Chapter VI: Warmth to the Den
Høst Gård, Norway
Time: 3:12 pm
The storm hit before they reached the den. Darkness and snow on all sides. The road barely visible as the range rover came to a stubborn halt, the car lights on low beam and six feet away, a rusty old farm-gate blocking their passage. The metal barricade was bordered by immense rocks and barbed wire on either side. A rickety old sign on the right with the words "Høst Gård" painted in bright red, barely visible above the German translation. Autumn Farm. Clearly in his element, Magnus shrugged a wintry old coat on and shoved his door open, a sadistic grin on the face as flurries of white stormed the interior. It took a disgruntled glance from Lucian before the man finally shut the door, his pale shape now moving quickly through blasting winds, the vision of a Viking plowing through snow up to his knees. The indistinct form leaning into the metal and shoving the barrier. Forcing it open even with the friction of snow hindering its track.
Left on his own, Lucian ran his finger along the dashboard. Feeling the drill of old days in his bones.
Perhaps he was growing soft...dependent. Too long since he'd been on his own, forced to battle for his food and place in the pack. Everyone assumed he was impenetrable...untouchable.
Decisively, he flipped his hood back and clambered into the driver's seat, looking around and squinting slightly. Gathering his bearings as he realized this was probably the first time in...four years...that he'd actually driven anything. Not a comforting thought in terms of pride, but at least he knew what was what. Steering wheel. Clutch. Stick-shift. H-pattern. Shifting gears and easing his foot off the clutch, he maneuvered the vehicle with ease and came to a smooth stop about three feet past the gate. Like riding a bicycle, he decided with a small trace of estrangement, pushing the door open and shifting back to his seat, aware of the other lycan closing the gate and trudging back towards the car.
Bringing all of winter with him, Magnus took his seat again, shaking the snow from his coat and leaning closer to the windscreen, immediately starting to inch the car steadily up the long driveway, their destination barely in sight. Lucian shifted round, impatiently reaching back to grab his carry-on from the seat. If possible, the storm was coming down harder than before…but through the white, he could just spot it...the warm-lit windows of an old farmhouse.
Autumn Farm.
Timber and stacked logs fashioned in the old style with the added one-car garage. Spruce trees and a barn housing whatever lifestock the man kept. The land had once belonged to mortals, childless and unaware of Magnus' true nature, save that he worked hard and aged well. Upon their death, Magnus had stayed on as keeper, avoiding the surrounding communities and keeping to himself. Creating a warm life that would be vacated in a decade.
All lycans switched lives, passports, and property after it became apparent they would never reach the look of senior citizens. Land was typically swapped between friends, and it was quite likely Magnus would relinquish his home after his pups were full-grown and ready to assume their duties. For the time being however, Høst Gård acted as the lycan road-base for the North...a place to park the car, a cellar to hide ammunition in transit, and a hearth to raise children. The true den actually lay underground, carved into the hills two miles away where about two dozen soldiers lay waiting for the winter's end. A harsh existence, hardly suitable for the young.
Parking the range rover in the small garage, the two lycans immediately exited the vehicle and headed for the house, Magnus nodding for him to go ahead as the burly lycan locked the garage. Hardly waiting for the nod, Lucian was already making double-time up the stairs, heading for the front door and dragging about two hundred pounds of snow with him as he climbed. He was halfway to grabbing the handle when the door suddenly opened from inside. Warmth, light, and the smell of mutton roasting over a fire. Blissful.
Unfortunately, he had other concerns.
A small woman stood at the door. Dark-skin. Short, curly hair with a touch of copper highlights. Cold-blooded eyes shining fearlessly as she eyed him, all-the-while maintaining her grip on the sawed-off shotgun now pointing directly at his chest. Narrowing her sights, she hissed something in what sounded like flawless Norwegian.
Lucian suddenly blanched. "Come again?" he replied in English, too stunned to throw himself into attack mode. Understanding dawning as he realized…this heavily-armed creature had to be…Vienne?
Unable to control his face, Lucian immediately felt his eyes widen, and in a horrific show of rudeness, he mistakenly looked down…and then down again.
Bloody hell, what a tiny woman...
