Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flash!

...

…

For a moment, Sparrow, Garth, Hammer and Reaver all blinked in stunned silence. 

…

Grey waves lapped against the shore. A seagull cawed in the distance.

…

…. Huh?

Just seconds before, Theresa had stood in front of them, hand extended in invitation. The next moment, in a brief flash of light similar to the way she had come, she simply vanished. The Pirate King had prepared to reluctantly place his hand in hers, but instead was left swatting at nothing. After a brief pause of surprise, he turned back to the group with a look of mild aggravation.

“Well that was quite rude, wasn’t it? And after that whole spiel too,” Reaver drawled in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “does she do that often?”

Hammer took a step forward and waved her arm through the air Theresa had occupied until mere seconds before.

“I-” Hammer began, confusion weighing on her brow, “I don’t know, not in my experience. Maybe the guild seal… Malfunctioned..? Can it even do that?”

Sparrow sighed, dropping to a knee in the blood stained sand to give Dog healing tablets and a scratch behind the ears. Something had gone wrong, something always had to go wrong. Theresa had been their way off of the coast, and now she was inexplicably gone.

Sure, being teleported wasn’t always a reliable method (just ask the four entire days he spent wandering around in Wraithmarsh), but it usually beat having to traverse hundreds of miles across unknown territory, especially with the approaching time limit they had. 

That time limit being, at most, 2 months to stop Lucien before The Spire was completed and the world probably ended in a big explody mess. Sparrow let out another laboured sigh, glancing up at the others.

Reaver looked as if he were physically restraining himself from shooting them all in the head, strutting off and calling it a day. He resolved instead to place his hands on his hips in a huff that reminded him more of a petulant princess than the fabled King of Pirates.

“Well then, fellow heroes. ” said Reaver, “What now?”

Sparrow presumed that it was some of Theresa’s parting words that stopped Reaver from doing what he desired at that moment. If this ritual wasn’t performed and Lucien wasn’t stopped, Reaver would perish along with all the rest of them, the damned selfish bastard. Sparrow stood as he heard Garth speak up from behind them.

“Well, what other choice do we have? We begin making our way North.”

Though Sparrow had already been planning for this development, both Reaver and Hammer quickly adopted expressions of pure horror.

“Make our way North? Garth, do you understand how far Bower Lake is from here? Why we even took a Cullis Gate in the first place?” Hammer exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Of course I understand, Hammer, do you believe this is something I planned?” Garth responded, an edge of irritation in his deep voice, “But Lucien must be stopped at all costs, and if it takes a few weeks of backpacking to save the world, then so be it.”

A look of satisfaction suddenly crossed Reaver’s face, and he smirked at the white haired wizard, a look of assumed superiority spreading across his sharp features.

“My dear mage, we are mere miles away from Bloodstone. I, for one, know for a fact there are plenty of galleons that would gladly bear me passage to-”

Hammer spoke up this time.

“Do you not remember how Bloodstone port was completely flooded with Lucien’s lackeys when you two made your escape?” She looked at Reaver, “There’s no way we can go back there and evade capture!”

“Well- I-...” 

Aware that he was running out of options, he looked around desperately for any other excuse not to partake on their seemingly more and more mandatory expedition. 

He settled on staring longingly at the battered remains of The Reaver floating in the bay, then, turning his gaze back to the unimpressed expressions of the heroes surrounding him, the skill hero finally resigned and let out a dramatic, heaving sigh. The expression on their new companion’s face was one of pure murder.

“I look forward to travelling with you.”

.

Left stranded and alone without their guide in a mainly unknown land, the party of heroes briefly tended their wounds and then scrambled their way over the piled granite boulders that surrounded Smugglers’ Beach. The sun had just set, painting the sky and sea in brilliant strokes of scarlet and salmon, as beautiful as it was foreboding. It felt almost like a warning for what could come next.

As they hiked up the hill leading out from Bloodstone port, Reaver stared mournfully back at the flickering light illuminating the wretched tenements and brothels he had made his personal kingdom, Lucien’s men swarming it like maggots to a carcass.

Once they were over the hill and out of sight, Sparrow paused and pulled out his scratched up brass compass and his map of Albion. The map was almost 13 years old at this point, given to him by Theresa when he had left camp for the first time. He fingered its worn, stained edges, deciding silently that they were definitely going to avoid Wraithmarsh if they could. 

The four agreed on a route taking them through the Hobber Cliffs and Greatwood. Not the easiest terrain, but it was better than fighting through countless hordes of undead horrors. Reaver, for once, seemed all too eager to agree.

The party, with the exception of Dog, was already exhausted from the events of the day and the intense battle with the Great Shard. Sparrow was of course already accustomed to extended travel- his companions, he soon found, were not.

Every few minutes someone would complain, whether it be about a rock in their boot or about it being dark or cold or whatever else might mildly inconvenience them at that moment- most of all Reaver. It was merely a few hours in when the skill hero swore that he was going to develop a blister on his toe, while Sparrow was just about ready to force push him into the void.

“All this dreadful travel is going to ruin my carefully curated seafaring complexion,” He moaned, dragging his heels across the dirt path, “I believe I am developing bruises, horrid blisters on my tender, tender feet. Oh, if only I had my first mate around to massage them as he would so often do. Why I feel they may need to be amputated if I-”

Sparrow knew he was exaggerating, simply doing it to pass the time by aggravating his travel companions. Still, it didn’t stop him from stopping firmly in his tracks for the first time since they began, turning around and striding up to face Reaver directly. He grabbed the thinner man by his shoulders, prompting a squawk of surprise from the pirate, and pushed him to the ground.

Sparrow knelt and gripped one of Reaver’s thighs, tugging off one of his ornate leather boots. He pretended to scan his foot for injuries before turning back to glare darkly at the sharp-featured brat, who was now stunned into silence.

“You’ll live.” He growled, finally speaking for the first time since they had met.

Sparrow roughly tossed him his boot back, then stood and continued on the path, leaving Hammer, Garth and especially Reaver in utter bewilderment as to what in Avo’s name had just happened. Reaver was noticeably quieter for the rest of the night after that, however, one would notice that a new look of amused intrigue had begun to stir in the man’s scotch-brown eyes.

Perhaps this endeavor would be more interesting than he had thought.

Chapter Text

The bedraggled heroes continued on their dark trek, trudging through the grassy marshlands that stretched miles in all directions from the peninsula Bloodstone was situated on. 

Fog hung low and thick on either side of the marked path and the moon shone cold and bright in the blackened sky. They ran into an unsurprisingly small amount of fellow travellers, but the low ambience of frogs croaking and ocean waves lapping at the shore close by at least gave the party some illusion of safety.

Eventually, dawn broke over the sleepy horizon, but the party did not rest. They could now see the grey sea rolling in to their left, as the sunlight filtered through the dewy marsh grass, turning it a brilliant gold. The cold air was crisp and damp, smelling less of must than it had previously. It was refreshing…  somewhat.

Suddenly, there was a rustle from the bushes. 

Broken out of his sleepy stupor, Sparrow slowed to a halt and motioned for his companions to do the same, now noticing a dead rabbit further up the road.

“What’s the-” Hammer began.

Sparrow shushed her with a glare, and she nodded in understanding. He listened. Waves lapping at the shore, birds chirping in the distance.... No crickets, and he heard a quiet buzzing... Buzzing.

Sparrow groaned, reaching both arms back to grip a cloth-wrapped hilt and pull his large warhammer heavily from its holster. 

Using the momentum of the movement, he swung the blunt weapon into the long grass in a large arc in front of him, and sure enough, he struck at what he was looking for. A giant beetle now covered the business end, and the buzzing increased violently in volume as twenty more beetles rose from the grass on giant wings.

His companions immediately drew their weapons, this encounter being more of a minor annoyance than an actual threat. 

With a bored expression on his face, Reaver drew his Dragonstomper. 48, an ornate gold and redwood pistol that he had introduced Sparrow to the day before, and began to rapid fire. 

He immediately took out five beetles, while Garth conjured a simple blades summon, roughly impaling five more with golden swords before they had the chance to lunge.

In a show of familiarity, Hammer and Sparrow naturally assumed a back-to-back position as Hammer delivered deliberate swings with her massive stone warhammer, Sparrow at her back fluidly alternating between magic and melee. 

With already only four beetles left, he summoned up his willpower as his left hand assumed a radiant golden glow- then he dropped a knee and brought it firmly to the ground.

The battle scene slowed to a crawl around him, and Sparrow used the window he’d given himself to quickly holster his warhammer in favor of a rough-edged longsword. 

He drew it and launched himself into a roll over Hammer’s back just as time began to catch up, landing on the other side in a flash as he sliced through the final four beetles in one fluid motion.

Sparrow blew out a breath, using his longsword to push himself to his feet as Hammer righted herself behind him with an amused smile.

“Show-off.”

Then, Dog began to bark. Reaver, Garth and Hammer tensed in case it meant more danger, but Sparrow, understanding immediately, sheathed his weapon and started to fiddle with his holsters, trying to find the right one to unbuckle. 

Garth and Reaver were once again bewildered as they watched Dog prance around at his feet, then run off into the grass. Hammer’s smile dropped.

“Oh no Sparrow, not this again,” said Hammer accusitorially, as she had caught on almost just seconds after Sparrow, “I thought I’d trained him not to do this, but I remember now you’re an enabler! He’d always be going into strangers’ yards and digging up condoms and- Sparrow?”

But he paid her no mind, having already pulled an entire spade out of his coat, promptly taking off into the grass. Hammer sighed and began tapping her foot, her arms crossed.

“I’d really like to be moving along and, you know, finding some shelter by now? A place to rest?”

Reaver blinked, holstering his pistol.

“So... this is a usual occurrence I take?” The pirate offered, staring at the spot in the grass Sparrow had vanished into.

“Oh Avo, a usual occurrence is an understatement . When we first travelled together I swear that he would stop nearly every few feet to dig up some odd bauble on the side of the road. I’m honestly just surprised he hadn’t done it until now.” Hammer said, smiling at the memory despite her sour words.

“And he just keeps an entire spade under his clothes..? Hm. Can’t help but wonder what else he keeps under there...” Reaver quipped, mischief in his tone.

The strength hero turned her head and squinted down at him through red eyelashes. The pirate gave her a smirk and a shoulder shrug, before their attention was diverted by a shovel being raised in triumph poking above the marsh grass a few meters away.

A moment later they were greeted by a pleased-looking Sparrow carrying a shitty-looking bead necklace, Dog close at his heels. He shoved it in one of his satchels, gave two thumbs up, then motioned for them to get moving again as he started on the path.

Garth snorted.

“I think that’s the most enthused I’ve seen him yet.”

.

They were all more than ready for a rest, but Reaver had at some point made it clear that he absolutely refused to sleep outside among all the filth and flies. It didn’t help that while he was as drained as the rest of them, he didn’t make as much of a show of it- his step was still spry and his eyes ever sharp, careful not to let his air of nonchalance waver.

Luckily for them, as the sun reached its afternoon peak, the heroes stumbled upon their first building in nearly 30 miles. It was a creaky old inn, with a sign hanging off rusty hinges reading “The Maiden’s Moustache” in bold, chunky letters.

