black_wolf (black_wolf) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-06-21 10:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | lucien swinton, maggie stanbury |
Who: Maggie Stanbury, Lucien Swinton
What: The morning after her very first full moon
Where: A house in rural France
When: Nearly two years ago
Rating: G
Lucien took a deep and shaking breath before knocking on the door to Maggie’s bedroom. He felt wretched and wrung out after a worrisome night spent pacing outside her window, taking every ounce of his willpower to not howl.
A few days previous, with the full moon coming quickly, he’d had to tell her about the reason her injuries from the animal attack that’d killed her husband and wounded her two weeks before were healing so rapidly. She’d dismissed him, and the look on her face, a mix of disgust, horror, and fear, was something he knew he’d never forget. Of course she’d thought him mad, and knowing the depths of her loss, he couldn’t blame her for any of it -- he’d written her a lengthy letter after, telling her what she might expect (regardless of how fantastical he knew it would sound, and the risk he was taking by putting it in writing), begging her to at the very least, lock the door on the night of the first full moon -- an entreaty he knew she’d take as a threat, something that’d made him nearly ill to contemplate.
Charles’ death was still a raw wound, and the circumstances of the attack frustratingly unanswered -- Lucien was torn with guilt, uncertain if the purpose had been to send a message to him, or if it’d been his life in danger, and Charles and Maggie were simply collateral damage (another sickening thought). He felt every mile of distance from his home pack, from ground he knew to be safe, and he knew Maggie was on the other side of the door after what had to have been a rough night -- her very first full moon as a wolf.
“Lady Stanbury?” He said, his voice low and raw, not sure if he’d lost the right to call her by her first name. “Lady Stanbury, it’s… it’s Lucien Swinton, I know I’m most likely the last person you currently wish to see, but I thought…” his face worked. “I thought you might need my assistance this morning.” He paused at the silence behind the door, his heart aching in his chest. “Please at least tell me you’re unharmed,” he said, whispering, knowing she could hear him through the door regardless.
Maggie heard him, but she wasn’t paying him much attention as she stared at the room from her spot in the corner, sitting with her arms around her legs and chin resting on her knees.
The room was totally destroyed. The bedding was shredded, carpets torn and soiled, furniture turned over and broken, and she couldn’t for the life of her remember what happened exactly. One minute she was in bed, then she felt herself...change. Things had gotten very fuzzy after that, her memories were indistinct and fragmented, but she knew that she was responsible for the damage.
Lucien was insane...but his explanation was the only one that fit, so perhaps he wasn’t insane after all. Gradually it occurred to her that she ought to open the door and let him in. She rose up, found a sheet that wasn’t too badly torn and wrapped herself in it to go do just that. Without a word she unlocked the door and retreated to her corner, resuming her spot on the floor.
The room stank of terrified wolf, and Lucien’s hair prickled on the back of his neck and his stomach twisted to see her so silent and still in the corner, wrapped in a sheet, for heaven’s sake -- and upon realizing this fact, he immediately averted his eyes.
His first impulse was to go to her, even though it was beyond improper, and her nature was new enough to her that she wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t know how to react, might see him as a threat, so he exhaled, and after a pause, he exhaled, and sat, leaning against the wall kitty-corner to hers, still keeping his eyes firmly pointed away, but close enough that she could get used to his smell, and see him, and not panic unduly.
“I cannot apologize enough for making you endure such an ordeal alone,” he said, his voice careful. “I should have…” he swallowed. His options had been limited, given the lady’s reticence. “I should have done more, told you sooner, I am…” he sighed, running his hand over his face. “I am so sorry.”
Everything smelled so different now, she couldn’t help but notice everything. As if she’d never had the sense of smell before today but suddenly acquired it. Lucien smelled different as well, and she couldn’t help but stare at him. She listened silently to his words and debated how to respond. Silence stretched out between them for what seemed a very long time indeed before Maggie finally spoke.
“What could you have done more that would have made me believe you?” She was genuinely curious. He’d tried to tell her and she’d thought him insane. What could he possibly have done to make her believe she'd suddenly become a creature out of fairy tales?
Lucien frowned, thoughtfully. “While we don’t have control over the change when there’s a full moon, we can shift at will outside of it. I could have shown you my wolf form then and there, despite the impropriety of it all, the chance you would’ve misunderstood my intentions, would’ve been frightened of me after I’d shifted given the recency of the attack… you would’ve been perfectly safe,” he added, looking briefly over at her and catching her gaze. “I could never hurt you in any form, full moon or no.”
He’d been too focused on propriety, too concerned about both their reputations, and it’d cost her dearly. The way one was supposed to act around humans was different, and in many ways, he knew Maggie was very much a product of her human world of rules and standards -- he knew if he’d started to strip in her room, she would’ve been utterly horrified, would’ve possibly cried out for help (and God knows what would’ve happened then), and regardless, would’ve been no doubt terrified of him as a wolf so soon after her vicious attack, but he could’ve taken the risk.
The implication was there, of course -- the creature who’d killed Charles and wounded Maggie had shifted intentionally, days before the full moon -- and whoever it was had been just as intentional about the attack.
Maggie wasn't thinking about the implications of the attack at that moment, being far more concerned about her immediate situation. “This happens every time? Do we have no control over ourselves during the full moon?” What was she going to do? The idea of hurting someone (or, God forbid) killing them like what had happened to her and Charles was unbearable. Would she have to drive a silver blade across her throat and into her heart to avoid that fate?
