Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A warm summer afternoon, sun pouring through the window in gentle rays. A radio high up on the kitchen counter, emitting a jazzy tune. Tiny hands grasping the bottom of trousers with a giggle. Gentle brown eyes, a glowing smile. A chuckle.

“Faroe.” 

Icy wind whipped furiously around her as Faroe stumbled through the snow, jaw set in agony, yet also single minded persistence. The shattered bones of her leg screamed at her with each step, and more blood poured from her throat with each gurgling breath, leaving a trail of dripping crimson in her wake. Or, at least, she could imagine. 

Rain, tip-tapping against the window. A distant roll of thunder. She nuzzles her face deeper into the crook of her father’s arm as he rocks gently from side to side. A familiar lullaby hums in his throat. 

Faroe banged on the door once, twice. No answer. In the distance, the howling of wolves made the blood freeze in her veins. With a strangled noise of desperation, she threw herself at the door once, twice, thrice, before it finally gave, and she tumbled inside the cabin. Wind whistled through the opening. Dragging herself upright again, she pushed it shut, then collapsed against it with chattering teeth.

A row of piano keys. A squeaking bench. Bigger hands guiding her own. Five elegant notes. She meanders with stubby fingers, pressing each key with hesitance.

“Good job!” He coos, voice swelling with pride. 

He plays five more notes. She follows along.

“What do you think? Do you like it?”

The fire crackled beside her as Faroe tried to steady her breathing through tears. Finally, with a deep breath, she pushed down, and cried out as she set the bone of her leg with a sickening crunch. 

She fell back against the wall, breathing heavily, trying to ride out the waves of pain radiating from her leg. Her head swam with nausea. The blood loss, Faroe thought faintly, and shakily reached up to press her hand to the torn cloth she had gathered at her throat with a wince. 

“…I know what this dagger is for.”

“Faroe, don’t!!!”

“…Goodbye, Jane.”

“-No!!!”

And Jane had scrabbled for Faroe’s hand as she brought the knife to her throat. 

And Faroe had missed. 

Faroe’s eyes burned again. 

“…I’m sorry. Goodbye, Faroe.”

Faroe kicked her good leg, a ragged shout tearing past her lips. It hurt like hell. She made contact with her bag, knocking it askew and sending several things rolling away across the cabin. Faroe ducked her head, tangling her fingers in her hair and pulling as hot tears welled up again. The one thing she had promised to do was to keep Jane safe. The tears spilled over.

And Faroe had lost her. Just like everyone else.

But before Faroe could fully spiral, something caught her ear. The telltale ring of a coin rolling across the wooden floor.

Hope sparked in Faroe’s chest despite her better judgment. Reaching with a wince as she jostled her leg, she felt around for a moment before retrieving the coin. She turned it over in her hand.

“You can always flip a coin. Two heads and all that.”

This was the last thing she wanted to do. But what other choice was there? Breathing in shakily and closing her eyes (not that it made any difference.), Faroe tossed the coin.

There was a sudden rush of air, and a noise Faroe couldn’t quite comprehend, but was perhaps closest to whipping fabric. She flinched away from it. 

“Well, call it!” Kayne sang, enthusiastic.

“Wh-“ Faroe’s voice caught in her throat, and she had to keep herself from gagging at the feeling of congealed blood. She held her hand to the wound again. 

“C’mon~ call it! Heads or tails!” Kayne heckled, and Faroe could practically hear the sickening grin he had on his face. 

“H-Heads.” Faroe managed.

“Mmmmm… nope, no, sorry!” He answered with a put upon smugness. Faroe felt a stab of irritation. 

Kayne feigned a gasp of shock. “Oh my! What happened here???” 

You know damn well, bastard, Faroe thought venomously, but held her tongue. “Need help.” 

“Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do! Really, not even a hello? I would have thought living with that pious old man would have taught you some manners, songbird!” Kayne trilled, and Faroe could hear the floorboards creak beneath his feet as he moved closer. 

“But I digress, it looks like you’ve been put through the wringer!” He tutted, and there was a shift of fabric as he presumably leaned over to take a look. “Ah, you used my dagger! Interesting, interesting… oh wow, impressive work here for a blind woman!” 

Faroe felt a churn of anger. “Where’s Jane?” She rasped.

“Oh, her? Last I checked, she’s in a bit of a quarrel with her other half! Her other other half, that is!” He chided. “I must say, she was putting up quite a fight!” His tone darkened. “But old Hastur will take back what’s his eventually.”

“Help her.” Faroe demanded, and hated how desperate she sounded.

“Help her? Why, you’re the one who flipped my coin, dear! You really are content to just bleed out in this dingy cabin as long as Goldie makes it out? My, my, how adorable!” 