Reaver had undisguised disdain for the appearance of the place, but even he was too worn out to turn down the prospect of warm bedding. 

Sparrow practically fell onto the door, and it swung open with a loud squeak. It being only late afternoon, the tavern was virtually empty, with dusty oak floors and a leaky roof, as well as a few mismatched round and long tables scattered across the place. 

Most of the light was natural and came in from the various windows lining the walls, and the only other people there were a drunk with no shoes who was passed out on a corner table, the bearded tavern owner, and a curly haired waitress who he appeared to be arguing with behind the counter. 

Hearing them enter, the two immediately paused their bout and turned as Sparrow made his way up to the bar, heavy boots clunking on the floor with each step. Hammer came to stand behind him as the hero pulled a coin purse from his pocket and tossed it to them, then held up 4 fingers, gesturing to the party. Hammer looked from him to the barkeep, then gave a smile.

“Me and my friends have been travelling all night through the marshes, ser, and we were hopin’ to stay in your establishment for the night. And it’s good to see other people again, I’ll tell you.” Hammer added on amiably, clarifying in place of her stoic friend.

Sparrow felt a tiny smile play at his lips. Hammer was acting as his sort of translator, just like old times.

The bearded innkeep looked down his nose at the burlap purse, then plucked it from the counter and stuffed it in his back pocket.

“That should be fine, I s’pose. Although you will have to bunk t’gether, we only got four rooms and one of em’s mine and one of em’s gone.” The bearded man’s voice was almost as creaky as the establishment he ran.

“What do you mean one of em’s gone?” She asked, disappointment heavy on her tongue.

“You can see fer yerself if ya’ like. I’m telling ya, a giant triangle flew right outta the sky and took a chunk right outta the maiden, took out a whole room,” He said, eyes going wide. Then his expression turned sour, “Hilda here don’t believe a word I say, says I’m a nutter. A nutter!”

The curly haired woman, Hilda, turned to him with a frown.

“That’s because you are one, Ronald. Ain’t no such thing as giant triangles that come out the sky and take bites of inns.”

“Oh yes there are! What do you think I had-”

Sparrow brought a hand down hard on the bar, startling them both into silence. Hammer silently mouthed “thank you” before turning back to the two.

“Look, we’ll take the two rooms you have. Could you use the extra money in that pouch to buy us five loaves of your most hearty bread and 7 mugs worth of Bowerstone Brown for the road?” Hammer asked.

Ronald gazed up at the redheaded woman, crossing his arms.

“We‘ve only got Balverine’s Spleen.”

Hammer grimaced.

“Make it ten, then.”

.

After approximately 15 minutes of fussing and Hammer trying to settle things over arm wrestling (Sparrow was the only one who obliged), the party had finally decided on a sleeping arrangement.

 It would be Reaver in one room, and Garth, Hammer, Sparrow and Dog in the other. 

They were all too tired to argue with Reaver’s demand for privacy, and the three felt they were all more comfortable bedding with each other anyway, having already been working together for a little over a year.

Their room wasn’t exactly luxurious, but it would more than do. The floors were dusty and were the same rough oak that made up the walls, and in the middle of the floor lay a worn circular carpet that may have been red at some point and an old chair. There was a large king-sized bed leaning against the far wall, a tall and rickety looking dresser, and a large-ish window with a view of the ocean and a window seat with green cushions.

Sparrow let out a breath and shrugged off his heavy trench coat, discarding it on the floor and grabbing a pillow. He began to lay down on it, trying to get himself comfortable, before he heard an “Oh no you don’t”, and felt a strong grip on the back of his shirt as he was lifted off the ground.

He was plopped directly onto the bed like a doll by Hammer, who gave him a squint. 

“No sparrows on the floor, not while I’m around,” she smiled, “we’ve bunked together before, in Westcliff! Only two choices here, you get the bed, or we get the bed- whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She always had to make a big deal of these things. Sparrow glanced at his coat on the floor, then behind him to the king sized bed, then to Garth. The mage shrugged.

“I was planning to rest on these cushions here, anyway. I’m still not used to Albion beds.” He patted the green window seat for emphasis.

Sparrow sighed, giving a wave of submission, and started to unbuckle his mud-stained leather boots. Hammer grinned at him, then moved back to occupy the far side of the bed, where Dog was already pulling around the sheets with his paws and making himself fully at home. Sparrow turned his back to her as he dropped a boot to the ground with a thump.

He slowly started to struggle with the buttons on his waistcoat, using the time to reflect briefly on the last 24 hours. Sparrow’s life, unpleasant as it was, was certainly not boring , but it had been long since so many things had simultaneously decided to happen to him. Shrugging the embroidered vest off his shoulders, his thoughts drifted to Theresa. Was she alright..? Could it be possible that Lucien had gotten her? He frowned.

Had the guild seal really just malfunctioned? She had said before that Bloodstone was nearly out of its range, but she had still accompanied him through Wraithmarsh, and the entirety of his stay in the port town before this incident.

Sparrow bit his lip. Theresa had often been an absent guardian throughout Sparrow’s childhood, but he had always felt her presence, and she was always there to guide and tell him what to do. It had been long since he had not felt her neutral and composed presence in the back of his mind and it… unnerved him.

He was brought back to reality by the telltale sounds of gentle snoring from all three of his companions. 

Sparrow let himself relax slightly, feeling a flash of amused warmth at how quickly they had all fallen fast asleep. He let himself fall back onto the pillows, pulling up the sheets around him. It was scratchy, but found he didn’t care as he let his sore muscles melt into the mattress and his eyes draw closed.

Chapter Text

Snow was falling. In gentle flurries, graceful and pure, dancing around one another as they drifted dizzyingly to the cobblestone ground.

It was snowy in Old Town.

“... Come on, Little Sparrow, don’t be afraid!”

Ornate stained glass, carved stone, an arching ceiling. A smile.

He felt himself move forward. Step over that line, into the circle.

A deep voice, “I promise, it won’t hurt you.”

You will. You will you will you will.

He gazed up at his sister’s face. His sister’s face, why was it not there? It was never there. Her features changed at rapid speed, trying frantically to identify themselves. Brown eyes, brown hair, brown eyes, brown hair. His heart began to race in his chest. How hard could it be to remember?

It didn’t matter. It still twisted into that terrifying concoction of confusion and horror once time ran out.

“W-What’s that light?”

Time ran out. Sparrow screamed and clawed to take her place in front of the bullet, but he couldn’t get to her, an invisible force restraining him, holding him back as he writhed. It should be me!  

He thrust out a small, bony hand, sweat poured down his temples as he shrieked for her to take it, just take it!

Suddenly, he felt the cold weight of a flintlock in his hand. Suddenly he was pulling the trigger as he had done so many thousands of times before. The faceless little girl fell to the floor just as so many had thousands of times before.

Everything was red. Red as blood, red as fire, red as...

He was a killer. That’s all he was. He was a killer. That’s all he was. He fell to his knees and clutched desperately at himself with slimy, warm hands, staining his sides black as he retched.

Then he was falling. 

Falling....

falling…….

He hit the-

.

Sparrow’s eyes jolted open, cold sweat streaking down his face. His breath was ragged as he sat up in bed, dragging his scarred palms roughly across his face and tilting his head back heavily against the headboard to regain his composure. His throat felt dry enough it could crack, and tension weighed heavy on his shoulders. He hadn’t had the dream for nearly two weeks now. 

When he came to his senses, Sparrow was aware that the room was dark except for a dim candle that rested on the seat of the chair, which had been pulled close to the window. Slowly coming to his senses, he tuned in to the sound of rain pattering against the darkened window and the faint hum of chatter downstairs in the pub. 

When a snore erupted next to him, he also noticed that Hammer and Dog were still sound asleep, splayed out across their half of the bed. He felt himself relax, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Garth was awake and curled up by the window, with his arms folded comfortably in his lap. He looked lost in thought, a distance present in his ice-blue eye. Having heard Sparrow’s ragged awakening, he spared a glance back at the man. His expression was soft.

“Rough night?”

Sparrow swallowed, then slowly nodded. The mage quietly nodded back, and Sparrow fixed his gaze on the black abyss outside the window, the streaks of rain faintly visible in the darkness.

“I get it.” Garth said to him in a low voice, “Apologies that I didn’t wake you. I was afraid I might make the process worse.”

Sparrow agreed silently.

 “And… If you don’t mind me commenting… I still dream about it, too...”

Sparrow looked up in surprise, and Garth met him with a somber look.

“You… mumble in your sleep. I did not lose nearly as much as you did that night but… Truly, if I could have stopped him, I…” Garth paused, “I’m sorry, this really isn’t helping, is it?”

Sparrow responded by drawing another shuddering breath in the dim light.

“There’s no use dwelling on the past. All I can do now is pledge to you again that I will aid you in Lucien’s defeat, no matter the cost. We’ve both sacrificed so much to get to this point… I just hope…” 

His calloused hands clenched and unclenched as he searched for words. Garth’s half-blue and half-cloudy white gaze had a sad, burning emotion behind it that he couldn’t quite place. Something that was old and sure. He tore it away in favor of gazing back out the dark window, almost looking as if he were trying to goad it into swallowing him whole.

“... I hope I can be redeemed, Sparrow.” He said quietly.

Sparrow was silent. The moment sat, the rain pattering unwaveringly on the window, the gentle breathing of his companions, the distant, almost inaudible sounds of tankards clinking.

Sparrow quietly crawled his way forward and swung his legs over the end of the bed, letting his feet fall gently to the rough flooring. He glided to the window and climbed onto the cushions, taking a seat opposite Garth, who glanced at him in surprise, eyes glinting in the candlelight. Their feet brushed together in the sudden closeness.

Sparrow tore his gaze away, pressing his forehead to the cool window and staring into the inky blackness outside. He drew his arms into himself, crossing them against his chest.

“That… M-Makes two of us...”

He had no intention of sleeping, but shut his eyes.

Chapter Text

Hammer woke with a clamour around 30 minutes later, and as she rose, Dog was immediately up on his feet and raring to go, following her around as she buckled on her belts and pulled her mane of red locks into a large, bunched up ponytail. After 10 years together, Hammer really was a second owner of sorts for Dog, and Sparrow was certainly not jealous in the slightest. 

It was only 5 minutes after that when Reaver had swung open their door, asking when they were going to leave “this wretched place”. 

Reaver’s dark brown hair was slightly curlier than it had been, and he was no longer wearing that ridiculous cape, as it had gotten scorched in the battle at smuggler’s beach the day before. His blouse was slightly undone at the top, and his sharp features housed a pouty, pink-lipped frown. He would almost look handsome, Sparrow thought, were it not for his pompous aura and personal mission to be as punchable as he possibly could.

When they had all fully dressed, the four heroes (and Dog) gathered around the chair as Sparrow spread out his map on the seat. The room’s lanterns were now fully lit, and the party discussed their next route. After a good half a day of travel, they were now about a quarter of the way to the Hobber Cliffs, and the terrain looked to be more marshes, then, treacherous cliffs. Because of course there were treacherous cliffs.