“Every time, yes,” Lucien replied, seeing her react with a complicated twist of emotions running rampant across her face, and an accompanying twist in his own stomach. “And we do have a certain degree of control in that form,” he said, looking over at her. “I’ve heard time helps -- as does spending some time outside of the full moon as a wolf, to better become accustomed to the form. One can take precautions -- being in a supportive pack and staying away from populated areas helps to direct natural instincts safely -- there’s a large open place that one can get to through Hyde Park that’s meant for those in London to roam around in, for instance. The wolves who attack without any provocation are twisted, isolated, broken, a far cry from the rest of us.”
He frowned a little. “I was born into it, Maggie, it’s the only life I’ve ever known, and I can only imagine what you think of me… what you think of yourself right now… but we do have the capacity to exert our will, to understand ourselves, and channel our energies, to remember and make choices. I waited outside your room all night last night,” he said, quietly. “And while I would’ve killed that damned wolf who attacked you and Charles if he came within a mile of the place, the rest of the household was safe from the likes of me. I hunt deer, not people. I am not a monster. And neither are you.”
He realized he’d not only sworn, but used her first name, a familiarity he still wasn’t sure he’d earned, and he sighed. “Pardon,” he added, looking up at her, his face drawn. “If I could’ve spared you from this, I would have. But now that this is your reality… your life is far from over, you are far from alone, and I will do whatever I can, whatever you would allow me to, in order to help you.”
Even with feeling completely spent and at sea as she was, Maggie couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his apology for swearing. “Lucien, I’m not some English maiden who will faint at the merest hint of a dirty word. Some of my first memories are from living in camps full of railroad workers when father was overseeing construction. Trust me when I say there’s no curse word you can utter that I hadn’t heard before I learned my letters. ”
Strangely enough, that seemed to be the spark she needed to try and get her wits back about her. She clung to his assurance that this wasn’t the end, that she wasn’t facing the end of the world and facing it alone. The words were desperately needed.
She looked around, taking in the destroyed room again with different eyes. Before all she could see was evidence she’d turned into a monster, that her life was over. While there was still some of that (despite his words Maggie couldn’t quite let go of the fear), the predominant emotion was consternation. “How in the world are we going to explain this? The Baron and Amelia are arriving on the evening train from Paris. The servants will talk.” Servants always talked.
He looked over at her, relieved, and more than a little in awe of her capacity to regain her common sense so quickly after what had to have been an earth-shattering revelation. He frowned in thought. “We could crack open a window, and you could claim the same beast who attacked Charles tracked you here -- if you’re indignant enough about the lack of security and risk to your person and play the weak invalid, and I give them enough money, they won’t press matters. They’ll be happy enough you won’t be suing, and wouldn’t suspect you.” He had been pacing and growling outside her window all night -- it wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility.
“There are two more nights of this, Maggie -- starting at moonrise. I’d recommend slipping away before then and meeting up -- I can ensure you keep away from people if we’re both outside, and together, but heaven knows, we were damned lucky none of the servants came up to check on the commotion in your rooms.”
Focusing on the practicalities was the only thing keeping her from falling to pieces once again, and Maggie was quite certain she’d fall to pieces again once Lucien had left. But she could keep herself together, for a little while, to do what needed to be done to keep herself alive and out of an asylum or worse. Then she could fall apart again and grieve. Grieve for Charles, for her lost humanity, and for the tiny spark of life that had been growing inside her these last two months that was now gone. The only person she’d told was Charles, just during their stay here, and there was no point in telling anyone about it now. She didn’t want pity.
“I’ll think of something. Retreat to my rooms wanting to try and rest after my ordeal perhaps.” It wouldn’t be a stretch. She was exhausted mentally and physically, and she doubted even with a transformation into a wolf (a significant part of her wanted to gibber in terror at the very thought) she’d be interested in doing much but resting someplace safe to lick her metaphorical wounds.
As long as Lucien kept his word to keep her from hurting anyone. If she did Maggie doubted she’d be able to live with herself.
Luce stood, nodding, knowing there was only so much time before the servants fully roused -- he’d been lucky enough to not be seen entering the house at dawn. “I’ll leave by the window, and can come back in a few hours to rail a bit at the state of things, and invent some excuse to grudgingly pay far, far too much to cover the damages before the Baron and Baroness arrive.” He looked at her, curled in the corner, wrapped in her sheet, so lonely and frightened, and his face worked. “Is there anything else I might do for you in the time being?” He asked quietly, the guilt rippling through him.
This was his fault; he knew it was his responsibility to sort out what happened and why, and do whatever it was in his power to help Maggie as only he could, despite the fact that she no doubt blamed him and feared him. At the very least, she no longer thought him mad.
She could think of several things, all quite chaste. Unfortunately they were either impossible due to the properties of their class, disobeyed the laws of physics, or involved magic beyond anything out of fairy tales. Maggie looked down at her feet and wrapped the sheet a bit more tightly around herself before standing. “No, I don’t think so. But thank you for the offer. I’d best find something salvageable to wear before the servants come knocking. I’ll see you this evening.” Hopefully.
When Maggie stood, he’d averted his eyes again, and nodded his head, grateful for the steadiness in her voice despite her ordeal.
There was a part of him who desperately wanted to wrap her in his arms, to comfort her, to smell her hair… not out of any prurient interest, Charles’ body was barely cold, but to treat her as he would one of his pack after a full moon -- wolves thrived on touch, and he ached at having to keep his distance.
Nodding at her last, he looked up at her briefly, resolved. “I’ll be there,” he said, firmly, before opening the window and slipping out, mindful to not let his shoe marks marr the pawprints he’d left in the mud below the night before.