Alana Fenwick (hermanita) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-07-24 00:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! [1979-07] july, alana fenwick, caradoc dearborn |
Who: Caradoc Dearborn and Alana Fenwick
What: Caradoc lurks at Alana's house. Alana wonders why there is a large ginger lurking at her house.
Where: Appletreewick, North Yorkshire
When: Twilight, July 23
Rating: PG-13 at most?
Status: Complete
It wasn't hard to utilise a small series of logical equations to a) deduce where the Fenwick cottage was located in Yorkshire and b) that Tabitha, given her predisposition to anarchy, would be hot upon the heels of Alana Fenwick as soon as the blood dried on her fur. Tucking a holster beneath his arm for his favourite pistol and a knife in his boot, he dressed for the blustery Yorkshire weather before preparing to leave.
So, sticking to forests and seldom travelled roads, he Apparated within the bounds of Yorkshire and with the forest as his cover, finally reached the borders of Fenwick property. He set to work immediately, pulling his wand from his pocket to illuminate the ground around him. He made one full circuit around the property in search of suspicious paw prints before lifting his head to begin the process of weaving a set of intricate wards amongst the trees.
Alana wasn't known to spend inordinate amounts of time gazing out her window, but the past few days had left her surprisingly, listless. At least, she found it surprising; she was unused to grief, and it welled like ink from a quill left upon the page too long. She was admittedly upset with her parents' complacency with an altogether poorly-put-together explanation for Benjy's demise, and her own fruitless attempts to pull something concrete from memory that might satisfy the niggling doubt in her head (and indeed, her heart, though she was disinclined to acknowledge this). With the workday over and a distinct lack of homework, which she so often had distracted herself with in the past, she sat in a sturdy wooden chair at her window, gazing out into the twilight.
She was about to retire to bed, thinking that at least sleep would be productive, when she caught sight of a small light travelling steadily along the perimeter of the property. Curious, she leaned forward, allowing her breath to fog the glass. It soon became clear to her that in fact, there was a man holding this light, and for some reason he seemed to have stopped just outside the limits of the house wards. A strange, cold uncertainty - perhaps this was fear, which she had never felt so acutely as she had in the last few days - gripped her. With little hesitation, she took a hold of her wand. She thought, for a moment, of informing her parents, but they had both been so exhausted, and had only now fallen asleep. Certain that if she stayed inside the wards, she could hold her own (her stubborn independence overriding her common sense), Alana made her way downstairs and finally arrived in the back yard.
She called out into the night, "Who's there?"
Shite. He had hoped with at least half his heart that Alana and her parents were too involved with their own grief to see him as he worked. But the voice that called to him betrayed both youth and feminity, so he automatically assumed that its bearer was Alana. The guilt, a thick iron claw, pierced his stomach and clawed through his intestines as he froze and considered his options. "Alana," he said, his voice a firm gust of dried leaves as he held his hands out and stepped into the half light.
Disregarding the sheer nonsensical quality of the reply - in fact, he had not answered her question - she stepped forward, peering cautiously out beyond the iron fence, where stood a tall man whose features she could only just make out. She could not recognise him, and though his manner was nonthreatening, she only raised her wand higher and spoke again, firmly. "These are strange times to be lurking about, sir, so you'll pardon me if I ask you to identify yourself." There was a faint quaver in her voice, and she fought to keep her hand steady.
... and he could not help but feel pride in her bravery and spirit. "We spoke - well, wrote - last night." With a quick movement, he pocketed his wand and took a step closer, just out of reach of the house's wards. "Caradoc Dearborn."
Alana paused, and her wand lowered slightly, but not enough to allow him to come closer. Her mind raced as she took in the man's features. She fought to recall if anyone else had known they had spoken, and it occurred to her that their initial conversation had been public. But then, surely in that public conversation she had not made it in any way plain that she may trust this man, so why would any enemy use this as a disguise?
Caught between wondering if she was paranoid and worrying for her safety and that of her family, Alana could only thickly, almost vulnerably, voice two questions. "How do I know I can trust you? Why are you here?" She had reconsidered several of her conversations the day before and wondered if perhaps, in her unsettledness, she had been foolish, had jeopardised her family. The thought made her sick, but she would take responsibility for what she had done and defend what was hers. What she had left.
The emotion infused into that voice tore away his excuses to 'save' her and he stumbled for a moment, caught between the desire to comfort and the knowledge that walking through those wards could be very tricky indeed. "You don't know if you can trust me but I can only hope that you perceive I don't mean any harm." Pause. "I was searching your land for tracks and then I decided to add a few more wards, you see. Just things that would make any Dark creature think twice about stepping onto your lawn."
Carefully, Alana stepped closer to the fence. She gazed out at the man with whom, over journals, she had felt an odd connection - something she had attributed only to academia. "And you chose to do this now, creeping like some common thief in the dark?" She was slowly slipping from wary to wryly amused. "Really, sir." She curled a hand around one of the iron bars of the gate.
"I thought I'd rather not be causing undue complications to the, uh, situation ... " he said rather shame-facedly since, of course, he had been seen and was not nearly so wraith-like as he had hoped. "One less thing to worry about."
"Well, that backfired," Alana replied, rather bluntly. "You've nearly given me a coronary!" She sighed, then, and leaned some against the fence, pursing her lips. She was unsure of how to proceed. Perhaps it might have made the most sense to ask him to leave, or simply to go back inside and leave him to his work, but there was something inescapably pleasant and calming about standing in the cool air, speaking with this earnest man. She could not (and she would ask herself over and over, why) turn him away, not when a certain void was a little less empty.