“Hey, I’m assumin’ it’ll be just like the Bandit Coast up North! If I had five gold pieces for how many times I had to yank Sparrow back from that ledge, I’d be living in Fairfax Castle… Tell me why we didn’t just go through Wraithmarsh, again?” Hammer chimed in, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

Sparrow and Reaver both immediately fixed her with a stare that said loudly and clearly, you do not want to know.

“Alright, alright, forget I asked. Cliffs it is.” Hammer raised her hands up in surrender, rolling her eyes.

The group descended the creaky steps, emerging into a lively scene at the seemingly bustling tavern- or at least as bustling as you could get this far out. The air was warm and sticky, with around 20 or so men sat around in groups at the previously empty tables, spilling ale from their tankards as they guffawed and shouted and sang raucously with the volume of 50.

Sparrow, flinching slightly from the noise, stepped up to the bar and deposited the two room keys on the counter, motioning for the attention of Ronald the barkeep while Hammer, Reaver and Garth headed for the exit. He appeared to be busy filling up mugs for two bald guys who were seemingly engaged in intense thumb war, so Sparrow pushed himself off the bar and started to make his way through the crowd to join the rest of his party. 

Suddenly, he felt the telltale, almost untraceable sensation of deft fingers poking at the side of his coat. 

His hero reflexes kicking in, he darted a gloved hand down to his side and yanked hard, and like a bear catching a salmon in a river he was now holding a fully grown man by his arm in his powerful grip, dangling about two inches off the ground. Sure enough, with a quick glance up, Sparrow saw he was clutching his burlap coin purse. 

The man let out a wail as the tavern went silent, everyone immediately dropping their conversations to see what was going on.

“This loony’s manhandlin’ me he is! Someone do somethin’!” The thief shouted at the top of his lungs as Sparrow just tried to pull the purse out of his grip, annoyance carving deeply into his features.

“Don’t worry Marty I got yew Marty! I got yewww!” He suddenly heard a drunken voice shout from across the tavern, and Sparrow turned just in time to see a full mug of ale zooming in the direction of his head. 

Sparrow ducked, dropping the thief directly on his arse as the mug flew and struck the man sitting behind him hard in the face, knocking him out on impact as a generous serving of Balverine’s Spleen coated him and his companions. His companions stood, wiping the beer off their brow as they cracked their knuckles menacingly

“You, you’re toast!” The right one growled, and Sparrow wasn’t sure whether they were talking to him or the man who had thrown the ale, who was now climbing over his table.

“Yeh, yeh, yer bread !” Hollered the left one, and suddenly the bar was once again filled with shouting as everyone began to stand from their seats and roll up their sleeves.

Sparrow sighed, bracing for impact as two of the men lunged at him. Sparrow was going to have to use restraint- a lot of it. He blocked the punch of the left companion with ease, giving him a rough warning shove before he felt flimsy arms wrap around his neck. He broke out of the thief’s friend’s grip and, with control, swung the man over his head and sent him flying onto one of the nearby tables, sliding down it and knocking off all mugs and plates in his way. The roar in the pub increased, and suddenly every man was charging his way.

Out of nowhere he saw a shadow cast across his vision, and suddenly Hammer’s pale arm had reached in front of him and snatched the arms of two of the drunks who were swinging at Sparrow, then lifted them off the floor like ragdolls. She pinned them by their collars on the chandelier, then turned and gave him a thumbs up.

Then, it was into the fray, and with wide and, by her standards gentle swings she was fending off the drunken horde. Sparrow ducked and swung and dodged as the tavern became a chaotic tangle of flying limbs and clumsily thrown punches.

Thud! He’d avoided a left hook from a heavy looking guy.

Whack! He elbowed a guy attempting to restrain him in the face, sending him flying back into his seat.

He didn’t hear Reaver approach, but suddenly heard his voice, close and directly in his right ear. 

“Shall I just take care of this so we can get a move on?” 

Seeing a gleam in the corner of his eye, Sparrow’s eyes widened and, thinking fast, he jabbed out a hand to smack the Dragonstomper.48 upward- just in time to stop it from lodging a bullet in a drunk’s face. In a blur, he tripped a bearded man who had attempted to kick him in the shin, ducking a blow from a bucktoothed man and delivering one right back, knocking him out cold.

Heaving in a breath, he snapped his head back to Reaver, who was looking at him incredulously. Mustering a heated glare, he mouthed, “ don’t.”  

Reaver’s expression changed thoughtfully, and he smirked, mouthing back, “stop me.” In a quick movement he raised the pistol again, smacking a drunk about the head as he did so.

That crazy bastard had quite the sense of humor.

Sparrow delivered a quick roundhouse kick to an incoming patron, sending him careening into some nearby barrels, then turned tail and darted over to grip and restrain Reaver’s bicep. The pirate simply tossed the Dragonstomper. 48 to his left hand with a flourish and used the butt to strike a charging man directly between the eyes. With a sharp twirl he once again aimed it, prompting Sparrow to use force push to knock the gun from his hand. It was sent careening into the wall and went off into the floor with a bang! 

With that there was a brief, shocked pause in the commotion, and Sparrow, grip still strong on Reaver’s arm, leaned in close enough so that their noses were practically touching. Pure electricity in his blue eyes, he glared. Pure irritation, pure warning, and pure excitement . Adrenaline. Invitation .

Then, somehow the pub got even louder.

Reaver, seeing the raw look in his eyes, tossed his head back and gave a hearty chuckle as Sparrow, breathing ragged, dodged more blows from bloodthirsty patrons. Then, the skill hero reached into his belt, pulling out yet another gun. No, yet another Dragonstomper. 48.

Sparrow let out a cry of frustration, aiming a swift kick at Reaver’s arm as Hammer swept three more men off their feet behind him. The second gun flew out of his grip, and immediately Reaver lunged to grab the gun, flashing out a long leg to casually trip two more drunkards as he caught it mid-air. 

Almost all who were foolish enough to get involved in the tussle were out cold on the ground by now, but Reaver raised his shooting arm dramatically and pointed it at the last two standing, or, more accurately, swaying. He shot a quick, mischievous look back at Sparrow as if saying “come get me .”

In a rush, Sparrow tackled Reaver to the ground as Hammer took both out in a swing, pinning them next to their buddies on the chandelier. Sparrow sat up and straddled the pirate’s chest as it rapidly rose and fell. Reaver flashed him a dashing, cocky grin, twirling the gun around to hold its handle facing outward. 

“You win! Though, rest assured if I were really trying, half the pub would be dead by now.”

Sparrow heaved a few more breaths, then snatched it from his grip, flicking the safety on and holding it back against his thigh. He sat back a bit, relaxing his shoulders slightly and tilting his head upward with a breathy remark.

“Y-You… are such a pain in the ass.”

Reaver laid his head back against the floor and let out another laugh, and Sparrow felt him untense beneath his thighs. He then felt a gentle push at the back of his head, looking up to see Hammer, a look of amusement adorning her freckled face. She had not been scuffed up during the battle at all, and was in fact looking livelier than ever.

“Alright you two, up off the floor,” Hammer grinned, holding out a massive hand, “Sparrow, you just can’t help bringing trouble wherever you go, can you?”

Sparrow shrugged and returned a tiny smile, letting himself be pulled gently to his feet by the strength hero and taking a moment to observe the carnage. There was no blood, and no one seemed to be seriously injured, just knocked over the head. There were a few splintered chairs and tables, and the ground was covered in spilled ale and food and unconscious men. 

Sparrow winced as he noticed that Ronald the barkeep was also out cold, piled on top of two of his clients. He made his way over to the bar and placed a few extra gold pieces on the counter with a pat, then came back to Reaver and Hammer, who had brushed themselves off and appeared ready to leave. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Hammer laughed, pushing a small pouch into his hands.

He looked- it was the burlap coin purse that had started the fight! Sparrow had completely forgotten.

“I grabbed it right out of the thief guy’s hand! I know you have a great deal of these, but there’s a tidy sum in there- wouldn’t wanna lose it.” 

Face warming a bit with embarrassment, he tucked it back into his satchel with a grateful nod to his amused friend, and headed out the door into the cool night air. The moon was not out, as the sky was an inky black cover of clouds, and the visible scenery was painted a dark indigo. The rain had fortunately died down into more of a misty sprinkle, and it sent cold tingles across Sparrow’s heated skin. 

Garth was leaning against the wall outside the pub with Dog, a suspicious eyebrow quirked. He leaned over to catch a glimpse of the mess inside, then fixed his stare back on his companions.

“Do I want to know?” 

Sparrow shook his head no .

“Good.” Then Garth was starting on the road. 

He called to them as he walked, not looking back.

“We’d better set off, we’ve a long way to go yet.”

Sparrow pulled his pointed wide-brimmed hat on, whistled for Dog to follow, then followed Garth down the dirt path leading into the misty dark. The party disappeared into the night, leaving The Maiden’s Moustache behind them.

Chapter Text

Their bones were still sore after the rest stop that had not particularly been restful, but their spirits had strangely been lifted, and their hero strength was carrying them better than it had before. 

They travelled another three days in the flurried mist, making their way across grey landscapes and wading across ankle-deep rivers. They stopped in the afternoon to eat the food they had picked up at the inn, breaking just off road on the pebble-filled beach. Sparrow sat and shared his food with Dog, staring out into the ocean and at The Spire while Hammer and Garth continued their ongoing heated debate over the value of Old Kingdom technology and its relation to religion, Reaver occasionally quipping in to say something that would ignite both sides further.

As the group continued on their trail, the scenery began to change. The soft dirt paths gradually shifted to rockier terrain, and the shrubbery became thinner and thinner. In the distance, Sparrow could now make out sloping, rocky hills and steep drops where the land fell into the dark, crashing ocean waves below. Within about another half day, they’d just about made it to the Hobber Cliffs.

Hammer, tucking away an empty bottle of Balverine’s Spleen into her pack, made a thoughtful noise as they approached the cliffs. Garth, who had somehow mastered reading whilst walking, looked up from his book, slowing so that he was in step with the tall redhead.

“What is it?” 

“Why d’you reckon this place is called the Hobber Cliffs?” Hammer wondered aloud.

“Why else? The adventurer who discovered it was probably named Hobber. Or something” 

“Yeah… That’s probably it.” She responded, tilting her head a bit, “Unfortunate name.” 

While it had stopped misting a few hours prior, the group decided to take another quick breather before making the steep climb into the hills. They found a small rocky clearing just off the path, and Hammer and Sparrow took the opportunity to pile some sticks they had found in the middle of it, Sparrow using his fire magic to ignite the flame.

Sparrow took a seat next to Garth, who still had his nose buried in his book, seeming intently fixated on it. Sparrow, unbearably curious as he was, leaned in to see what he was reading, as the cover was blank.

“I told you I’d break your heart.” The blonde mage said tenderly, a tear slipping down his pale cheek. 

The dark haired rogue shook his head, overcome with emotion as he stepped toward his distraught lover and grabbed him by his feathery pauldrons.

“No, there’s nothing in this world more important than love!” His voice quivered as he leaned in to-

The book abruptly shut.