She hardly came up to his shoulder. He'd been expecting a dowdy old dress of knitted wool…but even by his standards, she was dressed sharply, her short, and yet curvaceous, frame encased in a tightly fitted shirt with a high cuff. Black leather pants. Holsters along both legs. High-cheek bones…and a beauty in her own right.
He closed his mouth, but couldn't resist looking down again.
How the hell did red-mongering Magnus score this angel of a…
…lycan now casually lining her shotgun up with his head.
Finally reaching the door, Magnus slapped Lucian on the back and said, "Lucian…Vienne. Vienne…Lucian." As if sharing a secret of tremendous import, he leaned over to the dark-haired alpha and grunted, "A bit of a fire-cracker. I'd translate, but words don't come across so well. She meant to say welcome."
The woman snorted, exclaimed a stinging blaspheme in French (which Lucian did understand,) lowered the shot-gun and turned back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Leaving them out in the cold. The wind gusting around and wet snow falling down the back of their hoods.
Magnus smiled wearily in the darkness, his teeth showing in the reflected light of the glass windows. "Did I mention we were expecting?"
Lucian shook his head slowly, his eyes still a mite wide after this first introduction to Magnus' wife.
"Well…we are."
"I take it she…"
"…was pleased. At the time."
"Ah," he murmured in reply, unsure what else to say. In a way, he understood her anger. If memory served correctly, this child…if carried to term, would be their third. A risk and more than most could afford with the ever-present war. The only experience he'd had with lycan mothers had been…painful. The sight of vampires slashing torsos and the rage of watching his people exterminated. The ordering of mass burials and the stench of families burning in their own homes. Dens blocked up with fire and four-month-old lycans howling as their mothers tried to…
…no. It is a joyful time…it is…worthy of celebration.
"My best wishes to you and yours," he whispered over the howling storm. "Warmth to your den." The last words were spoken in Latin…
"And fire to your hearth," replied Magnus, adopting the old tongue in turn. Acknowledging the past as they greeted the future with lycan words of den and hearth.
Warmth to your den, and fire to your hearth…
A benediction of sorts for those caught between wolf and humankind, the statement originated in the 11th century and the age-old wisdom of wishing well upon those expecting young. This was probably the first time Lucian had spoke the words in over three centuries. An acknowledgment of the old ways which, themselves, were dying as lycans succumbed to the war and made way for the youth. Children of the modern age. Creatures born and changed with no thought for the aspiring culture which once thrived among their ancestors.
Nodding in appreciation, the brawling lycan, Magnus, pushed the door open and made way for Lucian to pass, the first alpha of wolves stepping over the threshold and feeling warmth blanket him. The ice still clinging to his hair as large, frozen clumps of snow fell to the reed-covered floor. They stood in a small hallway, a wooden alcove on the right holding a medley of jackets, hats, and scarves. Mittens left on the shelves and boots strewn on the floor. Following convention, the two lycans divested themselves of outer clothing, allowing the heat to soak through their bones. Shaking their hair out and scratching long-covered itches of skin. Taking their time as the sound of pots clanging against metal could be heard from the inner sanctum.
Finally, Magnus led the way, stepping resolutely towards the second door at the end of the hall. The gateway to the rest of his home and a massive piece of lycan-carved wood made of varnished red oak, the surface covered with the first tendrils of spring. But yet again, before the handle could be turned, the door opened swiftly from the inside. A moment of silence passed, and feeling impatient, Lucian turned slightly to spy over his comrade's shoulder, thinking the wife of Magnus to be now intent on shooting her husband. Only to catch sight of…
…a child.
She stood stock-still, about two and a half feet high. Caramel-skin. A shock of dark curls and ringlets. The light-green eyes of her father. For ten seconds, she stared intensely at the man in front of her, kneeling for a moment to poke at his feet. Thwack his knees. Gesturing, she indicated that Magnus was expected to kneel, and still waiting in the outer hall, Lucian watched with some amusement as the 6'4 giant kneeled before the tiny mistress.
"Far?" she whispered.
"Ja," he replied.
