He has no idea how he slept that night.

Or the two others.

He tried his best to continue his old routine, getting kindling, collecting water, working out in the fields. In between he would tell Wilbur stories and make more elixirs for Hester the elixir kept him, well—loopy? Discombobulated? Confused?

Most of the words he tried to say fell to static before he could finish. Alexander made soup to feed him and Hester swallowed on reflex, which he thanked every God he knew profusely.

On the third night.

He woke up.

The day started painfully average, him getting water, looking after the crops and Odin, then telling Wilbur a story. When he went inside to finally make some sort of food from Wilbur's constant whining he warmed up some milk and started to make tea for himself, this kid was going to be the death of him one day. he just knew it.

That's when he heard a groan that was longer, dragged out more then the rest he had been hearing he hastily poured the milk in a small wooden cup, and slowly walked over to Hester. He changed the wrapping again even though the burn had completely healed he didn't know if it still hurt—scratch that—he knew it still hurt, that's how potions worked after all. The mind still thought something was broken the body not saying otherwise, but eventually it would stop and go back to normal, like it never happened to begin with.

When he was tiring the last part, his hand was swiftly swatted away, it was his metal hand but still he gave the man his spare as Hester slowly opened glassy blue eyes.

"Afternoon" Alexander greeted lamely.

"Had a nice rest?" He asked as he practically fell on a wooden stool opposite Hester, the chair creaked under his weight.

"Where's Wilbur?" He said tiredly, his voice sounding dry, the two words scratching like stone scraping against stone.

As if on cue Wilbur bound into view he made a breathy babble then continued scraping the bark off of the wooden floor boards, Hester sighed in relief, Alexander took the opportunity to speak.

"How do you like your tea?" He asked tiredly, it wasn't late, but he didn't usually have to feed three people—making food and elixirs for a few days made him exhausted.

"W-what?" Hester said confused trying to get up, he grimace from the effort Alexander didn't bother to tell him to stop or rest—it would have little input on his behavior it seemed.

"Your tea, how do you drink it?" He clarified, getting up to walk to the boiling pot he set above the fire. Hester merely gawked at him like he spoke a different language.

His eyes darted around the small room, to the door then to Wilbur before landing back on Alexander.

"You can not leave right now." He said calmly.

"There is a storm." He added quickly at the look he got from Hester, it looked like he was trying to make him wither away by his gaze.

"I think I'll take my chances, mate." Hester replied with false kindness at the end of the sentence.

"You will, but you would not for him." Alexander said looking at Wilbur who had started to tug at the carpet instead. Hester just mumbled something under his breath. He looked at his bandaged hand and tugged at the loose knot, the wrapping fall to the ground, as he examines his healthy hand.

His eyes grew wide as he moved his fingers and clench them into a fist, then winced sightly from the movement—it must still hurt.

Alexander poured some warm tea for Hester and put it on the small circle table next to him, a small trail of steam puffs from the top of the cup.

Alexander took some for himself and started to climb the ladder and exit this very awkward excuse of a conversation.

"How long do blizzards last here?" Hester said quietly, him almost missing it entirely.

"A few hours at least, a day at most," He said not turning to look at him, "I would advise you wait until morning." then closed the trapdoor, leaving Wilbur and Hester alone for the night.

He wouldn't have known. But Hester liked the tea.


It had been a few days.

Hester tried multiple times to leave, Alexander giving directions and even asking if he would like anything to take with him.

Hester mostly snapped at him or made petty remarks—however taking the advice nonetheless, he still needed to find a place to stay, warmer clothes if he was going to walk there, and a sustainable source of food and water.

He had just about, none of that worked out.

Which made him foced to rely on this random kid, until he could find any of that for himself. Alexander had brought clothes both for him and Wilbur could wear and told them exactly where to go to find their old house.

However that place was in ruins, Hester could still see the smoke when he looked out the window towards it, the surrounding forest had to be gone with all the animals and plants along with it.

So he was stuck.

He was stuck in this small cottage until Alexander could find someplace for him. -What did I ever do to deserve this?- He thought on one painfully boring evening, he couldn't go back to his old house to find any evidence on who burned it to the ground—but then again, he didn't really need to anyways it was quite easy, he only had one group of people searching for his head making sure it's severed from his spine. Still he mulled over the possibilities of the attack like he could somehow change it, as the days stretched on.