“What are you doing?” Garth snapped, a nervous quiver in his voice.

Sparrow was dumbstruck for a moment- he had assumed Garth was reading some kind of boring old tomes or Old Kingdom history books, not… Bad romance novels? He looked up at the older man, who was holding the book close to his chest and growing more and more visibly uncomfortable. He learned more about Garth every day.

A curving smile slowly stretched over Sparrow’s features, then he pressed a gloved finger to his lips. “I won’t tell a soul.”

The mage wasn’t sure how to react for a moment, then gave a tiny smile in return, shaking his head. He stowed the book away and crossed his arms, leaning back against the tree behind him.

“I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

.

After about a half hour of prodding the fire and resting their feet, the four heroes felt they had wasted enough time and were as ready as they would ever be to take on the cliffs. They began to climb the narrow and winding rocky path ahead, Sparrow tracing the wall with his hand in case he would need to brace himself. The trail was about two people in width, and as they climbed higher, the crashing waves below became more and more dizzyingly far down. Sparrow whistled for Dog to stay close behind him.

Frigid wind whipped at their faces as they reached higher altitudes, the path ahead becoming less of a steady climb and more of a jagged and narrow staircase. Soon, rain was pouring down as well, and Sparrow noticed his boots losing more and more traction on the rocks beneath him. Within a few hours, the sky was beginning to darken. Whether it was from the sun setting or from a darker storm settling in, Sparrow was unsure. 

His shoes squelched uncomfortably with each trudge upwards, his hair hanging heavy with droplets in his face. Every inch of him was damp as well as cold, and he shivered and clung to the wall with each strong gust of wind that came their way. Sparrow couldn’t help already wondering just how long this unforgiving terrain was going to go on, and he wasn’t the only one.

With a brief glance back, he could see that Dog was panting heavily as he continued to follow his master’s lead, and that Reaver and Hammer had dour expressions on their faces. Garth was looking particularly worse for wear as he heaved for breath, staring pointedly at the floor and tracing his hand on the wall as Sparrow was.

Sparrow knew that they would need to stop for the night soon, as it was impossible to travel safely on such treacherous ground. 

He, once again, was used to long journeys though. Even with his hero strength giving him the ability to travel for days on end, he would camp out a good amount, whether it be simply for pleasure or due to sour weather or even after a particularly rough battle. Because of this he kept supplies to make a makeshift, but sturdy tent in his pack, as well as two bedrolls (one for Dog). He hoped that would be enough.

Through the sheet of rain, Sparrow spotted ahead a section of the path that widened a few metres, cutting into the cliffside so that it was partially under cover. The ground underneath was some dirt and mostly rocks, and though it would not be particularly comfortable, he was very aware of the fact that beggars couldn’t be choosers. He sped his pace slightly to reach his destination, aware of the growing ache in his feet.

“Hey, where are you going?” Hammer panted, trying to match his speed to keep up.

He slowed at the area he’d seen previously, and took off his pack, placing it on ground and starting to sift through it, looking for his camp supplies. He pulled out and unrolled a large and sturdy leather and felt hide- it had cost him a good deal of gold, but it had saved him from quite a few unpleasant situations. He took out stakes and twine from a repurposed arrow quiver he kept strapped to his back and got to work.

Hammer put her hands on her hips and caught her breath as she stopped next to him, the others catching up quickly after. Sparrow did not want to see the expression on Reaver’s face, so he simply focused on assembling the tent.

“Good idea, it is getting pretty dark. Okay, time to help or get out of the way.” Hammer directed at Garth and Reaver, squatting down to pitch in.

Reaver leaned against the wall silently and Garth stood at a comfortable distance, hands on his knees as he recovered. It took about 5 minutes to set up the tent, and Sparrow stood up and blew out a breath, then jerked a thumb at the shetler to the other two who had simply watched.

Reaver scrunched up his nose as Garth breathed a relieved sigh and began to crawl into the tent.

“No, no. ” He said pointedly, shaking his head.

Sparrow wasn’t going to deal with this right now. If Reaver wanted to stand out in the rain all night, he could go right ahead for all Sparrow cared. He gave Reaver a glare and went to join the others in the tent, pausing on the floor to remove his boots before crawling in. 

Garth had lit a lantern in the middle of the cramped space, and was laying out his outermost clothes to dry. Hammer had already settled into a half of the tent space and was taking a swig from what appeared to be their last bottle of beer.

“Is the pirate not coming?” Garth asked, using his hands a gentle source of heat. 

Sparrow shook his head, and the mage gave a laboured sigh as Hammer put down her brown empty bottle.

“Gods, that guy would rather get himself killed than just get over himself for one minute.” She said, throwing her hands around for emphasis, “It’s like, who does he think he is? Never mind the fact he’s probably never worked a day in his life, or at least in a good century.”

He heard Garth snort, and saw him turn his palms toward the middle of the tent. The controlled heat emanating from Garth’s palms felt soothing on Sparrow’s frigid muscles, and he gave a small stretch before pulling around the bedrolls and removing his coat to use as a blanket. It was good to be out of the wind and rain, he decided as Dog curled warmly up on his legs.

Then, the tent flap opened and two dainty legs scooted their way in. Reaver was soaked from head to toe, and had a dark frown and a darker blush on his face.

“Er. Funny story, you see...” He started in a dry tone, then stopped. His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish, grasping for what to say to make him sound smart and right in this humiliating scenario.

“We get it, you were stubborn, you got cold, you’re an idiot. Just get in here, you’re letting in all the storm.” Hammer scolded.

Reaver’s frown deepened, but to Sparrow’s surprise, he obeyed without complaint, closing the flap behind him. For a few moments as he sat in silence, unsure of what to do with himself in the small, cramped space. It was the most awkward Sparrow had seen the man.

Garth and Hammer had laid out the bedrolls to go across the tent in a sort of long duvet, and had occupied a side of the space, chattering quietly. Sparrow assumed they were arguing again, but when he heard brief, quiet laughter, he smiled. Maybe they were finally getting along. 

Reaver decided to just make his space right by the entrance where he currently sat, trying to keep distance between himself and the others, but inevitably ending up closer to Sparrow.

From his upside-down position on the floor, he watched as Reaver brushed his sodden hair from his eyes and undid a few of his vest buttons, attempting to get comfortable- or as comfortable as he could.

The skill hero really did look much different when he wasn’t puffed and coiffed just so. He looked much more… human? Reachable? Reaver noticed his gaze, and his mouth quirked smugly.

“Ah, I wasn’t aware you were into voyeurism.”

Ratty. He looked ratty, Sparrow decided as he groaned and rolled over. He heard Reaver tittering behind him.

Chapter Text

The morning’s weather was unfortunately no different than the night before. The sky was still gloomy and the rain still poured, but the heroes knew that Lucien and The Spire were not going to wait for fair weather. Thus they continued on after packing up their things, feet still sore from the day before’s travels, with added soreness from sleeping on rocks. Still, they were more rested than they had been, at least. 

Two more days passed travelling across the sharp cliff ranges, the rain coming and going in crashing waves. It would pelt at them a few hours, then subside in place of sun or stark white clouds, then continue its torrent against the heroes. They did not run into anyone else, which was hardly a surprise considering the territory they were travelling through, though it was hardly a boost for morale.

The rain was pouring down around them hard enough to create mist at the party’s feet as they trekked, and, though Sparrow occasionally went weeks without showering, he felt the grime and a layer of dirt beneath his sodden clothing, which was sticking uncomfortably to his aching muscles. 

Garth, Hammer and Reaver weren’t looking particularly better, either. Their shoes were beginning to wear, their clothes dirtied and soaked in much the same way as Sparrow’s. Reaver’s hair was a mess, constantly weighed down with droplets, and Hammer’s stray locks clung to her head to give her the vague appearance of a wet dog. Their expressions were all ones of simple exhaustion, and none had the energy to make any conversation any longer.

The Spire doesn’t wait for anyone, Lucien doesn’t wait for anyone, that’s what he kept telling himself, but although he knew it, it did not make this journey any less miserable. Smattered and skinny pine trees had begun to appear across some of the terrain, but other than that it had been the same grey and sharp path they had been on for days now.

The map had said they would be approaching a bridge soon, and that that would be their ticket- and their ONLY ticket out of the cliffs. It had taken extra care to let it be known that no other paths should be taken but this one. It seemed simple enough.

They passed by some shoddily boarded-up cave entrances just a short walk from their destination- Hammer looked desperate to just get off this path, anywhere off this path. Sparrow pointed tiredly to the map.

It seemed simple enough, until they reached the crevice the map had talked about and…

There was no bridge in sight. Two poles staked into the ground on either side- but no bridge.

No, too many things had gone awry- this couldn’t- he, it- Sparrow rushed to the edge, shoving a hand into his satchel to grasp for his map. He straightened it with shaking hands, attempting to shield it from rain the best he could, but map cleanliness was not his top priority at that moment.

He confirmed that yes, this was where the bridge was supposed to be. He looked down, and was just met with the gaping chasm where the rocky path fell into the crashing waves below. His heart dropped with it.

“D- the… the bridd… bridge, it…” Sparrow said to his companions weakly, stumbling over his words as his speech impediment kicked in full force.

Reaver was the first to peer over that same edge and into the cavern, face dawning with the same look of shock, before it gave way to frustration. He dropped to a knee and grabbed at a worn rope, pulling up some of the remainder of what was once a rope bridge.

“Shit.” He swore, tossing it onto the ledge and getting to his feet.

“Garth… Please tell me there’s something you can do here.” Hammer pleaded, desperation in her voice.

The worn mage bit his lip, crouching to pick up the rope.

“It’s not my speciality- it would take a time, perhaps even a day or so... But I do believe I... could mend it. I would need someone to help me bind the pieces together however.” Garth spoke in low tones- obviously this process was not going to be easy in his current state.

Reaver was facing away from the group, bringing a gloved hand to his forehead to massage his temples, swearing under his breath. The rest of the group turned to look at the pirate.

“So… I suppose we have no other choice then, do we!” He exclaimed, voice rough with contempt and fatigue.

“Yes, we have no other choice, now stop yer complaining and either help out or get out of his way!” Hammer snapped, frustration boiling to the surface.

Reaver was silent for a few moments, before he barked out a humorless laugh.

“I can’t believe it.” His voice was dark, rain streaked down his face, “I could slaughter you all in seconds if I so desired, and I am letting myself be bossed around-”

“So why haven’t you yet, if you’re so damn superior to us- you don’t even view us as people!” 

“I’m here for myself and nothing else! I’m not going to-”

“Fighting amongst ourselves is not going to help, damn it!”

Garth’s raised voice cutting in.

Hammer and Reaver delivered biting responses- Sparrow’s ears rang.

The three were practically shouting over the sound of the rain pouring now. Sparrow’s head pounded, his senses overwhelmed. He thought all he heard was them shouting, but he also heard- skittering? The sounds of claws scraping against stone. Panic crept through his skin. Was he hearing things?

Was something coming? Sparrow couldn’t tell, it was too much- his breath began to speed up rapidly- Dog began to bark. His breathing heaved in and out as his fingers tingled painfully. 

