Night Watch I: Eliza, Ward of Andrew

*Andrew’s POV*

(A/N: warning- supernatural violence and death is recollected in this chapter. please be advised that this story is NC-17 for a reason. this story will continue to have fighting and stuffs in it. i don't write with the intention of minors as an appropriate audience. end public service announcement.)

“I feel like an idiot.” I wanted, so badly, to reach out for Eliza’s hand, to hold it. But, well, I was restrained, and that would surely have been unwise, regardless. So, instead, I turned away and tried to hide my face with my hair as best as I could. Eliza had already thought I was effeminate- who knows what she thought of me now that I had doubtless cried in front of her several times already today? I felt like such a fool, my chest actually had pains from the embarrassment. I had a lot of pride, more than most, though I hated to admit it. I really needed to get out of here, take Eliza shopping, get her home, and spill my guts about how I felt about her, before it ate me alive, or came out at the wrong time. I hoped that it hadn’t already, when I’d been hit on the head and raving…

I felt her rough thumb on my cheek and looked up, surprised. “Oh, stop, hold still, don’t sulk!” Eliza gently, but firmly, held my face, and patted my tears away. “You’re far too handsome of a motherfucker to have a tear-stained face, Andrew, eh? Remember, you’re forgiven, just so long as you don’t make a habit of constantly whipping my tits out, alright? If you do, I think I’ll make a habit of knocking your teeth out and ruining that pretty face! Fair enough?” She grinned amiably, and thank goodness I was in shackles, as I instinctively reached to put my hand over hers. Shit! The tugging brought me swiftly to my senses.

I spoke softly enough that the Healers would not be able to make out my words. “Eliza, uh, did I say anything, um… unusual, after you knocked me out?” I glanced at her and when I went to fuss with my hair, the damned restraints stopped me again. Ugh.

She laughed her wonderful laughter. Deeper than most women’s laughter, it was very throaty and full. It was a genuine laughter that brought an instant smile to my lips. “Many things, Andrew. The first time you gave the speech, it sounded something like, ‘I swear on Little Donny Rickfield and Dennis Westaller that I didn’t mean to cut off your clothes and show your huge titties! I’m so sorry! Wait, why are they still there? You need clothes, Eliza! Give me a hug!’ Then you passed out again, right in my lap, before I could say anything.”

My mouth fell open. I had never told anyone, not even my Dragonfly, the names of my sword. I had thought I would take them to my grave. “Did anyone else hear me say those names?”

Eliza immediately sensed my change in mood and spoke softly to reply. “No, we were alone in the middle of the circle, and you did not repeat them. I’ll not mention them again.”

I chewed my lip, thinking rapidly. “No, if I swore an oath to you by something, however poorly worded, you deserve to know its significance. Additionally, I suppose you should know the names of the weapon you carry, and may possibly have to wield.” I tensed, bracing myself for her mocking laughter. It never came.

“Andrew, it’s very clear to me that this has great significance to you. Most swords have names like ‘Reaver of Goblins,’ ‘Dragon’s Bane,’ ‘Venomous Destiny,’ or ‘Gutslicer.’ I’ve never encountered a blade that had a proper name, much less two. If you truly want me to understand the connotations of your oath, Andrew, you need to explain further.” Strangely, I realized I had no problem with the idea of sharing the story of my sword with Eliza. I just didn’t want anyone else to know. It wasn’t for their ears. It was just for us.

I scooted a little closer to Eliza, so that there was no chance we would be overheard. “When I was just a wee sprout of a thing, I thought I would surely grow up to be Elder, like every pompous little child. This was before I wanted to be an assassin, which was before I wanted to be a Watchman,” we both chuckled. “I convinced my parents to announce me as Elder, everywhere I went, be it at Commons, playing a game, getting a bath, they would announce me as ‘Elder Little Johnny Rickfield,’ just as though I were about to start a Council Meeting. At least, that was how I envisioned it.” I grinned sheepishly.

“That’s really cute!” Eliza softly punched my shoulder.

“Little Johnny Rickfield is my sword when it is sheathed, out for show, or repair. When it is innocent.”

I paused and cleared my throat. “My father, Chris, was also a Night Watchman, before me. When I came of age, I was very rebellious, before I found love.”

Shit, how did I put this, without sounding like a man-whore? “My parents were at their wit’s end, and one night, my father decided a trip to the brothel in a neighboring town might settle me down. It irritated him that I was not interested in the, erm, lady of the night, he had paid for, and that I, uh, spent some, er, quality time with the bartender instead.” I paused. I hadn’t told anyone the rest of the story, other than my mother, completely, and she was gone now. This part was so much harder to tell. But it had made me who I was.