One evening he had spent the afternoon calculating how long until his family would realized he wasn't dead, it would take a few days for the fire to go out then after that they would check the remains for a corpse, his corpse.

He thought of every possible as he looked out the window, could they know where he is now? Either way it didn't matter, he thought as he continued his search around for something to do while being trapped in this small cage. To Hester it reminded him of a dungeon, a very flammable dungeon.

He found some sharpening stones, to kill time he might as well sharpen his sword, Alexander grabbed it when he originally found him. He left it leaning next to the side door, he took it and sat on the wooden stool opposite the sofa and began sliding the rectangular rock back and forth, Wilbur watched with somewhat confusion where he was on the floor looking at the rock as it made a churming sound as blade met stone.

«»«»«»«»«»

. . .The sword was sharp enough he just didn't want to go out, to say he was ready, would he ever be ready? He had been training his whole life for this, he was prepared, right?—but he would have to hurt something—someone—would he ever be ready for that?

Tallulah did it, and she's a hero, the hero in the story books the one who killed the king, killed the monster, killed, everyone. Everyone bad, he was going to become karma like Tallulah giving punishment to those who deserve death, it was charity it was generosity that she gave.

But the closer he got to that dream, the more he realized he might not want it at all.

William always tried to help, heal, and protect. Sometimes he agreed with him, two factions fighting one another while the people in the middle choke from the strife of it all.

But he could never heal something—barely himself at some moments, he was a fighter and a killer and a destroyer.

This was his destiny—his fate, his story already layed out, all he needed to do was let the ink dry.

Yet still something pushed him away from it, like a pull, two twin stars being pulled by each other's collapsing gravity, ghosts trapped in limbo perpetually getting torn and then squished back together and then being ripped again.

What kind of Angle would he be?

Was he even ready for this, to become this. . ?

«»«»«»«»«»

He heard heavy foot steps above him snapping him out of the odd trance, shaking his head ever-so-slightly almost if the memories would become loose and fall from his skull.

Then he saw the trapdoor above him swing open Alexander climb down the ladder holding a book, he silently sat on the sofa and began to read. He seemed unaware of Hester staring daggers at him. Or that Hester was armed when he was not.

For everything that happened, he didn't like the idea of Alexander being close to Wilbur, or vice versa Alexander was dangerous, unpredictable and incredibly strong. Wilbur on the other hand was soft, kind, and gentle, he didn't know what would happen.

Then again, they did spent two days alone together.

Ok so Hester didn't want to be around Alexander.

-I just don't trust him-

Hester though, -he's out here for a reason, maybe he was exiled or wanted by some kingdom but whatever it was, it couldn't be good- Hester ran away from his family, he needed to escape, what if Alexander needed to escape from something?

-Maybe the gallows-

Hester thought humorlessly.

"I think it is sharp enough." Alexander said not looking up from his book.

"Uh?"

"I think it is sharp enough," Alexander repeated "Your blade."

Hester looked down at his sword and it indeed was finely keen it shined and he could see his reflection in it, his eyes had a mark of exhaustion to them it made Hester think of going through a war all by himself.

"Why are you even down here?" Hester said annoyed, Alexander was like a stone thrown in a lake, leaving ripples long after he sunk and drowned in the tides, Alexander merely gestured to the book he was reading, Wilbur looked up confused at how sharp his voice was, he continued.

"You could do that somewhere else."

Alexander just flipped the page ignoring him, truly acting like the child he was, which bothered him because he wanted a reaction, something to yell at, someone to blame for all his misfortune.

The silence was painfully loud swollowing him whole as all his emotions over the past few months come flooding over him, unbottled and undrestrained, he's moving before he could even think of what he's doing.

He yanks the book away from Alexander and yells at him—he doesn't even know what he's saying, the blood roaring in his ears his anger only grows when the same tired, weathered, expression refuses to slip at the threat.

Threat?

Everything he had bottled up seemed to just break with the silence, this damningly loud silence his vision swimming, not seeing or hearing anything other then what he had been trying to avoid.