Then, with a deafening roar the last of his breath was suddenly knocked clean from his lungs.

Sparrow hit the rocky ground hard, head dangling over the edge of the cliff, and felt giant, crushing claws dig into his chest. He was distantly aware of the shouts of alarm from his friends, but his blood was roaring in his ears as he jabbed an unsteady hand at the under-snout of the writhing balverine on top of him, reaching his other quaking arm back in an attempt to dislodge his sword from its sheath on its back. He tried to draw ragged breath, but he felt like he was drowning.

Sparrow shook as he felt the balverine’s talons rip deep into his skin, the white hot pain across his chest was blinding as he let rare, desperate wails and squeaks escape his throat. A few seconds later, Sparrow saw the shadow of the creature disappear from his blurry vision, and he was vaguely aware of the heavy and oppressive weight being lifted off of him. 

All he heard in his ears now was high-pitched ringing as he stared uselessly forward, willing all of his limbs to move, move! It all felt so familiar, the warmth, the utter paralysis and helplessness. 

Sparrow’s head spun as he tried to pull himself up, arms slipping awkwardly on his own blood as he pressed with all his will- before collapsing roughly against the stone once again.

Dark warmth pooled around him as unwelcome waves of calmness rolled over him, before he was once again distantly aware of the pitiful cries and scattered breaths that were forcing their way out of him. 

He was distantly aware of the sensation of wet, familiar fur pressing against his side, and whimpering. Then his senses were gone once again. His vision was fuzzy- at least the pain wasn’t as bad here. At least…

...

.

It had been long since he had seen balverines last, not since-

“Get him out of here avo damn it, move!!” The teary scarlet-locked hero interrupted his thoughts, practically screaming at him.

She was swinging her powerful hammer with rigor at a dark and fast-moving beast in front of her- they were surrounded by at least five balverines on the small and cramped path.Garth had his hands charged in a powerful looking golden spell, concern and concentration knit in his brow.

“Go! We’ll catch up!” He shouted to him.

Reaver bristled. He didn’t understand why he of all people was on nurse...- never mind it, there was no time, gods damn it all. Snapping his focus to the man in question, he spotted the Hero of Bowerstone curled up on his side in a sort of clutching attempt at fetal position, his mutt pressed against him, whimpering pitifully as dark blood pooled around them.

It… did not look good.

He strode over with barely concealed urgency, making a performative attempt to not step in the blood before shaking his head and taking a knee next to the wounded hero. My trousers are red anyway , he told himself, examining the deep gash that had torn across the hero’s tunic and marred his chest. It stained a deep red, and it was spreading fast.

The dog growled distrustfully at him, but Reaver had no time for it as he briefly snapped his gloved fingers in front of the man’s unconscious face twice, before grabbing him by his broad shoulders and hoisting him up to a standing position. 

“You are not allowed to die yet, not while I’m still at risk.”

He would surely have his clothing stained from this encounter, Reaver lamented, taking a few steps forward. Sparrow was barely moving his feet, and was practically being dragged along by the pirate, head bobbing from side to side as if he were a dummy.

“Go!!” He heard the strength hero shout from behind him, and Reaver set off at a begrudging brisk pace, the mutt right on his heels.

Where on Earth was Reaver supposed to go from here! He was heading back in the exact direction from whence they came, right back down that winding and stony road, rocks dislodged under his feet as he hoisted the incapacitated hero along. Never mind that he was once again being ordered around by his travelling companions.

“Make my life easier and move your feet, would you!” He grunted to the man on his shoulder, who, of course, did not respond. Not even with a gesture.

Reaver swallowed. He shifted his grip to let the man’s bobbing head lean more against his chest, feeling the sickly warmth of blood pooling against his side as he continued on in silence. 

What felt like ages later, he noticed they had already made it back to the boarded up caverns- maybe… Reaver heard the dog whine behind him, as if reading his thoughts. He turned back to it with a glare.

“Well do you have any better ideas, o’ enlightened one?”

The animal blinked back at him.

It was far too long, though only a few minutes later when he heard the other two heroes clamouring in the distance behind him. They had apparently failed to make work of the balverines- that, or there were more of them that had appeared. Both wonderful options, truly.

“Quick! We’ve got to get to the caves!” The warrior monk shouted as she quickly approached.

Reaver let out an indignant squeal as he felt a huge arm sweep him and Sparrow up over one muscular shoulder, and suddenly he had a racing view of the ground. He pushed himself up in a huff, seeing a horde of eight or so balverines pounding after them viciously.  

He spared a glance at Sparrow, who was still out cold, then looked right, where he saw Garth similarly slung over the strength hero’s opposite shoulder. 

He looked slightly scuffed up, but was alert and jerking his hands in complex movements to summon magical projectiles, an attempt to fend off their vicious pursuers.

“Okay, brace yourselves!” Hammer cried.

Reaver heard her let out a roar, followed by the splintering of wood as she burst through the wooden boardings of the cave, and suddenly they were plunged into darkness, tumbling into the unknown. 

Chapter Text

The heroes tumbled and spun painfully down the gravelly hill, landing with a thud at the bottom.

Out of a heap on the floor, Hammer scrambled to her feet as she watched Garth thrust out a hand from his position on the floor and hastily conjure a pink forcefield across the entrance just as the balverines lunged, clawing and snapping viciously at the barrier. 

He let his head fall to the stone floor, exhausted, and all three conscious heroes stopped to catch their breath.

“That forcefield will give us a few minutes… But we will have to keep moving.” Garth rasped, pushing himself to an upright position.

As soon as Hammer had regained some of her composure, she rushed to Sparrow’s side. Dog was licking his owner’s hand, and Reaver still had an arm looped around the unconscious man’s shoulder, donning a distant expression as he let his breathing return to normal.

Hammer gently poked the skill hero, attempting to dislodge his arm. Reaver flinched slightly, then looked up at her and let out an awkward cough.

“Oh, yes… right. Er, it’s about time you took him off my hands, he’s quite a-” Reaver rambled, before Hammer quietly shushed him.

She cupped Sparrow’s cheek- it was clammy, but still warm. Hammer pushed aside his now stained jacket, then looked over the large gash that tore across his chest as it faintly rose and fell. Why hadn’t it healed, in the way heroes usually could..? She bit her thumbnail and sat back a bit, before taking his limp hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. 

“It’ll be alright, y’hear? I- I… We’ll get you out of here alive, I promise.” Hammer told him quietly, before turning her head slightly to face Reaver, who was pretending to pick at his nails through his gloves.

“Hey, I… Thank you, Reaver,” She told him, expression soft, “for taking care of him.”

The pirate was careful not to let his nonchalance slip this time.

“Oh don’t bother, monk, I did it purely out of self-interest. If my life didn’t depend on his survival he’d be doggy food by now.” Reaver responded casually and without a backward glance.

Hammer raised an eyebrow, glancing at the blood Reaver had taken willingly onto the side of his prized clothing. She shook her head with a scoff and moved to tend to Sparrow.

The redhead dug quickly through his satchels, fishing out a half-empty glowing pink bottle. Attached to it was a worn parchment label, “healing” scribbled messily on it in Sparrow’s smudged handwriting- it was the only one he had left, the daft, careless… come on Hannah, this was not the time to chastise. She uncorked the bottle with her teeth and moved to gently tear Sparrow’s tunic open- it was already in tatters, anyway. 

As tenderly as her powerful hands could manage, she poured it on the wound, seeing the unconscious Sparrow flinch a bit at the contact. She bit her lip, whispering an unheard apology before continuing. When she was done, the wound was not healed, but it was at least more shallow than it had been previously. 

“Okay, we’d probably best get going.” She said to her companions, tearing off a section of her robes to wrap around Sparrow’s gashes, tying them up securely.

“Right… Into the deep dark cave we go,” Reaver snarked, “I bet it was boarded up to signify that there are only wondrous things ahead!”

Hammer rolled her eyes and went to remove the now bloodstained map from Sparrow’s pocket, unfolding and looking it over in the dim light. 

“Well… There appears to be an exit on the other side of these caves, near…” She let out a gasp, “Near Rose Cottage! I have family that lives there, maybe they can help us, let us stay a night or two?

“Of course this map does mark this area off as a solid ‘do not come here’ area, but, our other option is…” She gestured at the area beyond the pink forcefield Garth had conjured, where the balverines still snarled, stalking menacingly in anticipation.

Garth glanced into the dark tunnels awaiting them just ahead, then pulled himself to his feet with a deep sigh. 

“Off we go then, right..?” He shuffled upwards, igniting his palm in flame with a flick of his hand and taking the lead once again.

The silver haired wizard spared a moment to assess their fallen companion, his eyebrows drawn tight in concern. He leaned in to Hammer, still gazing at Sparrow.

“Do you expect he will be alright?” Garth asked her in a hushed tone.

“He’s tough, he’ll pull through.” She responded, realizing she was speaking to herself almost as much as she was speaking to Garth.

He nodded grimly, then tore his eyes off Sparrow’s limp form. Hammer watched him start to disappear down the tunnel.

The redhead gingerly lifted Sparrow off the ground, positioning him securely on her back as Dog padded around anxiously at her feet. The redhead gave the canine a soothing pat on the head, then let out a tired breath as she straightened back up, hoisting Sparrow’s legs higher around her hips. She caught Reaver’s eyes lingering on them, before he startled under her gaze, sniffed and made after Garth.

“You certainly know how to forge the oddest relationships.” Hammer smiled quietly to her unconscious friend, before setting off after them.

.

As they traversed the dark caves, their footsteps echoed and ricocheted off the jagged stone walls. The air was cool and musty, and the faint sounds of drip, drip, dripping was persistent as they delved deeper.

The ground at least didn’t seem to dip downward as they went, and even through his bleariness Garth could recognize they were not on a descent- so, at least they had that going for them.

His clothes were drying slowly and stiffly against his numbed skin- the cold weather was never something Garth found particularly pleasant about Albion, and attempting to get dry in a frigid and damp cave was not exactly a glorious feeling.

Garth glanced back at Hammer, who was half-asleep on her feet, carrying the nearly 200-pound Hero of Bowerstone on her back as if he were a sack of potatoes. His face was draped over her shoulder, his damp hair hanging over and obscuring his tanned features like a dark curtain. 

It was odd- as long as he had travelled with the man, Sparrow had never let himself be caught off guard in such a way. The man was often nearly animalistic in his tracking abilities but… The group had been raising quite a clamour.

He also knew that as tough as his companion was, he could be easily overwhelmed by certain sensory rackets. Garth frowned- he just hoped this simple misstep for them could be fixed half as easily as it was made, and felt a twinge of guilt at having once again been a catalyst of Sparrow’s injury.

The mage would also be lying if he were to say that he didn’t have a strange sense of protectiveness over the hero- perhaps it was guilt left over from that fateful night, that Garth couldn’t save him back then when he had the chance. But he had also gotten to know Sparrow since then, learned to care for the man in a way he never would have expected.

The thought of losing him, Garth suddenly realized was… terrifying. Almost gently, he studied Sparrow’s paled features in the dim lighting; the dip in his cheeks, the scars that tore across his already striking features, the faint freckles that dotted his nose.

