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Posted on January 6, 2018 at 04:21:32 AM by Merlin
| “You’re under arrest,” Flynn said, as he slammed the pirate face-first into the back wall of the cave. The man groaned as his skull impacted with the hardness of the rocks, and his legs lost their ability to support his weight as his head spun. The Quaestor pinned him in place, his forearm pressing against his captive’s back to hold him still. The fingers of Flynn’s free hand twitched as he conjured a set of handcuffs from the light of the moon. They glowed silver in the darkness of the cave as he slipped them over first one wrist and then the other and locked them tight. Turning the dazed man around, Flynn pushed him back into the wall, the heel of his hand digging into the little knot of muscle just above the armpit. “Don’t move,” he threatened, before turning to look over his shoulder, “Denahi,” he called. The husky came forwards, padding out of the shadows with his hackles raised. “Watch him,” Flynn instructed his familiar as he turned and sprinted down the cave’s other passageway, a little ball of light floating along ahead of him to guide the way. The husky obeyed, his lips peeling back in a warning snarl directed at the captured pirate.
The further Flynn went, the quieter the sound of his familiar’s growling became, until it was lost to silence. The quaestor paused, listening hard for the sound of boots grinding against the pebbles that littered the floor. A twig snapped somewhere ahead of him, and Flynn sent the light flying towards it as he gave chase again. He was quick enough to see the remaining pirate’s foot disappearing around the corner of the next tunnel. “You’re going to run out of cave soon,” Flynn warned his quarry as he sprinted along the narrow passageways. He had chased the pair into that particular cave for a reason. Every passage ended eventually in a dead end. Suddenly, the tunnel opened out into a cavern...and Flynn came to a stop again in the mouth of the only possible exit. The white-blue light of his guide fell across the face of the pirate who stood opposite him, looking like a cornered rabbit. The man, badly shaven, and with deeply sunken eyes, licked his chapped lips as he tried desperately to find a different way out. Flynn smiled at him. “Turn around,” he ordered, summoning a second set of handcuffs which came to hang about his left wrist as he took two steps further into the cavern. The pirate leered at him, his gaze fixed upon the tunnel behind Flynn’s head. “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Flynn laughed, tapping into the man’s thoughts at the precise moment when the decision was made. The pirate paid no heed. He charged forwards, straight for Flynn, intending to knock him to the ground and make his getaway. Holding out his hand, his palm pointing outwards at his foe, Flynn sent a wave of telekinetic energy through the cavern, and succeeded in knocking the other man back into the cave wall. “Nice try,” the quaestor hissed into the pirate’s ear as he clicked the handcuffs into place. He did not expect the laugh he got in reply, “your brother sends his regards, Flynn,” rasped the pirate through his bloody grin. A second later, Flynn’s fist collided with the back of the man’s head, “oops,” he said, disingenuously, “I slipped.” --- Flynn found it difficult to sleep. He could not remember the last time he had enjoyed a peaceful night from dusk until dawn. It didn’t make a difference whether he slept beneath the stars on the road, or beneath the canopy if his four poster bed at the castle; he was always just as restless. When he did manage to pass into unconsciousness his slumber was fitful, and he tossed and turned under the ever watchful eyes of his familiar. The husky stood guard over his master, his miss-matched eyes, one blue, one brown, moving warily between his sleeping fairy and the bedroom door; he knew what his fairy dreamed of. His mind was full of thoughts of his brother’s long-ago betrayal that just kept coming back to haunt him, and of the man who had dealt him that particular blow. He dreamt of the religious zealots who had murdered his father in cold blood, and how he had never had justice for that either. Flynn scouted the countryside, mercilessly hunting down criminals, so that at least he could get justice for someone. He had been denied it himself so many times. It was into these troubles that Lorraine poured her whispers, and they found in the darker parts of Flynn’s subconscious something to speak to. There was a fine line, Flynn knew, between justice and revenge, and he fought so hard to stay on the side of goodness. It was difficult to maintain however, when those who danced with evil seemed to get more of what they wanted than he did. Years past, when he had been in the early throws of adulthood Flynn had begun to forget what it felt like to be forgiving. It had been easier once, it must have been once; he had been a kind child. A kind child whose mother had been unable to love him, though and he had never been able to forgive her for that had he? She had loved his brothers and his sister, and when it was too late she had done her best to repair what had been broken. He was the one who had refused her. Forgiveness had not been in his heart then. A mother who didn’t love him, a brother who had betrayed him, a friend who had broken his heart, an enemy who had tormented him, and murderers who had stolen his father from him. They had all done their part to tarnish what he had once promised to be, and left him haunted. Flynn slipped out of bed and pulled on his clothes and his boots, his hands shaking a little as they tended to the buckles. Lorraine had caused misery, more than any of those against whom Flynn nursed his grudges, but if she could offer him what others had denied... No. Two wrongs could never make a right, Flynn hesitated with his hand over the door handle, filled suddenly with an anxious heat that old him, screamed at him that he was doing something wrong. Denahi’s tail had stopped wagging. He should go back to bed. It would be so easy to turn around