Title:In the Arms of the Dead
Fandom:Sleepy Hollow
Pairing:Ichabod/The
Horseman
Author:ZzoaozZ
Feedback:zzoaozz@wireco.net
Rating:Adult
Only(sex, gothic atmosphere)
Disclaimer:The characters unfortunately do not
belong to me. They were created by Washington
Irving and totally remodeled by
Tim Burton No money has changed hands and this is entirely for
my own
amusement.
begin pt 10
The Hessian held the
slender boy tightly. Ichabod was relating the events of the past few moments in
an desperate voice. He knew the matter was urgent but he could not take his
eyes off the small book lying forsaken in the mud, the sign of his victory. He
grinned fiercely against the boy's wet hair trying to hide his euphoria as he
listened to Ichabod's broken synopsis of what had transpired between him and the
girl.
He knew well that he should be taking action, planning a course of
defense, but a strange tightness in his chest made the danger distant and
unimportant. Everything that mattered was here and now, in this very moment.
This was the culmination of his life and death, the salvation he had not thought
to find, his only glimpse of Heaven. It would not matter if he faced judgement
in the next heartbeat as long as he could hold on to this one as long as
possible.
The boy's violent shivering was what finally propelled the
Horseman into action. Effortlessly, he swept the human into his arms and
carried him to Daredevil over his protests. The horse stood
uncharacteristically still and even bowed one long leg to make lifting the boy
into the saddle easier.
Once Ichabod was settled, he mounted behind and
spurred Daredevil back toward the Tree of the Dead. The trip through the forest
was over in moments, and the Stallion was flinging himself fluidly into the
grasping mouth of the portal.
Inside the comparative warmth of his
abode, the Horseman helped his mortal lover from the saddle and held him until
he was steady on his feet. Daredevil moved forward to sniff at the boy tossing
his head defiantly when he saw his master's measuring look. The Hessian shook
his head. The animal had come to care for the lad. In life, the damned horse
had never been willing to tolerate another person's presence within kicking or
biting distance of his master. Daredevil's easy acceptance of the situation was
somehow disquieting.
The horseman reached to unfasten the sodden cloak,
but was stopped by an icy hand. "The pin," Ichabod's voice was rough from the
weather and the tears, "where did you get that?" The Hessian slid the pin from
the cloak, letting the heavy weight fall to the floor to vanish soundlessly, and
held it toward the fire.
"It was my father's and his before him. This
is our family crest. My father was a wealthy land owner, a lord you might say,
in the Hesse-Kassel region of Germany, my homeland."
"What does the
symbol on the back mean?"
The Hessian turned the pin over frowning.
"That is a strange tale. It was winter and my battalion was sent to subdue a
town near Jamestown. The battle was fierce and bloody." A savage grin lit the
Horseman's face. "I was locked in battle with a pair of guardsmen on foot.
They were the first real soldiers we had met. Most of the men we fought were
poorly armed peasants and even women and children."
"I moved around for a
killing blow to one of the men, but before I could land it, a bright red bird
shot up from the brush between Daredevil's hooves. He started and I pulled
around in time to catch the second guardsman before he buried a knife in my
back. His companion grabbed me from behind ripping the cloak and pin from
around my neck."
"I searched the field when the battle was over and the
town put to the torch, but it was too thick with bodies and debris. I thought
both lost for good. Then we were ordered to move out."
"It was winter
and bitter cold so we sheltered in a small village two days to the West. The
people there were loyalist and welcomed our British commanders with open arms.
The Hessian troops they merely tolerated as a necessary evil. Most avoided us,
not speaking or meeting our eyes. We had to tend to our own food and wounds.
That is why it surprised me so much to hear a girl call me by name. I was on my
way to the livery to see to Daredevil when she stepped out of the shadows in
front me. She was a tiny thing with long brown hair and huge eyes that seemed
to command her whole face. She was dressed very plainly in homespun material
and she wore neither coat nor shoes."
"I was an outsider even among the
other mercenaries who feared me as much as my targets. I was even then called
the Horseman. No one on this shore could have known my name. I asked her how
she knew me, but she just smiled and held a bundle up to me. It was my cloak,
cleaned and mended with this pin lying safe on top. When I asked how she came
to have it, she just smiled again in her strange way and shook her head."
"When she did speak, her words made no sense to me. She said to
remember that cardinals are free and death is never the end. My first instinct
was to seize her, demand she explain, but something stopped me. There was an
innocence about her, a childlike happiness. To touch her would have been wrong
in a way I did not have words to explain. I could not speak harshly to her or
frighten her into telling. I reached for my purse to find her a coin and when I
looked up she was gone as silently as if she had never been there. I followed
her naked tracks through the snow until they just disappeared. I found these
carvings that night."
He shook off the dream in time to catch the mortal
as he fainted.
Once again the Horseman carried the unconscious boy to his
bed pausing to carefully strip away the wet, muddy clothes before covering him
with the quilt. He felt a brush of velvet against his neck and looked up into
Daredevil's red eyes. An idea came to him then, the seed of plan. He brushed
wet hair back from the boy's face, tenderly.
Mounting the Warhorse, he
prepared to face the world above and the raging storm once more.