Chapter Text
The farmers have lit a bonfire in the centre of the village, and set up tables around it laden with food. Those with the talent for it play instruments and sing, while the remainder eat, drink and dance. The settlement isn’t completely safe, not yet but the local Warlord will think twice before attempting another attack and that is cause for celebration.
Jolder makes her way through the crowd, fielding heartfelt thank-yous, offers of food and drink, and the occasional marriage proposal from villagers who have over-indulged on alcohol. She smiles indulgently and says that were she not an Iron Lord, she’d definitely consider it. She scans the gathering and picks out her brothers and sisters from among the villagers. Skorri has joined the musicians, improvising along with their songs as best she can. Silimar is attempting to learn one of the villager’s dances, under the tutelage of Gheleon, who’s having limited success. Silimar is ungainly, he has no sense of timing but he won’t give up. Radegast is speaking with the village elders, always serious, always strategising. Felwinter walks circuits of the courtyard, observing the gathered people with a detached curiosity, as though they were subjects of a scientific experiment.
She finds the only one she was really looking for seated on a log that’s being used as a makeshift bench, on the periphery of the festivities. Saladin sits alone, his elbows resting on his knees, his shoulders hunched. He glances around periodically but refuses to make eye-contact with anyone. It’s as if he’s checking to make sure that his closed-off demeanour is doing its job. It is. No one approaches him, there’s none of the easy camaraderie Jolder experienced when she arrived at the gathering. Saladin may as well be screaming, ‘leave me alone,’ at the top of his lungs.
Jolder just watches him for a while, suddenly reminded of how he was when Radegast had first found him. He’d been so wary, so slow to trust, a wolf unsure if he’d truly found his new pack. She had made it her personal mission to break down his walls. It was a game at first, trying out different strategies to get a reaction out of him. Later, it became a serious challenge to herself, she genuinely wanted to know him, so she sought out every possible chink in his emotional armour. Today, he had finally let down the last of his defences and she found she didn’t know what to do about it. A simple “thank you,” would have been unforgivably trite and she wouldn’t dream of trying to laugh off what they had shared; how that would hurt his easily-bruised heart. She eventually sat up and pulled him into a wordless embrace that she suspected neither of them wanted to end. They knelt together in the blood-stained snow, until Jolder’s comm had crackled into life, with Radegast calling for an update. They hardly spoke on the journey back to the village, their only significant communication being Saladin offering her his arm for support when phantom pain flared up in her.
Jolder’s attention is diverted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She smiles as Perun draws level with her.
“Good work out there today,” Perun nods respectfully. “The Lightbearer give you any trouble?”
“No,” Jolder shakes her head. “No match for the Iron Grump over there. Poor guy didn’t know what hit him.”
“And he’s looking particularly grumpy just now,” Perun observes with a soft chuckle. She then regards Jolder with a searching look. “Everything alright with you and him?”
“Yes,” Jolder answers a little too quickly. “Why?”
“You’re normally joined at the hip but you’ve barely said two words to each other tonight. Something happen between you two?”
Jolder isn’t sure how to answer. It was certainly Something. Something violent, yet tender. Something sublime, yet intimate. How does she explain those contradictions? How does she put into words the way his voice soothed and took away her pain? How does she make Perun understand that if Jolder were to die her final death, and Saladin were the last thing she saw, it probably wouldn’t be a bad way to go?
She opts for a shrug and some misdirection. “The violence gets to him. He’s emotional. You know how he is.”
“You should speak to him. You can usually talk him out his moods.”
Jolder nods and looks back over to Saladin. While she was distracted by Perun, Saladin had been approached by two villagers, a man and a woman, both middle aged. Jolder can’t hear what they’re saying but they’re speaking earnestly to him, they obviously didn’t get the message that his body language was sending out. That, or they chose to ignore it because what they have to say is too important. The woman is clutching Saladin’s hand and looks ready to burst into tears. The man proffers a bottle of something or other to Saladin, who extricates his hand from the woman’s and steps backwards. He shakes his head, holding his hands up. He’s trying to refuse whatever gift they’re giving him but they’re insistent. Saladin eventually accepts the bottle and says an awkward thank you. The couple retreat backwards, scraping and bowing as they go, while Saladin nods his acknowledgement. He remains standing for a moment, clutching the bottle in front of him like a shield. He glances back and forth furtively, then sits back down. He resumes his hunched posture, rolling the bottle between his palms.
“What was that all about?” asks Perun..
“I have no idea,” responds Jolder.
“Go talk to him.” Perun says this as request from a mutual friend but it could almost be an order from their field commander. “He looks like he needs it.”
“Yeah,” Jolder sighs. “I will.” She ambles over towards Saladin with as much nonchalance as she can muster. She doesn’t wait for an invitation to sit, she just plants herself beside him before he can object. She’s gratified when she sees a slight relaxation in Saladin’s posture.
“How are you doing?” he asks. “Does it still hurt?”
Jolder gives a lopsided shrug. “It’s getting better. Twinges a little now and then. I think my brain is finally starting to accept that I don’t have a hole in my side anymore. I’m okay.” She tips her head towards the retreating couple who had accosted him. “What did they want?”
“While you were…” He pauses to search for the right word, “... down , I came across this raider. He swore it was his first raid, he swore he hadn’t fired a shot. I believed him.” His features cloud with what could be anger, sadness or both. “He was just a kid. I let him go.”
“Were they his family?”