"I could let you in, I suppose," she said softly. "But I must take your wand."
"I would give it to you gladly - " he paused, laying the length of wood upon his outstretched palm. "You will let me finish my work afterward, though?"
For a moment, Alana contemplated the wand lying on Caradoc's hand before her. Perhaps his willingness to give it up was enough proof of his allegiances? Yet, recent events and warnings from so many friends and strangers compelled her to reach through the bars, grasp the wand, and tuck it in her pocket, her eyes on his all the while. A small smile lit her face briefly, and she beckoned him down the yard some so that she could unlock the gate. "Aye," she replied. "Ward away." She pulled the gate open.
His face betrayed nothing. He'd been without his wand before and was just as good with his fists in a scrap - though he inherently knew that any contention within the next hours would be from neither of them. A shoulder raised as she took his wand and he smirked crookedly, moving down the fence to stride through the gate. "I'll make it a Dark creature ward only."
Alana nodded, peering out into the darkness beyond Caradoc, as if expecting some manner of creature to reveal itself in the forest around. But none did, and she withdrew, waving Caradoc into the yard. She shut the gate firmly behind him, double-checked the lock, and turned to face him. The inital adrenaline was retreating, and she felt both relaxed and shaky. She leaned against the tree nearest the gate. "Are you always up this late, sir?"
His appraising gaze took in the neat, comfortable dwelling that had been Benjy's home. It seemed to fade into the Yorkshire sky, all grey and soft about the edges. Alana, her angles in stark relief against the tree, was all that rooted this strange land to reality. "Always. I am blessed with a flexible schedule. Are you?"
"No," she replied softly, allowing herself to conform to the curves of the tree, comforted by its solidity. She regarded the sky, where the waning moon shone from behind a rainless cloud. "Only when I have a lot t'think about, I suppose." There was a note of sorrow there, and her mouth tightened. She met Caradoc's eyes again, and she replaced emotion with humour. "I was about to get t'bed, when I saw you a-wandering."
Marion would have known the perfect thing to say, she would have taken the girl in her arms and comforted her. He wished for his wife's instinctual perception of feelings but he was hampered by the fading awkwardness of their first meeting and the inappropriateness of embracing a young girl he barely knew. "I've been told a good dose of tea with a pinch - a pinch, mind you - of salvia does wonders for an overactive mind."
"Aye." She gave him a wobbly sort of smile and let out a breath. "I can't help the overactive mind thing, though, I think it must be genetic. My brother-" Here she halted uncomfortably. "My brother, he thought faster than he spoke, he had so many ideas, I could hardly understand some of what he... and now that's all gone. He could have-" She closed her eyes, forcing herself back under control, for she had felt tears beginning to form. It wouldn't do to cry, not in front of this man she'd just met. She took a stabilising breath and shook her head.
"There was so much he could have done, and I can't believe he would throw all that away for no reason. I just can't."
His lips pressed together into a firm line - he wanted to tell her that Benjy had very good reason for his actions - and for the first time, he hated the secrecy of the Order. She was grieving, she hurt so badly and he knew the thought of her brother dying for a higher, nobler cause would perhaps save her from such resounding sorrow. A brief sigh. "Trust your instincts."
"It's not about instincts," Alana sighed, shaking her head. "That might do all right for some people, but me? It's just logic, sir." She looked up at him, quiet determination and certainty in her face. "How can it possibly be a coincidence that he dies mysteriously two days before his best mates, doesn't tell anyone where he's going or what he's doing- it just simply doesn't fit." She shook her head again, displeasure in every corner of her face. "He - he was up to something. I don't know what. But he was no fool. I do know that."
With the bridge of his nose pinched between thumb and forefinger, he sighed bodily, shoulders shaking in his indecision. How much could he tell her without endangering her (and would investigating for herself bring her more danger)? "I hope you find out, Alana. Let me know if I can be of any assistance."
Alana peered up through dark eyelashes and couldn't help but smile. "It would appear from tonight, sir, that even if I did not let you know, you would assist me."
"So it seems," he replied, smiling crookedly as his shoulder met the tree trunk's wide berth. He didn't know what she did to him but it awoke all of the quietude and the gentleness within him. He wanted to hold her and place himself between she and the world.
She stood without a sound for several moments, her eyes distant with contemplation. For the first time since she'd stood at the door of the cottage and heard that her brother was irretrievably lost, she was without the quiet panic and chaos in her mind. Caradoc's steady and solemn presence gave her reprieve, and she allowed herself to enjoy it.
Then she straightened, removing herself from the tree, and withdrew Caradoc's wand from her pocket. "I suppose if you'd like, you can finish the wards. Thank you very much."
Gently retrieving his wand, he found his fingertips lingering a beat longer over her warm palm before he gripped the wand in a fist. "Alana -- " he began, bringing himself to give her something to hold onto. Biting off the thought quickly, he shook his head. "Just ... if you go somewhere, tell me. Just leave me a note in your journal," murmuring thus, he embraced her for a swift second and turned to complete the half-constructed wards beyond the house.
Stunned by the unexpected contact, Alana barely registered the brief time between his being before her and when he'd gone beyond the gate. She watched him, an oddly vulnerable expression on her face. She would be glad, later, that he had his back turned. Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, she called out to him once more. "I - I will. Good night, Caradoc." With one last, prolonged look at the man, she turned away, somehow certain she would sleep soundly, and safely.