HEY LAVINIA, ALL THE RANGERS ARE DEAD AGAIN. ALL OF THEM. YEP. AND THEN TARO COMES LIMPING OUT OF THE MISt
Please Note: This contains death, mentions of cannibalism, and body horror.
Lavinia stumbled through Alvasgard now, hardly able to see. The storm still tore at the forest behind her. Months had passed. Maybe more. Either way, it had been too long. They didn’t have the rations. They didn’t have the food.
It went the same way as it had a dozen years prior. A storm came up in the midst of winter, almost out of nowhere. It was worse, though. Worse than it had ever been. Ice settled on the trees above, blackening the already dark forest, and weighed down the team. Lavinia ushered them quickly. If they stopped, they were lost. The first cave she found became shelter for however long it might last.
Once the food ran out, the weakest horses were the first to go. A few brave souls tried to venture out and hunt, but if any returned, they were frozen and half-dead already. None of them lasted the night, and though everyone wanted to perform a proper funeral, Lavinia knew they couldn’t afford the luxury. They might be able to use the pyres for heat, but it would only be if they had enough meat to last the week. Only if the horses weren’t enough for the week.
Spinner had been the first to go. He was Lavinia’s truest companion, the most beautiful of horses. But she would not allow anyone else to suffer where she herself would not.
Poor Syd, poor Jem. They were children. Too young to know the taste of their beloved steeds. Too young to see them slaughtered before them. No matter what mercy Lavinia showed, there was no kind way to kill a horse. And poor Syd had to watch. Gentle, sweet Syd, who only killed for food. But it was always game or livestock. Deer or chicken or cattle. Never a horse. Never his own horse, to be sure.
And by the time the horses were gone, more than half the rangers had frozen already. Not even funeral pyres could keep them warm. Not even blocking the cave as best they possibly could. Dehydration was another killer, but disease was the worst of all.
Christopher caught cold once. It moved to wreak havoc on the lungs of everyone else, until there was frozen vomit and waste at the far edges of the cave. A dozen more rangers were its victim, and Lavinia knew she was blessed to have not been among them. It did not make it easier to bear her grief.
The men looked to her as a ruler now. No order went questioned, no suggestion went ignored. Lavinia’s word was law, because she had survived this before. Because she knew how this would go. But, she hoped, it would end earlier than it had before.
Time still passed, Rangers still survived, though still more died. Alistair and Christopher were not the last to go, but she wept openly nonetheless. Lavinia refused to eat for days, if it meant she had to taste them. It was only when she collapsed that she consented to take a bite. (And retched everything up less than an hour later.)
Jem was the last one to go. Ey were such a strong person. Admirable. Gentle, when the mood struck em. Kind when the opportunity rose. She had always believed in em, always knew ey were more than all they seemed. Ey leaned against their shoulder, bony and tiny and fragile, and she hummed songs while ey slept.
"Captain?" ey said, moving to look up at her.
"Sh-hh…" she insisted, and ran her fingers through eir hair. "Don’t speak. Don’t waste your energy."
Ey tried to protest, but the grumbles turned into a pathetic cough. She pressed eir head to her shoulder, sqeezing her eyes shut.
"Sh-hh," she cooed. ”Sh-hh.”
"I—" Jem coughed. "I’m sorry——Cap-c-Captain."
"I think we’ve reached the point," she said, "that you can call me by my name."
Lavinia could feel the life leave him. She let out a screeching wail, cursing the gods and the forest and everything else that had ever existed for taking such a child. Such a good ranger, such a wonderful knight. She screamed at the sky. She howled at the wind. And in time, Lavinia couldn’t tell if the screaming was her own voice, or just the storm around her.
It was June when the storms let up. A year and a half had passed, not that she knew. It felt too much of an eternity. Too much time on her own. She had scrounged for berries on the floor, ate anything she found without bothering to cook it first. It was mere habit that kept her alive — if it could only be called that.
Weakly, limping, she made it back to the Wastes. Weather-torn and barren. Disgustingly empty. As if there wasn’t enough wrong with the world.
It took another moment before she realized the nothingness was mist. The emptiness before her was simply fog marring the view.
In a way, she was grateful. Lavinia didn’t know if she had the strength to see much further past her hand. If she had the courage to see what had become of Nore.
"Ho, there!" a voice cried out of the mist.
Lavinia was sure that she was dead.
Until she saw who it was. Mounted on an elk like some sort of god, his hair longer and whiter than ever. There was no anger in his voice, no joy or laughter in it either. "Captain," he said. "You look like you’ve nearly died."
Was it disgust she heard? Disgust for her current state, and the fact that she still lived? "You may as well finish it, then." She held no sorrow, nor any challenge. Lavinia spoke the truth. If Taro wanted so badly to be the captain, he should gain it the way they had in days of old.
And end her suffering to "I bare my throat to you," she said, and almost marvelled at how weak the voice was. Could it really be coming from her? "Pray you, Sir. Please make it quick." It wouldn’t take much energy. He could surely get it over fast.
She looked up at the old man, and pleaded with him. Lavinia would weep now, had she any tears left to shed. But once Jem was gone, there was nothing worse the world could do. Nothing. Nothing. She had suffered it all.