He threw the closest thing he could get his hands on. He didn't even realize what he was holding before it had already left his hand. His sword stuck to the wall next to where Alexander's neck was—he didn't flinch didn't yell, didn't fight back.

In a way, it was almost freeing.

Seeing someone so calm, so unbotherd. That he almost forgot why he was mad in the first place.

A sudden, wave of shame pass over him, embarrassed for what he did—almost just did, if he didn't miss Alexander would have died. Or worse he would have lived with only one eye. (he already didn't have an arm Hester didn't want to add to that list)

Alexander got up from the sofa and moved to grab another sword this one was a claymore, a very big and heavy looking one—it didn't look to be as heavy as his axe he fought with last time but it still made Hester pause at the sheer amount of weight that it must be to carry. Hester tensed worried for a moment that his calm expression was a facade.

Alexander placed his hand on the side door then turned to Hester. "Are you coming?" He said surprisingly nonchalant with everything that just happened, Hester stared dumbfounded.

"You are trapped in a cage, with no where to go. You have built up energy."

He said turning the doorknob the room flooded with the white light of the snow, making Wilbur and Hester both put their hands to their eyes. All Hester could see was the familier silhouette of Alexander, he continued.

"Spar with me."

"Huh?"

"Spar with me."

For as much as Hester didn't want to, his confusion gave way to curiosity and Alexander's tone gave little room for argument.

Hester grabbed the sword still ridiculously stuck in the wall and proceeded to walk out into the snowy mountain filled landscape.

It was nice out—still cold, Hester could see his and Alexander's breath turning into a small trail of smoke but still the sun was out and it wasn't snowing, perfect weather for sparing, the snow melted making the area around the building surrounded by grass and dirt. Confusion was building up like a cannon, making Hester follow Alexander obediently like some sort of minion—or a lose child.

Alexander did not turned to face him, and Hester tightened his grip on the sword feeling the leather dig into the palms of his hands, the last time he was in a fight, he almost had his head cut clean off—which he still didn't forgive Alexander for. (even if he did technically start it)

Alexander walked a few feet away then turned facing him, he want into a fighting position, putting most of his weight onto the back of his feet letting the claymore's tip almost touch the snow, he kept most of his body hidden making it hard to see any weak points.

Hester on the other hand held his sword high, letting his feet spared wide apart his body tense like a snake coiled up, waiting to strike, however very open compared to Alexander.

And then, the fight begins.

Hester immediately runs trying to catch him by surprise as he aims for Alexander's chest, he expertly blocks to Hester's dismay.

His and Alexander's fighting styles were in striking opposites, Hester fought with light, short and easy to attacks places, he was light on his feet but Alexander was different, he knows he's slower then him and decides to take on more of a defensive preference, however that doesn't stop Hester seeing the perfect opportunity to shove him.

Alexander stumbles backwards keeping himself on his feet but then swinging the sword and just barely grazing Hester's face as a streak of warm crimson stains the side of his cheek.

Hester's face quickly shifts to a toying smile, the initial adrenaline of his anger fading into a pleasant focus as he takes to the sky's landing on the roof of the small cottage preparing his next attack.

He dives down trying to land on Alexander, he misses but still getting up pushing through the snow, a swing landing a slash across Alexander's left shoulder, delighted in the hiss it evokes.

Very uncharacteristic of Hester—still couldn't help but chuckle, the short spaces between blows being filled with laughter and short quips.

Teasing quip.

Not trying to distract Alexander—no just to possibly know a little more of this strange person that stands before him.

"So—"

Hester started, as he stepped back, narrowly avoiding a strike sending a few strands of blonde hair flowing through the air.

"How did you learn to fight? Read it in some book of yours?"

Alexander ignored him Hester persisted.

"Were you taught with multiple people, or just yourself and a teacher?"

He blocked a blow and waited for an answer, Alexander said with an arched eyebrow very confused.

"Uh, military training."

Hester hummed an acknowledgment. Alexander's metal prosthetic seemed to become stiff at the mention, but it doesn't stop Hester trying to kick Alexander's leg from under him, Alexander jumped back unfazed.

"You?"

Alexander asked suddenly, catching both off guard.

"I was taught by my family."