“He was so mad at me, so frustrated! He was usually pretty laid back. My father came right in the room and pulled me off of the bartender, slung me over his back, and started carrying me home. I was pissed, saying stupid shit…

“Eventually I broke free and ran off into the Forest, got lost. Dad came after me, I thought I was teaching him a lesson, staying just a ways ahead, but getting more and more lost, not listening to what he was saying. Eventually I could make out occasional whispered commands to ‘hide,’ and I got scared. But still I didn’t actually listen to him.

"What I now know is that my dad wasn’t lost, he knew I was walking us right into a nest of revenants. He also knew that if I hid until morning, and didn’t move, I would be safe, we both would be fine. Instead, I panicked, and called out for him. Just once, but once was enough.” Eliza nodded. She must have known that revenants could smell your breath and follow sound. Movement was more helpful to them, but sound and heavy, fragrant breaths will also get you killed.

“It was over very quickly. I smelled a very bad smell, bad enough to feel like I was about to vomit. I saw something terrible rushing at me, it seemed like it had to be floating, because it was so smooth and fast. It had body parts like Fae and Elves, but they were rotting, swollen, and putrid. It was angry, with big, white eyes, and reaching for me. Its clothes had rotted off. It was screaming like a dying child…” I blinked to clear my head of the image, the sound, the stink.

“It never touched me. My dad came at it and bowled it over, but…” This was harder to say than I had thought. I inhaled, then exhaled. “Revenants are already dead. To stop them, you have to physically tear them apart, or set them on fire. My father was an excellent warrior, but I was just a kid, and unarmed. After a few minutes, I started to help with a sharp stick…

"We eventually incapacitated it into a jerking, vile heap, and both stumbled away. I remember feeling so victorious, at first. My Dad led me in the right direction a ways before sitting down suddenly, hard.” I inhaled again. Exhaled again. “I asked him why he was sitting down, since he had said he wasn't lost. He told me he was mortally wounded, and could go no further. He, he showed me the hole in his side."

My breath hitched as I remembered the hole where the revenant must have grabbed a fistful of my father. Perhaps it had eaten it, perhaps not. Either way, it had been a lethal wound. I had seen his guts opened and leaking through it. That he had walked as far as he did was a testament to his stoicism. My father had a mightier heart than any dragon. I inhaled. Exhaled.

"He told me to tell my mother he loved her. That was when he told me to hide until morning, then I would be safe.”

I pictured my father, such a jovial man, as he had said those words, in the dark of the Forest. After I had led him to his death. He hadn't been angry at all, only glad I was safe, and sad he was saying goodbye. “I begged him to let me carry him to the brothel, and he said he knew he would not survive that long. He laid down a stick in the direction I was to walk. We talked, father to son, until he died about an hour later. Forgive me if I keep that conversation to myself.” Eliza nodded.

I glanced at Eliza. “Dennis Westower is the name my father used for me to make the reservation at the brothel. It is also the name of my sword when it is being used to take lives and inflict pain. There is no Little Johnny Rickfield without Dennis Westower, or vice versa. I have never told anyone the names of my blade before, nor have ever allowed anyone else to bear it. I admit, at first, I gave it to you, only because I preferred you have it rather than my partner’s sword, and I wanted you to be outfitted with a decent weapon, not a training sword. But now, I see that, perhaps, it was the more suitable choice, after all. You are a very complex person yourself, Eliza. I think you might appreciate its story.”

Eliza leaned back a bit. Her lime and viridian eyes were so sharply focused on mine, I completely forgot what we were talking about. They were so lovely. Entrancing really… “Second Officer Andrew, I am honored to be your ward. Likewise, I am privileged to borrow your blade and have knowledge of its name and backstory. I will not share this information with anyone.” She held up her finger. “Just a moment.”

Eliza left for the depths of the tent. I felt heady with so many powerful mixed emotions, for the first time, I was glad to have some days off.

Hmmm… I also kind of needed to go to the bathroom. “Hey Nick?” They were ignoring me! “Tom?” They were laughing, bastards! “David, come on, I have to piss!” I flailed a little for dramatic effect. “Please?”

Notes

ok, sorry for the stupid warning at the beginning, but some people are really sensitive and can't handle any violence. but this story will have a lot of violence. as in war. (like really- that was totally a hint. no, this was not just about andrew & eliza boning, there is an actual story, surprise!)

wasn't exactly my intent to write a novel but, well, fuck it. why not?

shit, why not write three? (no, not 3 in this series, fuck no, haha! i mean i have 2 other stories going at once. dude, a trilogy would be, really something! when i say i'm working on lord andy biersack of the fairy rings, i mean that jokingly, not literally.) ;)