She nodded firmly at his statement, completely serious in her guard-duties for the home den. Putting two-and-two together, Lucian silently figured Far must be Norwegian for "Father." Most languages were related in some way or other, and around these parts, whether it was Father, far, pater, or fader, it usually meant the same thing. Ja had to be a simple yes. But now herself peering over and beyond her father's shoulder, the little maiden began to sternly scrutinize Lucian. Baring fangs the size of toothpicks and raising her blunt fingernails, she hissed, causing Lucian to step back with a hidden smirk.
Apparently, the little sentry had deemed the alpha of twelve packs 'unfit' for entry into her den.
Laughing, Magnus immediately picked his daughter up, allowing the tiny lycan maiden's arms to grasp firmly about his neck as she continued hissing…and hissing…and abruptly, running out of breath, she closed her mouth. Again, Lucian had to fight to keep the smirk off his face, knowing it would only incense her further. Lycan pups had strength…and it was true, the girl had opened the door by herself, but thanks to a hearty dose of youth, it would be another four years before her lungs had the capacity to growl. Realizing her hiss would not take her far, however, the little mistress counted her battles and now glared…still baring her teeth as Magnus pulled her from his shoulder and held her up. Turning back to Lucian, Magnus now grinned again, but instead of speaking, he brought the wolf-pup closer so she might get a better look at her adversary. Raising an eyebrow, Lucian swallowed his pride and allowed the girl child to grab a fistful of his hair. She held it up gingerly. Poked at his cheek. Thwacked his ear, causing a slight grunt as he flinched back a little. For the love of moonlight, was this entirely necessary?
Frowning, the little mistress gestured for the shoulder again, and once seated, whispered something fervently in her father's ear, keeping her voice low enough that Lucian could hear it about…a mile away. Unfortunately, the words were completely unintelligible since the girl seemed to be quite attached to her Norwegian tongue. Magnus turned back to his daughter and whispered something equally foreign the name "Lucian" popping up at least once. Leaning against the wall, the first alpha waited impatiently as they finished their oh-so-serious conversation. Crossing his arms and making a conscious effort to control his growing edginess. Finally, after what felt like an hour, the girl abruptly gasped, her eyes turning to Lucian with new interest. Her face lit up with a smile and patting her father's arm, she gestured to be let down to the ground. Oh bloody hell, no, he thought. She's not going to…oh for the love of…
…hell.
The girl had latched onto his hand, and had begun chattering away in her Norwegian tongue as if he were kin. Pulling his arm down, hugging his claws, circling his form, sniffing and blathering on with obvious delight. Stopping in front of him, she raised her arms up and waited.
He raised an eyebrow.
She waited.
He looked at Magnus for help.
Magnus shrugged.
Oh, perfect, he thought with a scowl. So much for bloody friendship! Realizing there was no way into this house without appeasing the…women!...of Magnus' world, Lucian finally made a point of gingerly hoisting the little maiden. Judging this position to be highly uncomfortable, she immediately crawled (more like clawed) her way up to his neck, causing extreme difficulties for maintaining dignity while this giggling…urchin…glued herself to the back of his hair. Suddenly noting that she was scrabbling (and pulling his hair with her), he forced himself to bend slightly forward so she wouldn't fall.
"What the fu-…" he caught himself before the next word could fall out…suddenly aware of his language in the face of this child-demon. He frowned and began again… "What on earth did you tell her?"
"The truth," Magnus shrugged. "You're alpha, and her nickname is General. You do the math. I'm teaching her the word 'suspicion' this month. No one allowed in the house without a thorough check-over…after Vienne's done the real check, of course." The man headed on inside, Lucian now tentatively walking forward, trying to ignore the ceaseless prattle going on beside his right ear. Did she never shutup?
Apparently not.
…but the exasperation melted away as he entered the main living-quarters of the house. Dark red walls. Rugs and warmth. Vienne was standing by an oak table covered with five plates, glasses and cutlery, cuts of mutton and heated blood sitting in the centre. Magnus was occupied with greeting his other daughter. An older girl of about twelve years. She was dressed all in black like her mother, the hair straightened and the brown eyes heavily lined with kohl. Caramel skin and the high-cheekbones of her mother, though she herself stood taller. Closer to Lucian's height. She appeared more reserved than the pup on his back, and could only blush when her father loudly suggested she greet the "twelve-pack" alpha. Biting her lip, the poor girl's tanned cheeks suddenly turned bright red. An affronted glare at her father even as the man grinned and motioned her forward again. Perceptive as usual, Lucian made a point of ignoring the signs as he waited. What was this? A childhood crush? Twelve-pack, indeed...