He said before he could stop himself, embarrassed he quickly trys changing topics asking.

"Why do you live ou—"

Hester stopped, as Alexander tried to nick at his arm, he blocked, the weight of the claymore pushing him back slightly, feeling like an entire house crashed upon him.

"Out here?" He finished both straining against each other's strength.

Alexander stayed quiet, and continued to dig his blade deeper into his own, maybe if the two were not so close, maybe if Hester was not waiting for an answer he would have noticed the way his eyes shifted uneasy at him, as he thought, finally saying.

"Because I like it out here."

"Why?"

He blurted out, they both stepped back to catch their breath.

"Because I. . . I like it here, it is calm and quiet, there's no more wars, there's no bloodshed or everlast chaos."

Heater stayed quite listening.

"And, I like that."

Alexander mumbled, looking down at the sword he was holding—a sword that only had one purpose.

They both knew that purpose.

"It is nice." Hester agreed softly.

"You can stay as long as you need." Alexander muttered quietly

Hester still didn't know a lot about Alexander, learning only little snippets from what he said or did, the way he slightly titled his head, or shifting his feet as he prepared his next move.

«»«»«»«»«»

Fighting another person shows a lot of different things about them, even if either have just met, fighting someone is a very different relationship then normal, they both need to quickly gather information about the person, over very small indications, then see how they react,

It shows a lot about a person and the life they lived.

The telltale sigh of who they once were, the dreams and nightmares they have, a split second as they loosen their hand while trying to take the punch.

It's a sign that becomes detrimental at times, a moment that stops the fluid motion that comes with a battle upon its discovery, it will become everyone's downfall eventually.

The boy was determined to find his, and get rid of it, spend a lifetime to never let the tell slip, never admit or inform anyone about it.

The boy giggled thinking of the idea of fighting someone, becoming a warrior and saving people.

It sounded like a dream.

The boy couldn't wait to start training, he already was, but he wanted to become the best, beat the best and win a title of his own.

He would become better than the Angels of Death.

«»«»«»«»«»

The playing fields begin to even out as the two progress, getting steadily more dangerous and brutal as time goes on making the battle becoming more erratic and feral then either have fought in some time.

Alexander fighting with force and heavy strokes making even if one hits it's mark possibly making it fatal. As he aims for Hester's chest and head, the sword almost hitting his heart.

Hester ducking and weaving trying to find an opportunity to strike as well, even as he dodgers a sharp stab to the leg.

Hester making more and more dangerous strikes as well forcing Alexander to defend himself as Hester trys fighting faster—stronger, he trys aiming for Alexander's chest he quickly blocks it, pushing against Hester's sword making him foced to push back, the two grit their teeth.

Until Alexander pushes upwards practically throwing Hester through the air behind him, Hester clumsily lands on his feet confused, but prepared as Alexander swings left and right, foceing him to inche back, and back, until—

Something small runs in between the two causing both Hester and Alexander to stop, Alexander mid attack, blade up high.

"Um, Wilbur?"

Wilbur was standing in front of the two of them, with watery eyes as tears began to form on the sides.

"What's wrong mate?"

Hester said softly trying to comfort Wilbur, Wilbur just pointed at the sword Hester was holding then at Alexander's shoulder which was drenched in blood from one of the strickes he didn't block.

"Don't worry, he'll be just fine, ok?"

Wilbur then point at the sword Alexander was holding then to Hester's face which was also leaving a trail of blood, dripping down on his neck and hair.

"Don't worry about us, we're going to be just fine."

He said sympathetically, as he gently wrapped his arms around Wilbur picking him up, -why was the kid crying over something so mundane? It's just blood- Hester thought lost and confused.

"I was just, um bored and—uh Alexander through this would be a fun idea."

"Thank you for shifting all the blame on me."

Alexander said tiredly, Hester had to suffocate a laugh, the three began to walk back to the cottage, Hester would never admit it but not feeling the same malice or annoyance towards Alexander before instead, maybe something akin to,

Fondness?

Perhaps,

Maybe just how Wilbur stole his heart, maybe Alexander did so too, the damn fool had been working his way into his heart since day one—with sparing then saving his life now twice.