Saladin nods. “His parents.”
“The Warlord sent that boy to raid his home village?”
Saladin sighs, “Some sick loyalty test maybe? I don’t know.”
“And the bottle?” A note of amusement creeps into Jolder’s tone.
“The local brew. I don’t think have much of value to offer by way of thanks. They insisted.” He takes a breath and continues before she can interrupt, “I know what you’re going to say, I’m a bleeding heart , it was a risk but I believed him and I was right, he made it home this morning.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” She keeps her voice as gentle as she can, so that nothing she says can sound like admonishment. “I was going to say that you’re a good man.”
He snorts softly and lets his gaze drop to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” She lays her hand on his arm, “And please don’t say ‘nothing.’ I know you’re upset.”
“Fine.” Saladin places the bottle at his feet and speaks in a monotone. “We killed eleven people today. And we’re having a party.”
“We did. Twelve if you count me.”
“That was different,” Saladin shakes his head. “I did that to help you. You were suffering.”
“ Is it different? Yes, we killed eleven people but how many did we save ? How many would have died if they had made it here? And you gave those people back their son. I’d say that justifies a party.”
“We’re dead people, brought back to kill. That's all we do. Can we honestly say we’re better than the people we fight?”
“You are nothing like them. Don’t ever think that. You're a protector, not a killer.” Jolder places her hand over Saladin’s and gives it a gentle squeeze. “And it won’t always be like this. We’re making a better world. The Risen who come after will be what they were meant to be; guardians, not conquerors. They’ll be like you.”
He threads his fingers through hers and leans in towards her, while Jolder cups his face with her free hand and pulls him closer until their foreheads touch.
“You’re a good man, Saladin Forge,” she whispers, tracing her thumb across his lower lip. They remain like this for a few moments, just leaning against each other, breathing the same air.
Saladin swallows hard and begins, “Jolder, I-”
“So are you two going to get a room, or what?” Saladin and Jolder pull apart, both glaring towards the interloper. Efrideet stands in front of them, hands on hips, with a mischievous smirk on her face. “Seriously. Do you have any idea how long the pool on you guys has been running now? So is this it? Is it happening? Can I cash out?”
“I don’t know, Efrideet,” Jolder says with mock-brightness, “See, someone just interrupted us.” Saladin just sets his lips in a thin line and growls deep in his chest.
Before Efrideet can respond, Radegast stalks up behind her and grabs her by the collar.
“Come along child,” he intones, steering her away, “Let the grown-ups talk.”
Saladin shakes his head, glowering as he watches Radegast manhandle Efrideet back to the main gathering despite her protests. Jolder tries to maintain her composure for a second or two before collapsing into laughter.
“It’s not funny,” Saladin grumbles. “That girl’s got no manners.”
“Come on, it’s a little bit funny.” She nudges him, jostling him. “They’re running a pool on us.”
“Hmm, and when I find out who’s in on that…” He sighs, picks up the bottle and pulls out the stopper. “I need a drink”.
“What are we drinking to?”
“How about a better world?” He raises the bottle in a toast before taking a swig. He passes it to Jolder who takes a draught. The liquid is warm and the flavour is an odd mix of sweet, sour and smoke.
She looks at the bottle in confusion, “What is that?”
“Kefir,” he answers, taking back the bottle and helping himself to another swig. “It’s made from fermented mare’s milk.”
“You’re telling me I just drank horse milk vodka?”
“Essentially,” he replies with a smirk.
“You know all that stuff I said about you being a good man? I take it back.” She wrinkles her nose and makes a staged retching sound.
Saladin laughs; a low, rumbling sound that makes Jolder’s stomach feel like it’s flipping over. She rests her head against his shoulder and the sit in companionable silence for a while.
It’s Jolder who finally speaks first. “So should we?”
“Should we what?”
“Get a room.” She feels him tense up. She slips her hand back into his. “Do you want to? I thought you did. After what happened today and, well,” she lets out a short, quiet laugh, “I’ve seen the way you look at me sometimes.”
“Everyone looks at you that way.”
She places a gentle hand on his cheek and turns him to face her. “You’re the only one I ever look back at.” She feels his hand begin to tremble beneath hers. She holds his gaze with her own and strokes his face with a feather light touch.
“Do you want me?”
“Yes,” he breathes.
“Do you trust me?”
She sees something break within him when she asks that question. His brows knot together and he exhales sharply. He swiftly closes the gap between them presses his lips against hers. Jolder whimpers softly against his mouth and puts her arms around his neck while Saladin takes her by the waist and pulls her to him. She presses into him as much as she can, she wants to be closer but their armour keeps them separate. It’ll have to go. She breaks away, panting slightly. She takes her hand in his and pulls him to his feet without any resistance. They make their way out of the village, walking faster and faster until they reach the edge of village when they break into a run, and don’t stop until they reach their ship.
They sprint up the gang plank and tumble into Jolder’s quarters. Saladin tangles his fingers in Joldler’s hair and kisses her feverishly, working his way from her lips, to her jaw and down her throat. Jolder does battle with the many (far too many) buckles and clasps on his armour, collapsing into giggles when one proves too stubborn for her shaking hands to undo.
When they finally shed their armour and clothing, when they are finally naked and entwined on her bed, she thinks back to what he'd said in the village. When she feels him move inside her and his heart beating next to hers, she knows he's wrong. They are not dead things. They are not killing things. They are alive, they are so alive.