Pushing her father back, the older girl finally stepped forward on her own, and put out a hand. He took the hand, shaking it firmly and meeting her eyes. Again, she blushed, looking down, but wary of her pride, he again ignored the blush and merely smiled, murmuring, "I am Lucian. Charmed…"
Looking up again, the tall adolescent abruptly grinned, the smile lighting her face up. In about ten years, she would be a beauty to rival her mother.
"Skadi," she offered.
"Ah…the goddess of winter and the hunt. A beautiful name."
She nodded shyly…and then piped up, her English measured and precise. Already a child of two languages. Good, he thought. In a few years, her ability to change tongues will serve her well in the ranks.
"My sister is Heloise," she said, pointing to his back. "If you ask, she'll just say 'General'…or 'général.' My mother is teaching her French already…"
He grimaced, realizing he'd neglected to even ask the little child-demon's name. Flipping her from his back, he set the pup firmly on the ground and swiveled her to face him. "Heloise," he declared, looking her in the eye. "A writer of great love, if memory serves me correctly. You are named well."
"Général," she stated firmly, stomping her foot.
"Heloise," he retorted, holding his ground.
"Général!"
"Heloi…"
"Enough," yelled Vienne, allowing her own linguistic gift to show as she now spoke English. "Everyone to the table. Even if you are not, I am starved." She took her seat, and waited for the rest of the world to join her, the tone of her voice brooking no argument as she began tapping her fingers on the cloth. It would appear that Magnus had married a woman of great impatience, as well as beauty, thought the alpha with a quirk of his eye. Magnus grinned in answer and headed for the table.
General, indeed. If anyone's general in this army, it's…
…her, Lucian realized with chagrin, noting that Vienne's claws had started to grow.
Nonetheless, taking a moment to wash his hands at the sink as he watched Skadi and Heloise march for their evening meal, Lucian couldn't help but sense the ever-present shadow of war that followed wherever he went…the everlasting knowledge that things could turn sinister in a matter of seconds. Although he'd grown comfortable in the past few minutes, Vienne's ability to take him by surprise was still a sharp warning. He'd have to be on his guard from now on. He'd have to be back in Trondheim…the old Trondheim…by tomorrow night. A journey through the blood-soaked city with the storm howling outside.
The alpha dried his hands, still hearing the sound of Vienne tapping her nails as the family waited for him…and shaking his head, he forced himself to smile.
Though not his den…for the time being, it was good to be in Magnus' home Smelling the mutton. Watching hot flames bite upon an iron hearth. Old memories of drinking his fill of curdled blood at this man's table…and now the presence of these…friends. Immediately, Lucian headed for the table, noting with some amusement that the little Général had chosen a seat next to him and was currently sipping from a children's cup filled with blood, as she offered him a bone. Typical lycan-fare for a two-year-old monster of the night. Even if she couldn't growl yet, it seemed at the very least Heloise was off her mother's milk. Accepting the bone and leaving it on the side of his napkin, he sat down, filled his plate with mutton and dug in. There was time enough for blood-soaked cities after he'd satisfied the aching hole where his stomach used to be.
A/N: Hope everyone likes the new chapter and the presence of some warmth by the fire. Once again, please feel free to read and review...
Mimyr: Thanks for the most recent review! Extremely pleased that you enjoyed the last two chapters. For the record, I have to admit, I wasn't actually thinking of a particular Queen song at the time...just the overall feel of Freddie Mercury's power-voice. At the same time, "Who Wants to Live Forever" works some cheeky irony into the mix that I rather like. So...off the record, I think it's probably that song they were listening to. Or perhaps "Princes of the Universe"... (Though that might be over-kill...just enough cheese there for Lucian to cringe, glare at the window, glare at Magnus, abruptly shoot the radio into pieces and then quietly murmur, while nursing a heavily throbbing headache... "Magnus...can you please...please...please stop singing 'I am immortal and have inside the blood of kings'?") Anyway, hope the story stays interesting (and glad you enjoyed the line "appalling homage to sunrise." It was a favourite.)