He realized he didn't need his family to be with him, he didn't need the Goddess of Death to help him, he found someone (or someone found him) who was kind. He didn't need a platoon of footsoldiers—he never did, and he found something much, much more favorable.

maybe it was from him being tired or trapped with the same two people for a while—or maybe it was completely Hester's imagination but he would swear on his life.

That he saw a smile flash across Alexander's face.

And maybe the corner of his mouth was tilted as well—but he would never tell.

He knows practically nothing about Alexander, barely spent any time with him, even then Hester didn't exactly make himself particularly nice to be around. However even subconsciously, he sort of learnt things about him.

Things that he liked about him.

Even if only subconsciously.


Hester woke the next morning—technically night—it was early, far too early to get anything done, the side of his face feeling like it had been burned then put in freezing water, from the day old scar now there, courtesy of Alexander. The sun hadn't risen at all—the moon being covered by the looming mountain tops making everything seem darker as the blue light was block out. Wilbur was precariously laying on Hester's chest as usual, he slowly got up, placing Wilbur on the sofa then walking to the small door to the deck he looked out at the vast plateau they were on.

When he opened the door however, he wasn't alone.

Alexander stood looking out, leaning against the railing, unfazed when Hester placed his hands on the railing as well, the two looked out and watched the midnight sky.

He didn't see anything out of the ordinary—only the same things he had been seeing for the past week.

Snow rabbits and foxes, and the occasional field mouse running through the crops.

He stretched out his wings, opening them as far as he could, trying to steal the nearly non-existent light from the cloudy sky.

They became slightly chilled from the weather, but he didn't mind still trying to capture the moons rays. He didn't usually spread his wings so openly close to someone—even his family, the back of his wings was a obvious weak point, easily the most important part of him—even more then his heart sometimes. His wings are his soul. However Alexander was so calm so quiet it was like no one was there.

Like he was alone, yet not lonely.

Alexander didn't say anything, rather not ruining the perfect silence, Hester decided to keep it that way, only hearing the wind blow and the floors occasionally creek under their feet.

It was calm.

It was quite.

He sort of understands now why Alexander lives here, nothing happens—however to Hester that's one of the problems, he was being hunted right now, the idea buried itself into his mind as he pushed it away letting the wind sweep the idea farther away. He doesn't know how long they stayed like that, but the silence was familiar, leaving a satisfaction of having something so soft to live up to, instead of being alone, this was much preferable. He felt his wings brush up against something odd, something soft, and looked to his side.

He had nudged Alexander—nothing hard, it's just he didn't even know his wings could go out so far. He quickly closed them, folding them tightly to his back making sure he didn't hit anything else.

Alexander hadn't said anything about it.

-Is he ok?-

Most—no, not most all of the times he hit something or someone, he would get yelled at and scolded. Of course Hester could understand the idea well, don't touch people, it was an obvious rule of thumb. That's normal right?

"Sorry"

Hester said softly, he didn't know if he was apologizing for hitting him with his wings, or making him bleed last time, or snapping at him for the past few days, or nearly killing him three times now—he just felt that, after everything, Alexander deserves an apology.

"I am sorry too."

Alexander mumbled awkwardly, he wasn't apologizing for getting in the way, like Hester, it was for a lot of things.

"For what?" Hester chuckle dryly, Alexander sighed lightly.

"Where to begin?"

"Oh, mate everyone says that quit being dramatic." Hester said playfully Alexander smiled warmly.

"Ok, well I suppose, I was a little pushy and stubborn to you. Then I have not been helping you leave all that much, and after that I almost stab you like—what? Three time now?"

Hester weezed at the end as Alexander turned to him, looking slightly embarrassed with himself, however Hester liked how up front he was with everything.

It was nice.

The two continue talking long after the sun had risen and was at its peak, making each other talk about random miscellaneous topics.

Subconsciously Hester wrapping the two of them with his wings as the cold silence became filled with soft laugher.

And Hester wouldn't want it any other way.


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Art by (unknown if anyone does tell me)
All writing was originally done on Novelist
I think this is my least favorite chapter, it's all over the place and sorry for that! Next one I'll try and pick one idea and stick to it, but character development poggg you will see a lot more of these two so I hope you like this dynamic!
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