thoughts and a rough expulsion from the mayoral residence that I stumbled down the streets and back to the house where I had left a guilt-ridden queen, dreading what was to follow and knowing it was unavoidable.
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I realized upon entering the front room that I must have wandered for quite some time before coming to Page's house, for when I found Wren she was curled within her armchair before the dying fire, fast asleep. Across the arm of my abandoned chair lay my vest, the gashes in the fabric crudely repaired, the frayed edges sturdily bound if not hidden. No doubt Wren was only as familiar with darning clothing as her experiences watching Jasper perform the duties had made her. What struck me most terribly though were the dried splotches of eye paint upon the fabric.
She had wept as she'd mended my clothes.
If ever before I'd experienced regret for my actions, it could not compare to the weight that pressed down upon me at that very moment. Twice I'd maneuvered myself into her good graces and twice I'd abandoned her with the pain my negligence had inflicted. That my betrayal of her faith had been unintentional did not excuse my actions any more than it erased the damage it had exacted.
Not wishing to simply leave her where she presently slumbered I lifted her from the chair, and was reminded of how light she was for one so strong. The beds had already been turned down and Wren had previously voiced her desire to for a decent night's sleep; it was the very least I could do for her just then.
I maneuvered the narrow stairwell which lead to the second floor bedchambers as Wren's breath wafted in warm, soft puffs against my neck, until one step creaked noisily beneath my boot. In that moment she stirred within my arms, her eyes lifting to my face as I concentrated on not buffeting her head or feet against the walls or railing.
"You came back."
Her whisper was piteous and I cursed myself repeatedly and cruelly for causing her more grief than I'd ever had the right to do. At last I reached the top of the stairs and, with great deference, deposited her onto the quilted coverlet of the nearest double bed before stooping to remove her boots.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left like I did."
"Ben you had every right to be upset -"
"I meant before. I should never…" Her boots slipped clumsily to the wooden flooring as I sank to the mattress at her feet, my elbows perched atop my knees as I hunched in the misery I had brought down upon us. "You had to live through this alone and I… I never even knew he… she… existed."
"He." Wren's whisper gave soft confirmation of knowledge I'd not wanted… not consciously at least. Knowing the details made it all the more real, and that was something I desperately did not want. Yet my mouth worked independently from my mind, for I heard my voice asking the same question that had lead Page to expel me from her home, and after a brief interval Wren obliged.
"No one could tell me," She admitted with an expressive shrug. "These things happen, sometimes. That was the best they could say." There was a dip to her voice which told me that, for as much as I did not want to hear this, she was equally unenthusiastic to speak it. Yet I owed it to her to share this grief, pathetically delayed though my support may have been.
I listened to her tell me of those first five months in which she'd been devoted to our child and the search for his father. Of the nursery she'd had constructed in her chambers. Of toy pistols and a new diet and a voluntary retirement from the Hero duties she had grown to consider her last true freedom.
Then one afternoon, as she sat at her writing desk with the kingdom ledger spread out before her, it had happened. Five months of meticulous precautions and elated preparation ended before the sunset, and the next morning our son was laid to rest without ever having taken his first breath.
The days that followed were as self-destructive and anger fueled as Jasper would tolerate, complete with solitary trips into balverine dens, extended stays in Mourningwood Fort, and daylight raids upon bandit hideouts becoming more common for her than holding court. This pattern of near suicidal recklessness lasted only a few months until an infuriated Page and all but bludgeoned the sense into the Hero Queen once more, at the behest of one equally incensed butler. With her self-imposed annihilation thwarted, Wren had only one justifiable recourse left – to blame me for abandoning her to endure alone.
At last her story ended and the silence hung between us as heavily as iron shackles.
"Wren I…" I could no longer bear the sound of my own voice yet I knew that I owed it to her to speak; to acknowledge what I had l left her in my wake. "Just… tell me what you want from me. Whatever you want, you'll have. I swear it." Not for an instant did I pause to consider what I would do if she requested something beyond my power to grant. No matter what she demanded, no matter what it took, I would find a way to make it possible.
Wren's initial response was a weary, drawn-out sigh, distantly followed by a voice as low and drained as mine.
"… I want you to be happy."
The admission struck me so totally by surprise she could have told me she wanted to become a balverine and elicited the same response, a fact she must have noticed for she immediately proceeded to elaborate.
"I spent so long hating you – or so I thought – when in fact I never hated you at all. I… needed you. When I realized you weren't coming back I convinced myself that you had abandoned me. Like I said, believing that I hated you left no room to feel that… that crushing misery.
"But you did nothing more than keep your word; and in all of the time we've known each other you have never broken a promise to me. You stood with me against a foe that would have sent most men screaming. Two years ago you earned the right to go your own way, and I had no right to begrudge you that. Nor do I have the right to treat you as though what happened after was your fault. It wasn't. At least no more than it was mine.
"You're a good man, Ben. I don't want you to live your life regretting this. Be happy. That's all I ask."
Her gaze held fast to mine expectantly and, after discerning at last what she waited for, I was able to force my head into a slow, deliberate nod, for she had asked it of me and I had sworn to her that whatever she desired would be hers; having impetuously forgotten that determination was only capable of so much.
And so I dipped my head in obedient compliance; not wishing to actually speak the words that could only ever be a lie.
For how could I ever be happy again knowing what I had lost, and what suffering I had imparted upon the one who owned my heart?
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This one undoubtedly will upset some people. I understand that. But I also know that if I want to get published eventually I can't be afraid to start broaching topics that are not exactly popular. I need to be able to handle them with dignity and a certain level of sensitivity. So I practice – that's what posting my fanfics is all about.
A little side on this - Ben is TOTALLY a family man in my opinion. He stuck it out in Gunk even though he cared nothing for the place - specifically for his family - and only left once everyone was gone. I think that just because Ben never mentioned wanting a family of his own - and perhaps never even considered it - that doesn't mean he would not value, cherish and otherwise appreciate what it meant to have a family (or to have lost one.)
Ben's written dialect gave me some trouble again in this chapter. It's the chapters where I have large intervals of speaking dialogue where I get flustered. His written idiom is so at odds with how everyone talks in the game that sometimes I have a bit of a hard time bouncing between the two.
I'm using this as a sort of lesson in writing different speech patterns for different characters. Ben's so totally off the beaten path with his written dialect that it's great practice!