Somebody That I Used To Know

[Alan]

Front doors are funny things.  You can tell a lot about a beast by them.  There are tall, forbidding ones, grand, ornate ones.  Little, comfortable ones.  Careless ones, like a board leaned against an opening in an attempt to look as if you were trying to have a door.  As it followed, Alan found that beasts were generally similar to their front doors.  At least in some way or other.

These were decidedly on the ornate  and grand side.   He disliked them immensely.  Still, there was something deliciously dramatic about having an army on each door, pushing so hard that they flew open in front of you, leaving you standing framed and heroic looking in the doorway with your cape fluttering out around you.

Alan's cape did not fly out around him.  He sighed.  Life could be disappointing sometimes.

"Morleo!  I summon thee!"

"That's a bit archaic."  Came Tobias's voice from behind his left shoulder.

"Who asked you?" Alan muttered and stared out at the swirling mists of morning.  Somewhere far beyond the walls of Kotir, the sun was rising and turning the world into a dull, grey filled morning, full of twisted shadows and fallen hopes.

"Who is it that summons the great Morleo, Chief of the Children of the Water? Whichever one of you it is, are you here to speak for your beasts in absolute surrender?"

From within the fog, a shadow appeared and moved forwards, flanked by the massive shape of an army behind him.  When the head shadow became Morleo, and Alan could see his eyes, the water rat came to a stop, leaning on a large staff.

"What's there to stop me killing him right here and now and ending this?" Alan hissed out of the side of his mouth.

"Ya promised me." Rousseau hissed back.  "He's mine."

"But-"

"What do you want heathen?"

Alan looked into the hard cold eyes.  "I am here to issue a challange."

The rat laughed.  "And who among you demands this honor to fight with the lord of the children?"

"I do!" 

Alan groaned as Rousseau stepped forward, holding her white flag of parley high.  Reaching out, Alan grabbed her tunic and hauled her backwards.

"I told you, I do the talking!" he hissed. 

"Well then get t' the point already!"

Morleo looked at them in amusement. "You send forth a half blind, female challenger, a beast not even affiliated with this castle to fight the beast who took down your mighty lord and master? Although it would be fitting, as I believe she has a score to settle with me, it's an interesting choice." 

Alan glared at Rouseau before turning back to Morleo.  "We send forth a beast we deem fit to kill you," he said.  "Do you accept?"

Morleo eyed them, his paw running up and down the intricate carvings on his staff.

"What are your terms, heathen?"

Alan spread his paws.  "Mild, simple.  If we win, you release your prisoners, and return to your woodlands in complete and utter surrender.  You will pay a specified tribute to Kotir every year without fail, and you will never, ever, so much as threaten the Lord of Mossflower again with even so much as a whispered curse."

Morleo smiled at him.  "And if I take the upper paw?"

Alan bowed his head.  "We will submit to your will without question."

"And if my will is to put you all to instantanious and painful death?"

"Then I'm sure some of us will complain about it.  That's what generally happens in these situations."

"And if I reject your terms?"

Alan motioned at the beasts who had thrown open the doors, and each and every one of them raised a loaded crossbow.

"I could kill you now."  He glanced back at Rousseau.  "Please?" he muttered.

"No," she snarled.

Morleo laughed and waved a paw.  Behind him, the shape of his army solidified into beasts brandishing weapons and ready for battle.  "You wouldn't live to tell the tale."

"But Kotir, would stand."  Alan matched Morleo's gaze.  "And such is the will of Vulpuz."

"Your pagan god does not interest me."

"Do I care?"

Morleo gazed at him for a long time.  Then he nodded his head.  "I accept your terms."

Alan nodded back.  "What time then?"

"When the mist clears, I will be waiting."

"We won't disappoint you."

Alan turned to go back into Kotir, his soldiers moving to pull the doors closed behind him.

"Wait!"

He stopped.  Morleo was holding up a paw. 

"What?"

"I want to see my son."

Alan froze.  "Why?"

"I want to know he's alive."

"He is."

"Prove it."

"Why?"

"Because if he's not, there is nothing to stop me from simply bringing this fortress down upon your head, stone by stone.  Without mercy.  And believe me when I say, I can be quite without mercy."

Alan nodded at a guard, who saluted, and then ran to fetch Mirdros.

There was a tight silence while he was gone, as everyone waited with baited breath for the little rat's return.  When Mirdros was ushered to Alan's side, the little rat waved at his father.  Morleo stared at him as if he would devour him with his eyes. 

Mirdros stonily stared at the ground, his ears drooping, tail dragging the ground.

Alan gestured.  "As you can see, he is unharmed."  He waved a paw and the guard pulled the little rat back into the fortress.  Midros didn't resist, and his tail left a trail behind him as it dragged through the dust on the floor.

Morleo followed him with his eyes, and then turning back to Alan  he nodded.

"When the mist clears."

Alan opened his mouth to say something, but Morleo was already gone.  Swallowed up by the fog.

He motioned at his soldiers, and they forced the doors closed.  Barring them with a huge beam.

"Well that went well."

Alan turned to Tobias.  "I don't trust him."

"Really?"

He glanced at Rousseau.  "I think he's plotting something.  I think that no matter what happens, he'll try to take down Kotir."

"But Vulpuz said..."

"Yes I know."  Alan stared at the ground.  "He said that once he's dead then there is no more danger.  But I just don't trust him.  He never told us that over half of us would die.  He never told us who it was, for all we really know, it could be a random soldier acting in Morleo's name."

"Do you think-"

"I don't know what to think!"


Alan stormed back into the heart of Kotir.  "But ready or not, you're going out to face the father of a kit, and kill him."

"That ain't fair."

Alan grinned at her.  "Backing down?"

"Never."

"Good."

He moved off, and after moving from one place to another, settled next to Konner.  His brother never even changed his breathing.  Alan reached down and took his twin's paw. 

"This is it," he whispered.  "If this works, I promise you, I'll make a deal with the devil himself to get you back."

The sleeping beast never even flinched. 

Sighing, Alan released his paw, and reaching into his tunic, pulled out the ragged bit of paper that Radish had given him so long ago.

He opened it, and for the first time in three seasons, let himself read.

My Dearest Alan,

Your mother says you're getting my letters, but your father says you won't read them.  He says you keep them locked in a box in your desk.  But I can't stop writing to you.  Maybe I cling to false hope that some day you'll open them and regret what you've done in sending me away.  Yes, I'm angry at you.  I hate you.  There are days I wish you dead.  And at the same time, I get through every day on the hope that someday you'll regret what you've done, and send for me.  Because I love you.  And I hate myself for that. 

Gerry ate an entire woodpidgeon leg yesterday.  I thought you should know that.  Because I want you to regret what you're missing.  Someday Alan, I will come back, despite your wishes.  And I won't be afraid of you any more.  Fear that day my love.  I do. 

Abigale