After all they’d been through, after the Spire and the tower and this damned quest, there was a certain understanding, a… Garth was surprised to realize that his heart was racing. 

Strange.

Garth’s train of thought was derailed by the sudden and distant echoes of high-pitched… voices?

“Wait… Did you hear that?” He spoke softly to his companions, stopping abruptly in his tracks.

Hammer, still groggy, stumbled into him, nearly knocking him over. She startled awake.

“Huh? I- What? Hear what?” The redhead whispered.

The heroes stopped and listened. 

Almost child-like wails sounded in the distance… Clanging and babbling and disturbing gurgles… Garth had never heard anything like it. Dog growled softly behind them while Hammer let out a gratuitous sigh.

“Oh no. No. ”

“Oh this is wonderful!” Reaver whispered, annoyance in his tone, “You know, there is only one thing I hate more than children— cursed little cannibal monster children armed with clubs. The ‘Hobber Cliffs’ I should’ve...” 

Garth whirled around to look at the pirate incredulously. Obviously, Reaver and Hammer knew something he didn’t.

“Cursed little cannibal monster children..?” 

Reaver scoffed.

“ Hobbes . Wretched little mites.” He said, polishing his Dragonstomper with a gloved hand before cocking it.

Seeing Garth’s perturbed expression, he rolled his eyes.

“Oh no need to get anxious, they’re not actual children,” Reaver told them, “at least not anymore. You’ll be on the same page as I once you actually meet the buggers.”

He made his way forward, and, somewhat hesitantly, the two other heroes followed. 

They neared a widening in the cave passageway, an exit feeding into what appeared to be a much larger cavernous room. Quiet as mice, the party crept up to the edge of a stone formation, hiding themselves from view as the babbling grew louder and louder, it soon being apparent that they were occupying the same room.

Garth peered over the edge- they had just entered a large dome shaped cavern, the walls made of the same jagged stone. The ground was filled with murky ankle-deep water, rickety wooden structures rising out of it and clinging lopsidedly to the walls- it was much like the handiwork of children, no, blind children. Barrels and crates balanced treacherously on the splintering wood, threatening to roll off at the slightest of movements, yet they miraculously stayed put.

Swarming them were some of the ugliest creatures Garth had ever seen. Squat, flabby and sickly-skinned creatures dressed in soiled rags, with pointed ears and gaping, rotten-toothed maws. They let out incomprehensible babbles and shrieks, most carrying large clubs and other primitive weapons. Reaver caught Garth’s gaze and turned to him with a haughty expression.

“And you thought me wicked for being so eager to dispatch them.” Reaver whispered.

The mage rolled his eyes, before a peculiar sight caught his attention. Most curiously of all was a piece so oddly out of place amongst everything else that he had to do a double-take on it. Smack dab in the middle of the cavern was a large, perfectly smooth stone sphere, slotted into a matching stone structure that looked specifically designed to hold it. The surface looked to be covered in runes of some kind, running up and down the sphere like stripes.

It was fascinating. Garth stroked his braided goatee thoughtfully- Could it even be…

Hammer nudged him, then nodded up ahead. With some effort to keep Sparrow from slipping off her back, she bent herself down to their level and spoke to them in hushed tones.

“Well this is all well and good, but let’s get to plowing our way out of this dump. We’re almost to Rose Cottage, and believe me, for Sparrow... the sooner the better.” She whispered, staring ahead. Her dark blue eyes were shining with worry, and impatience.

Garth followed her gaze to the other side of the cavern- there was a small hill and a path leading up to… second surprise of the day, a large and ornate metal door. Obviously, at some point or another, humans or some other civilized species had laid their claim here. 

He would need to come back some other time to look deeper into it, but for now, getting out of here with everyone alive was the top priority. 

Reaver twirled his gun next to Garth, then flashed him a dashing smirk.

“See, a funny thing about hobbes- they do like to keep each other close, in clumps like this,” He closed an eye and aimed his pistol with intention, “but they like to keep their explosives closer.”

With a thunderous crack! Reaver fired directly into the heart of the horde. Not even a moment later, followed by the violent BOOM!!! of a gunpowder blast as their TNT barrels exploded with such a clamour that Garth instinctively clapped his palms over his ears. 

Hobbes went flying, the other half who were not killed by the blast beginning to shriek even louder, searching rapidly for the cause of the destruction.

“Come on!” Hammer called, and Garth joined her in making a mad dash toward the exit.

Reaver pranced along behind them, twirling and flourishing his Dragonstomper as he fired joyously into the horde, revelling in the advantage he had in combat over the creatures. It was like a day at the carnival shooting range for him.

Suddenly, Garth felt a grubby claw snag at his pant leg, and with his depleted mana reserves he managed to whip around and face the hobbe, blasting it with an inferno and incinerating its arm into ash. He kicked the howling creature to the ground and scrambled after Hammer, heart racing in his chest.

The redhead was a few feet ahead, letting out a roaring battle cry as she charged, holding the unconscious Sparrow above her head arms fully extended. She sent the swarming hobbes flying with effortlessly powerful kicks, and once she had reached the door she gingerly slung her friend over her shoulder, beginning to fiddle with the handle.

Garth soon caught up behind her, hearing the gurgles and babbles of another wave of hobbes growing closer and closer, despite Reaver and Dog managing to pick them off at a rapid pace. Hammer fiddled with the door a few seconds longer, then swore and turned back to Garth with a determined expression.

“Garth, hold him!” She instructed, lifting Sparrow off her shoulder and practically throwing the man onto the smaller mage.

“Wha-” He exclaimed in surprise, catching the long-haired hero as he was draped onto him.

Sparrow was heavy . Quite possibly the heaviest thing he’d ever carried, he thought as he willed his thin arms to keep the lean man upright. Garth grunted, looking up to see Hammer pull out her, well, hammer , and bring it first into a wide and sweeping arc around her, sending hobbes flying in all directions.

Then, the woman turned toward the metal door and, in a near herculean show of strength, let out another throaty cry as she brought her weapon crashing explosively into it, cracking the iron open wide with a mighty CLANG!

“Hurry, get in!” Hammer panted, motioning wildly at Garth.

He took a quick deep breath, then, as swiftly as he could, Garth dragged Sparrow with him. Heating up with effort, he strained his will-trained arms to keep the man upright, grunting in exhaustion as he heard the garble of hobbes grow dangerously close.

With one more thundering gunshot he heard Reaver let out an exaggerated sigh close behind. Garth then felt the weight suddenly lifted considerably as the pirate took Sparrow by his legs and urged them forward

All three heroes and Dog dashed through the broken iron doors tailed by the horde of hobbes. The moment everyone was behind the doors, Hammer turned, dropping her weapon to grip each mangled half of the iron door with powerful hands, prying the doors close with a shout, sealing off any creatures left inside.

As the hobbes banged and clanged and protested on the other side of the door, Hammer bent forward to brace herself on her knees, sweat pouring down her face as she puffed. 

“A warning… before you start things like that… might be nice next time Reaver?” The redhead shook her head, panting, and grabbed her weapon.

Reaver shrugged his shoulders with a smirk, gently dropping the rest of Sparrow’s weight to the ground, leaving Garth once again under the crushing force of his unconscious friend.

“Well it worked, didn’t it?”

She scoffed and moved to take Sparrow back from Garth, who was struggling under his weight after Reaver had stopped supporting him. He looked up at his companion, shifting Sparrow’s weight to one side.

“That was very… I’ve seen your strength on display before but that was truly impressive,” Garth told her, somewhat bashfully, “as much as I once would have loathed to say it, you saved us. Thank you.”

A look of surprise flashed across Hammer’s face at the compliment. Then, after a few moments, it was followed by a warm smile.

“Well, someone’s gotta keep us from becoming hobbe food! Honestly, spellfingers, you’re gonna make me blush.” 

They heard Reaver groaning from behind them.

“This is wonderful, really, just touching .”

“Can you never just leave a genuine moment be?” Hammer turned to him and snapped with annoyance.

The pirate raised a delicate eyebrow, then folded his arms and gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Oh no I certainly can, I had just assumed you’d prefer our hero friend here not bleed to death.”

“Oh, right! Sparrow- injury- big hurry.” The redhead exclaimed, turning slightly pink.

Hammer gingerly lifted Sparrow from off Garth’s shoulder, and immediately the mage felt ten times lighter. The mage straightened his posture, straightening out his back carefully as he watched Hammer lift the hero into a bridal-style carry, resting his head against her collarbone. Dog let out a whine and padded over to rasp his tongue over Sparrow’s knuckles, dangling near the ground, and they gently twitched in response. 

“Alright bud, hopefully the last time I’ll have to move you about.” Garth heard Hammer tell Sparrow softly.

The group set off once again, Reaver in the lead and the clamour of the hobbes at their backs.

Rose Cottage their hopeful next destination.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take long before they neared the exit to the tunnels; after they had exited the chamber with the large stone sphere, the tunneling cave walkway expanded into another larger chamber, lit by torches which flickered with active flame- presumably set by the hobbes that occupied the place. 

There were two other metal doors adorning the walls on the left side of the chamber, while straight ahead the walls seemed to feed into yet another tunnel, which, as they approached, narrowed into a small walkway.

Reaver strode up to one of the said doors and tried the handle. Then he tugged it. A familiar look of irritation on his features he turned back to his traveling companions.

“The wretched thing is locked.”

“Try the second one,” Hammer nodded her head in the direction of the other door, “and to be clear I am not going to break open any more metal doors than is necessary!”

Garth sighed, tapping his foot anxiously on the stone floor as Reaver made his way over to check the second lock, disappearing behind a dip in the stone.

A moment later, the mage heard the telltale sound of a rattling door that was jammed shut, then the prim click-clack of heels as he made his way back, hands firmly on his hips.

“Alright then… let’s go bandage the bird.”

They made their way down the naturally carved corridor, their shadows cast long, draped across the jagged walls in the flickering torchlight. At the end of the stone walkway ahead sat another, larger door. It was also metal, and it had ivy and moss clinging to its dulled gray surface, creeping up through its gaps and cracks. 

When Garth squinted, he also noticed faint evening light gleaming through said cracks.

“I believe we’ve found our way through.” He turned to his partners, who were now no longer behind him. Garth whipped his head around to see them making a beeline toward the exit, Dog bounding anxiously beside them.

He scrambled to join them, watching as Hammer, holding Sparrow tight against her chest, delivered a heavy kick to the doors. They swung wide open and slammed on either side with force, apparently unlocked.

They saw an open air clearing, and above them, the clear evening sky, painted in brilliant dusky hues of purples and pinks, the stars just beginning to flicker into view. The breeze, smelling of fresh dirt and grass, was gentle and warm on Garth’s face.

He felt himself let out a sigh of relief as he took in the wooded area they had found themselves in, with the golden and warm colors of autumn creeping into the lush greens around them, lining the well-traversed dirt road in front of them aside an assortment of bright mushrooms and foliage. 

It was a glorious sight and a welcome change from the jagged slabs of gray the group had grown accustomed to over the past few days.

“I can’t believe it! We made it out!” Hammer exclaimed with unconcealed delight, taking a deep and noisy breath. Even Reaver had a look of genuine relief on his face.