and slide back in beneath the sheets. He was better than this. But then...why did he always have to be the one to take the high road? Flynn pulled the door open and marched down the corridor past the lead-lined windows, his hands pushed into his jacket pockets. He descended the stairs to the floor below, and quietly pushed ajar the third door he came across. It was there that his baby brothers slept, neither of them so babyish anymore, but still in possession of their childish innocence, despite everything they had been through. Flynn perched on the edge of Dylan’s bed, taking care not to sit on Lunarian’s long striped tail, and he found there was some peace to be found in just sitting there and making sure they were safe. It was his eyes that betrayed him, as they noticed that Dylan’s fist was curled up into a ball, holding onto something hidden beneath the covers. “Flynn,” Denahi warned him in concern. The dog had a bad feeling, his fairy was worrying him and something told him that whatever it was that was concealed should remain so. Again Flynn hesitated, his hand hovering above the top of the blankets, as curiosity egged him on, and sense sought to constrain him. Slowly, gently, Flynn pealed back the sheets, and removed the sheet of paper from his brother’s grip. It was a drawing, a child’s drawing of his family...only it was wrong, and Flynn found himself choking back tears of injustice. Renn had been drawn weeping, and Henry wasn’t there at all. The little figure representing him was frowning deeply, his arms folded across his chest with a dagger in his hand. Dylan stood at the centre of the picture, looking small and lost, and there, above their heads, standing upon a cloud, was Castiel. Whatever the child had meant by it become suddenly incidental, for it had brought home a truth to Flynn. Their family was broken, and those he loved were suffering. They deserved none of the blame, but were paying every price imaginable. Flynn felt the familiar surge of frustrated anger again, the rage that kept him tossing and turning in bed at night. No, if he could get it, then he would give them justice...in whatever way he could. What did he have to lose? --- The sound of his feet against the white marble floors of the Pantheon seemed too loud to his worried ears. Mixed in with his angry determination was a kind of shame, the nagging knowledge that he was doing something wrong as he followed the Goddess’ voice along the unknown corridors to wherever it was she waited. Her call had been one intended for pirates and robbers, for vagabonds and the cruel; how could he, Flynn, who hunted those same people and who truly believed in justice, answer the same call as the people he despised? It was not too late to turn back, Denahi told him, with no small degree of urgency, they could go home. But where was home? Home had died with Castiel, and someone, somewhere, needed to pay for that. He came to a halt outside Lorraine’s door, and when he spoke, his voice did not sound like his own, “I want ju...” Flynn broke off, there was no point in lying to himself now, “I want revenge for my Father,” he said heavily, “and upon the man who took my brother from me.” Flynn took the vial from Lorraine between his finger and thumb and stashed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. It took everything he had to stop his hand from trembling under the goddess’ glare, her manner doing nothing to ease his doubts. This blonde goddess was not like Aura. Aura had been kind, generous and forgiving whereas Lorraine was all pride and bitterness and that alone served to shake his fragile resolve. And yet...what had he become over the years? Was he not bitter? Unforgiving? Harsh, even? What did other faeries see when they looked at him, or spoke to him? What was it pirates saw in him when he cornered them with a burning righteousness in his heart? He had often thought himself better than them, but was he really? Or did his vices merely fall on the right side of the law? There were too many questions! There had always been too many things to wonder about and muse upon, and sometimes Flynn thought they would be enough to drive him mad. Denahi tugged on his faerie’s sleeve, dragging him away from the divine temptress and Flynn went with him. He didn’t look back, she had made up her mind about him already, and who was he to try and change the mind of something as old and unyielding as stone? The husky lead the way down the Cliffside and Flynn followed putting one foot in front of another robotically as his mind whirred with other higher things. He would never forget the stretch of beach where it had happened, where his father’s blood had stained the silver sand scarlet. When he had first seen it, the mixture of grief and rage had been intoxicating, soul-consuming and he had been ready, oh so ready, to kill them then. Ellie had brought him back, pulled him away from the cliff edge and away from the abyss as he had teetered there, his magic coursing through him in a way that it had never done before. Despite Denahi’s objections, Flynn walked to that very stretch of beach, and as he stood there surrounded by the cliffs that loomed large in his dreams, the sea called to him as it had always done. The sea had seen his father die, the cliffs had watched him choke, and they had stood passively by watching the tragedy unfurl in their mindless indifference. How many other families had they seen torn apart? How many lives had they been changed beyond repair whilst they remained constant and unchanged? They were like Lorraine; ageless and pitiless. Sitting down crossed legged in the sand; Flynn reached back into his coat and pulled out the little vial that the goddess had given him. Denahi, unable to break through into his faerie’s thoughts gave an audible whine as he lay down beside Flynn and rested his head on his master’s knee. The boy turned it over absently, the thick liquid rushing up towards the stopper and he sighed as memory embraced him. |
Replies:
- Flynn's Regret: Part Two - By Merlin January 6, 2018 at 04:22:44 AM
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