“Fresh, non-cave non-ocean air, how crazy is that?” She laughed, nudging Garth playfully, “And we’re heading to my Aunt Josie’s! Man, Sparrow’s going to…”

Hammer’s smile faltered, and she cleared her throat, seeming to remember the situation at hand- they had no time to dawdle.

“Right, let’s get a move on then. Garth, can you fetch the map out of Sparrow’ holster for me?” The redhead asked him, “It’s the one on the far… Right side- no, wait, left- your left.”

The mage rolled his eyes at the confused instruction, spotting the worn leather satchel that she was probably referring to. Garth’s gaze flitted to Sparrow’s unconscious face as he leaned in to unhook the map, briefly studying the new cuts that littered his pale face. He felt a tug at his heart, a sense of urgency. When had he come to care for the man so greatly? Garth shook his head, reaching for the map. No matter.

He gingerly undid the clasp, then reached in and pulled out Sparrow’s yellowed, and now bloodied, map. Tugging its edges gently, he rolled the parchment out for Hammer and Reaver to see, who leaned in close. 

“Right, Rose Cottage will be…” Hammer began.

“To the west, then.” Reaver chipped in with a hand wave, nodding sharply in the direction that was indicated on the map.

“Yep, and it shouldn’t take too long either- thank Avo for that.”

Garth decided to keep the map with him for now, hooking it onto his belt on which he kept his scrolls in case of immediate use. With some urgency, the heroes set off on the path once more, suddenly hearing the distinctive grinding of stone and deep moan as a Demon Door yawned to life behind them. 

Blinking at each other a moment, Hammer, Garth and Reaver decided to move swiftly along, although they heard its ancient voice begin to bellow behind them.

“Heroes, I need to see your Combat Multiplier get eeeven higher!”

.

Garth noted to himself to never take soft dirt roads for granted again. Feeling the earth beneath his feet, while not as familiar as the warm sands of Samarkand, was like stepping into cozy slippers after a long walk barefoot on gravel.

The forest around them darkened as they walked, the sky fading into a dark indigo as the moon hung high in the sky, beaming through the cover of trees. Small leaves crunched gently beneath their feet as they made their way through the forest, and Garth took a weary look around at his companions.

Reaver was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes continuously drifting to the unconscious Sparrow cradled to Hammer’s chest, often when he thought no one was looking. Hammer looked nearly asleep on her feet, eyes fluttering open and shut every few moments as she trudged along-- Garth would help if he could, but he himself was not much better off.

Like Reaver, though, Garth couldn’t help but stare at their wounded companion, clutched limply in Hammer’s arms. There was still a cold pit of dread in his stomach that formed when he remembered the blur that had been the Balverine attack.

The fear that he’d felt, looking over and seeing Sparrow pinned, dark blood gushing from his chest and spilling onto the stone path like water from a fountain. Coming all this way, getting each other through the Spire for those ten years, only for it to end then? For Garth to lose him there? The thought had terrified him.

When Sparrow awoke, he wanted to be there. Garth wanted to do something for him. He would… He…

The wizard scoffed to himself, shaking his head. What would he even do? What did Garth even want with Sparrow? It wasn’t like they were close, even, just acquaintances who had been through hell together. Even if Garth felt some kind of connection to the man, Sparrow was far too young and… capable, to possibly feel the same way.

Garth closed his eyes. It was hard to think clearly right now, that was all. It was dark, and he was tired, and he couldn’t waste his energy on this.

It was around an hour, give or take, when Garth finally saw the telltale soft glow of a small settlement in the distance. He felt relief course through him, and moved to nudge Hammer, who appeared to not have noticed in her weary state.

It took her a moment to realize what Garth was trying to show her, but once she noticed, Hammer seemed to entirely perk up.

“Thank the Light, we’re here! Come on, then!” The redhead sighed, a smile climbing on to her face as she set off at a brisk pace toward the village.

Garth and Reaver exchanged a glance, then hurried after the strength hero with the last of their energy.

As they passed through the carved and worn wooden archway at the front of the settlement, Garth took a moment to soak in what he could make out of his surroundings. Lit dimly by a precious few street lamps, Rose Cottage could hardly be called a town, it was so small. 

It was more a neighborhood, an assortment of modest cottages with what he could assume had only three or four families living in it. Around the area there was a sturdy barrier of thick bramble with beautiful roses blooming through it, more effective than any fence. In the dark lighting, he managed to make out the carved face of a demon door in the stone on the far end of the clearing, seemingly asleep. There was a well in the middle of the square.

It was no longer than a few seconds after entering the dimly lit area that they heard a loud and high-pitched voice, accompanied by the click of a shotgun.

“Stop right there! Tell me, be you men or be you highwaymen?”

Garth froze. After a moment’s pause, he slowly turned his gaze up to face a young woman, standing on a large crate adjacent to the gate. Her curly blonde ringlets were pulled into an untidy clump on top of her head, glaring as she shoved a shotgun barrel in Garth’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hammer move carefully, but defensively forward. 

“Woah woah, hold on.” Hammer said softly, but assertively, “We’re not wanting any trouble, we just want help for my friend. I’m the daughter of--“

“--Wait… Hannah?”

Recognition seemed to flash in the girl’s eyes, as she shook her head.

Hammer squinted at the girl for a moment, before breathing out a relieved laugh.

“I-- Bethany, is that you?” Hammer shook her head, “Why you’re a woman now!”

The blonde tossed aside the shotgun and hastily climbed off the tall crate she had been standing on. For a moment it looked as if she were going to embrace Hammer, but she drew herself back at the last moment, most likely because she had noticed Sparrow nestled in Hammer’s arms. 

“I can’t believe it!” Bethany said, a look of mixed shock and joy gracing her features, “It’s been… Why it’s been a decade! More than!”

She paused, her toothy smile fading a bit as she looked down.

“When we heard about uncle’s passing and you didn’t come back to visit us, we weren’t sure…”

Hammer seemed to deflate a bit, but she shook her head and offered a small smile. She moved forward and gently grabbed the girl’s shoulder in a kind of side embrace, and Bethany leaned her head against Hammer’s chest.

“I’m sorry Beth. I’ve been a fool.” Hammer paused a moment, then after a beat, spoke again. “I’m sorry, I need-”

It was then, as Garth and Reaver looked on somewhat awkwardly, that warm light began to glow through the windows of the house adjacent to them. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and then emerged an older, portly woman with huge and thick blonde hair similar to Bethany’s, pulled into a huge and thick ponytail. The woman also had a shotgun.

“Beth, who is it-” Garth saw the woman’s eyes go wide with recognition, and she tossed the gun aside.

“Aunt Josie, thank goodness!” Hammer’s weary smile was wide.

Garth watched as Aunt Josie stormed over and pinched Hammer’s ear, dragging her down, before wrapping an arm around her neck and giving her a tight, one-armed embrace. Not forgetting the urgency of the situation, after a pause Hammer pulled away. 

“Aunt Josie, I’d love to catch up and tell you everything-- but I need your help. This man, my friend, he’s hurt real terribly,” She said grimly, eyes flicking down towards Sparrow, then back, “We don’t have potions, or any real medical training, and--”

Aunt Josie cut Hammer off with a wave of her hand and a nod. 

“Of course. The others are in Bowerstone on a supply run, I’m going to have to tell them but— but first things first.” Josie approached the unconscious man, brushing a strand of hair out of his face, “Let’s get him patched up. Come.”

Josie started walking, then turned around, giving Reaver and Garth a cursory glance for the first time. She raised her eyebrows, then nodded sternly. 

“You too.”

Josie walked Hammer toward the lit cottage she had emerged from, Bethany following in suit, with only the barest of glances toward the other heroes. Garth turned toward Reaver, who, for once, was quiet throughout the encounter. He looked tense, a pensive hand on his chin, the other arm folded across his waist.

Reaver noticed his gaze.

“What?”

He wrinkled his nose at Garth, then, without waiting for an answer, started following, too. Garth sighed, then headed toward the cottage after the others, the beam of light from the lit doorway lighting his path in the purple darkness.

Chapter Text

It had been years since Hammer had been to Rose Cottage. She still remembered the warm summers she’d spent with her relatives when she and her father made the trip over. Her and her cousins spent the days wrestling in the yard (in which Hammer would always win), swimming in the pond and helping with the garden. They weren’t blood related, but her cousins would always be her cousins, and Aunt Josie was one of the closest things to a mother she’d ever had.

Whenever she or her cousins had ever gotten hurt while playing, Hammer had always seen Josie work with grace and precision. She’d never been a ‘kiss the boo boo’ type of woman, but Josie seemed to always know what to do. Raised a daughter of a woodsman, there were a few things she’d had to learn, Josie had told her.

When Hammer was 7 years old, she fell into a particularly bad batch of bramble when her cousin Trent had pushed her in, the little terror he used to be. Hammer had cried and cried about the scratches on her arms and legs, but Josie had a salve to soothe the burn. When she’d fallen from a tree trying to climb it, Josie had been there to set her dislocated arm. When little Hammer had been hit smack in the face with a ball, Josie was there with a napkin for the nosebleed and a towel full of ice.

That was what Hammer thought about, watching Aunt Josie push everything off the dinner table in a sweeping motion and quickly lay Sparrow down on top of it. 

Repurposing a nearby bread knife, Josie carefully began to cut off Sparrow’s improvised bandage, starting to evaluate the damage. Bethany, Hammer’s youngest cousin, appeared next to her holding a couch pillow, which Josie turned and grabbed from her, positioning it under Sparrow’s limp head. Beth looked a bit pale as she glanced from Josie to the stranger bleeding out on her table, and quickly she stepped out of the way.

Josie let out a low hum as she assessed Sparrow’s wounds, and Hammer stiffened.

“What, how bad is it? Will he be alright?” Hammer asked, trying and failing to keep the nervous quake out of her voice, “Do you need any help? I can just stand out of the way if you’d like—”

“Quietly, Hannah, I can hardly hear my own thoughts.” Josie said, frowning, “Beth, put the kettle back on the stove and fetch me a pail of water.”

Bethany nodded, her curls bouncing as she hurried off. Dog whined, sniffing at Sparrow’s hand on the other side of the table.

Aunt Josie walked over to the small kitchen, opening a door in an old cabinet and pulling out an old cookie tin and a few smaller containers and bringing them back to the table. She opened the cookie tin and pulled out a needle and thread, using her thumbs to curve the tiny piece of metal ever so slightly. Josie sighed, shaking her head.

“When did he receive this wound, Hannah?” Josie asked, not taking her eyes off the man.

“Uhm, it must’ve been around two hours— three hours ago, I’d guess?” Hammer stammered.

Hammer suddenly noticed Reaver’s presence beside her, leering at the bleeding Sparrow as if he were a losing horse that he’d bet on in a race. His gaze lingered a moment longer, softening slightly, before he shifted it to Hammer.

“Yes, this is all terribly exciting. Is there a place I could possibly rest my feet?” Reaver asked her, taking a moment to scan the room, “A decent one?”

Feeling a flash of irritation, Hammer gritted her teeth and started to speak, but Josie responded before her, raising a finger and pointing it at the open front door.

“There’s a porch, and there are steps. If you’re looking to kick back and relax, stay out of m’ way.” Josie said, before quickly turning back to Sparrow.

Hammer watched as Reaver’s expression revealed a small amount of surprise, then annoyance as he opened his mouth once again to—

“Ah ah.” Josie didn’t even look back as she cut him off, pointing at him.

“I refuse—“ Reaver started again, eyebrow twitching.

“—Ah ah.”

“I—“

“—Ah.” Josie looked back this time, giving him a lethal stare.

The irritation was plain on Reaver’s face as he stared back at Josie, his mouth hung open a moment longer. Hammer started to feel a twinge of nervousness, wondering if Reaver was going to resort to pulling out his gun to deal with this inconvenience, as he so often did. 

But Reaver’s mouth shut and his jaw set. His face was showing the slightest bit of color as he cracked under Josie’s glare, then sharply turned his back and strolled out the door.

Hammer stared at Josie in astonishment as she returned to her work. Stern old ladies really brought out the inner insolent child in people, even for those like Reaver. 

She glanced to the side and caught Garth covering his hand with his mouth, eyes crinkling as he hid his smile. Hammer felt her astonishment give way to amusement, and soon, despite the circumstances, she had a smile on her face as well. 

Helping Josie with taking care of Sparrow involved keeping him comfortable, administering some kind of anesthetic, fetching clean water and staying out of Josie’s way. Hammer mostly found herself sort of standing awkwardly to the side, hands dirtied with dried blood. 

She found herself staring at Sparrow as Josie carefully stitched his wound, his face twitching in pain despite the pain reliever, but he never woke up. Dog at one point padded over and curled up next to Hammer’s feet, still keeping an eye on Sparrow, just as she was. Hammer didn’t even notice how long she had just been standing and staring until she felt the touch of cold fingers on her arm. 

She quickly turned in surprise, then stumbled, bracing herself on a nearby chair. The sudden movement had left her head swimming, and as her vision cleared, she saw Garth, gazing up at her from his seat on a dining chair he’d pulled up and out of the way. There was a worried expression on the wizard’s face.

“Sit, Hammer.” He said quietly.

“But I still need to help, just in case…”

“Hammer, take a break. Sit.” Garth’s expression turned stern.

Hammer paused for a moment, before she relented and letting herself take a seat. She felt a wave of exhaustion roll over her as she realized how much tension she’d been carrying, and she slumped back, the comparatively small chair squeaking beneath her. She let out a long sigh, closing her eyes.

“Shouldn’t we be sitting on the porch, anyway?” Hammer asked Garth as she crossed one leg over the other.

“Nah, that was just for the rude one.” She heard Bethany say next to her, and Hammer opened her eyes to see her cousin, a small smile on her face as she bent down to pet Dog.

Bethany bit her lip, looking as if there was something she wanted to say. It was still strange, seeing her baby cousin’s features on a fully grown woman.

“So, Hannah, I… Where have you been all this time?” Bethany asked, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she glanced from Sparrow to Garth to her, “Whatever you’ve been doing, at the very least it seems like it’s been interesting.”

Hammer ran a hand through her locks, before realizing they still had drying blood on them and putting them down in her lap. She blew out a breath, facing Bethany.

“It’s been a rough time since… Since Dad died. I should’ve thought about you and the family, too, because I knew you would also be suffering, but…” Hammer gritted her teeth, “I was just so angry.”

She sucked in a breath. Even as Hammer remembered the rough years, the people she’d killed, it had all been a blur of rage and hurt. She had been left with no real target for her anger after she’d killed that damned envoy, no endpoint of her grief. 

It had been only in recent months that she’d remembered that mystical order in the North; the warrior monks, who trained in the art of battle, but still retained their pacifism. It was in remembering this, ruminating on it, that Hammer had realized something about herself; she was tired of killing.

“I did some things I’m not proud of, Beth.” Hammer finally finished.

“Hannah, I…” Beth started, a concerned look on her face, but Hammer shook her head.

She pressed her lips together, then her gaze drifted to Sparrow.

“I met some friends, though— really good ones. And I’m doing important work, like, ‘save the world’ work. I’m a Hero; we all are. Reaver, Garth, Sparrow, and me.” Hammer said, nodding to Garth, who had been staring silently at Sparrow, “I’m sorry I can’t exactly tell you more.”

Garth looked over, then, he nodded. 

“Hannah has been a valuable asset to our team. I owe her my life.” Garth said, causing Hammer to stare at him.

When had he gotten so…  

“Oh light, I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself to you. My name’s Bethany, but you can call me Beth.” Bethany scrambled, holding out a hand.

“Garth.” The two shook hands, and Hammer could swear she saw a faint blush on the girl’s face.

“Betty, I need help with something.” Josie called from the table, and Bethany turned.

“Coming, mother!” Bethany said, then turned back to them, “Sorry, I have to…”

“It’s okay, Beth, go ahead.” Hammer gave her a small smile, and Bethany nodded, giving her a small smile back.

She waved goodbye to the two of them as she hurried away.

Hammer and Garth sat quietly for a long moment, not looking at each other. Then Hammer turned to Garth, an eyebrow raised.

“Hey, Garth?” Hammer asked.

“Yes, Hannah?” Garth answered.

“When did we become… friends?” Hammer asked.

“Hm… Best not to linger on it.” Garth answered.

They sat silently for another moment.

“Spellfingers.”

“Barbarian.”

It took about a day for Sparrow to wake up. 

Josie had said it was miraculous that he’d survived such an injury; even though she’d sewn him up and treated him with some of the healing poultice she’d bought the last time she’d visited Bowerstone, Josie had said she frankly hadn’t been sure he’d last the night, nevertheless that he’d begin the healing process so quickly. Hammer knew that it was because of the Hero blood coursing through his veins.

Garth and Bethany had both insisted Hammer go to bed rather than spend the night with Sparrow, as she’d wanted to. Hammer had protested, but the moment she’d even taken a seat on the bed, she had felt gravity pull her head to the pillow, and she’d been fast asleep.

She awoke to the sounds of birds chirping, and a cool, dewy breeze drifting lazily in through the open window. Sunbeams peeked through the leaves of the tree that sat outside the house and streamed in, illuminating the small, cozy room she’d occupied for the night. 

Blearily flicking her gaze across at the worn, painted white furniture, the old dresser and mirror pushed against one wall, and the pale blue and vaguely water damaged walls, Hammer recognized it as the room she and her father had stayed in when they came to visit. It just seemed so much smaller than it had when she was young.

Hammer’s feet were only slightly cold, hanging over the end of the bed, which was easily too small for her own sizable frame. 

There was a simple quilt draped over her, and she let herself sink heavily into the burlap feather mattress; after the few days she had just had, this was peace and serenity. She felt as if she could just lie here forever.

Then, she remembered why it was such an exceptional feeling to rest in a normal bed, and why she was here in the first place. 

Lucien. Spire. Sparrow.

She had to go check on Sparrow.

Hammer sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes closed before, with a great effort, she pushed herself up. The soreness in her limbs was immediate, and Hammer hissed as she forced herself out of the cocoon of warmth that had been scooped out for her.

As she opened her eyes again, slowly waking herself up, a flash of white on the nightstand caught her eye. Someone had left a full cup of water in her room. Hammer blinked, before taking it and downing it all in one continuous chug. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper cup of water, and she felt her dry throat soothed as the cool liquid went down. She hadn’t even realized how thirsty she had been until that moment.

With a clearer head, Hammer was finally noticing the sensations that would be expected after the rough few days she had just had. The scrapes she had earned across her body had healed— she could thank her Hero blood for that— but the dirt and grit and blood that stained her clothes and took up residence in her long hair felt quite apparent, and she felt the dried blood that had soaked her blouse stiffen as she moved.

Hammer remembered whose blood it was— she had to go check on Sparrow; how had she been talked out of spending the night at his side, anyway? Hammer hurriedly pulled on her boots and stood, the bed creaking at the movement. She started to make her way across the room before noticing a small mound of neatly folded fabric laid out on the dresser.

Tentatively, Hammer reached out and plucked the fabric up from its resting place. It was one of her old blouses— slightly too small, but clean and soft and soaked in familiar smells. She didn’t have time to clean herself off, but she could at least spare a minute to change into a clean shirt.

Hammer quickly undid the leather straps and belts and armor that she’d somehow slept in, then ditched her old, torn blouse, having to almost peel the soiled parts off her skin. She pulled on the clean shirt, relishing in the comparative softness, then balled up the old one and threw it in her pack. 

She threw back on her gear, then rushed down the stairs, turning the corner to see a much quieter living room.

Sparrow lay shirtless on the table, a bandage around his middle and a light blanket draped across his torso. Hammer could only assume he hadn’t been moved because he was too heavy, and Hammer hadn’t been awake to help transfer him. 

Garth sat slumped in a chair next to him, head down on the table, indicating he’d been there most of the night. Hammer felt a flash of indignation, softened by amusement. The little hypocrite.

There was a little blanket draped across his shoulders as well. Creaking came from the stairs behind Hammer as Reaver descended the steps, stretching out his arms and yawning dramatically. Hammer snorted.

“Who offered you a room?”

“Hm. That girl, Bethany? She was rather enthused about me, insisted I take her room.” Reaver told her with a smirk.

“Uh huh.” Hammer said, “I’m just going to conclude that she offered Garth a room but he declined.”

Reaver was silent, before huffing.

“Well I couldn’t let the offer go to waste.”

Both their gazes drifted back to Garth, by Sparrow’s side.

“I wonder when those two become bosom buddies.” Reaver remarked, a tone of disapproval in his voice.

“He’s just being attentive, I suppose.” Hammer said, not too sure either.

Before Hammer could tell him not to disturb the peace, Reaver strolled over to Garth and tapped him firmly on the shoulder. The wizard jolted awake. 

“Huh, he— What?” Garth slurred, blinking in confusion.

“W-What..?” Sparrow mumbled.

“What.” Reaver said, gaze darting to Sparrow, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“What?!” Hammer gasped, hurrying over to Sparrow’s side.

Sparrow’s eyes fluttered open, and he immediately tried to push himself up. Dog started to bark, jumping up and putting his paws on the table as he leaned forward to lick Sparrow’s face. Garth abruptly tried to stand from his chair, but Hammer was suddenly behind him, tending to Sparrow anxiously.

“Sparrow, don’t move, you’re gonna undo your stitches!” Hammer warned, rushing in to gently stop him.

“My…” Sparrow breathed, then his gaze drifted down to the bandage around his middle. 

Josie rose from a nearby chair, bags under her eyes, looking as if she’d just woken up. 

“He awakens. Let it never be said you don’t have people who care about you, boy.” Josie said, strolling over. 

Sparrow stared in confusion, patting Dog on the head without looking, before he turned to Garth, who was the only one at eye level with him. Garth was sitting almost bashfully in his chair beside the table. Sparrow slowly lifted a hand. Hi.

Garth blinked, then raised a hand back, a tiny, bewildered smile on his face. Hi.

Bosom buddies indeed.