Faroe balled her fist, and spoke through clenched teeth. “Bring her back.” 

But she felt her eyes sting again, and despite her best effort, she couldn’t stop her voice from breaking.

“Please.” 

Kayne laughed. “Well, I never took you for the begging type! Whatcha got to offer?” 

Faroe’s heart sank.

She had nothing. Let alone anything that could possibly be valuable to whatever the fuck Kayne was.

“I-I don’t have anything.” She replied, defeated.

“Sure you do! You’ve got that fire in you, that good old Lester blood!” Kayne chortled. “The unbreakable will!”

“…I have nothing to offer.”

“Whew, deja vu…” Kayne muttered, then Faroe could hear him seemingly kneel down to her level. “Look, I like you, kid! You’re just so… interesting! A real wild card!” he enthused. “And I think I would prefer it if you lived at least a little bit longer! How about… I cut you a deal?”

Faroe raised her head towards his voice, skeptical. “What deal?”

“I’ll fix your leg, hell, I’ll even give you your arm back! Mmm.. not your eyes though. She’s the apple of your eye, after all!” he sang dreamily. “And I’ll pluck our favorite little fragment back out from the depths!” 

Faroe’s brow furrowed. 

“…The catch?”

Kayne laughed again, this time something much more cold behind it. It made Faroe’s stomach drop. “Always a catch, indeed! Hmm, now what shall it be…” 

Faroe could hear him pacing back and forth, humming to himself as though deep in thought. Then the footsteps suddenly stopped, and Kayne gasped, then snapped his fingers.

“I’ve got it!” Kayne shouted. “Two birds with one stone! Oh this’ll be interesting…” he said, voice low with sick joy.

“What?” Faroe asked with rising suspicion. 

“I’ll bring her back… just not to you!” Kayne cackled shrilly.

Faroe’s mouth went dry.

“…What-”

“But not to worry! You’ll be getting someone of your own!” He enthused. “Oh, how exciting!”

“No I- wait-” 

“We can’t have you getting lonely up in that head of yours! How else will you find your way out of this place?” 

“No- no, what are you going to do with Jane???” Faroe demanded.

“I’ll still take her from Hastur, don’t you worry! She’ll just be going, hmm… somewhere else!” Kayne answered cheerily.

Faroe’s mind raced.

“…Will she be safe?” She finally spoke, quiet.

“Just as safe as she was with you.” Kayne said, something very smug in his tone. God, Faroe hated him.

”A-and who will I be with?”

”Oh, I shouldn’t spoil the surprise!” Kayne crooned. “But one of the same ilk as your dear Jane, rest assured. I think you two will get on famously!”

A lump had formed in Faroe’s throat, and she could scarcely bring herself to speak the next words.

"...Will I... ever meet her again?"

Kayne sucked in through his teeth. "Oh... I'm very sorry, songbird." He said with put-upon condolence. "Where she's going... well, I'd say the likelihood of the two of you crossing paths again is, hmm... nigh impossible?" 

Oh.

But of course.

...Why did Faroe expect this time to be any different?

"Now don't look so down!” Kayne spoke encouragingly. "I'm offering you a steal! Both of you lovebirds get to make it out of an encounter with the Lord of Carcosa himself, alive! What more could you ask for?" 

"I-" Faroe started, but Kayne sharply cut her off.

"Ah-ah, I'm afraid I do not do negotiations! This is a take it or leave it!" He said, grandiose. "And I trust you will make the wise decision. After all, you do want her to live, don't you?"

Then, his tone shifted to something so insidiously smug.

"So, what will it be?"

Faroe took a shuddering breath, her heart racing. She bowed her head, shutting her eyes, so that not one more tear would escape. Not now. And then, she raised her head again, and reached out her hand.

What other choice was there?

”…Deal.”

Faroe felt her hand be yanked up and down in a vigorous handshake as Kayne cackled. "Clever, clever girl!" he crowed, and there was a rush of air again, that sound like something tearing, and his laughter dissipated into nothing. And the cabin was empty again. 

Then Faroe felt the slightest flicker of something in the back of her mind. Then some faraway words, too muffled to make out. It sounded like yelling. Faroe found herself holding her breath. The voice grew closer, more clearer, until she could just make out a few fragmented words.

”-thur!!! God damn it- what is-”

Then all at once, it was like lifting her head out of water, and the voice rang out in her mind loud and clear.

”-happening??? What the fuck- Where is- Wait.”

The voice fell quiet, and Faroe was speechless. Because whoever this was sounded so much like Jane.

No. No, it couldn’t be. But stupid, naive hope rose in her chest anyway.

”…Who’s there?” Faroe called out, no louder than a whisper. 

For a moment, it was only quiet, and Faroe silently begged to hear that recognition. To hear her name called back to her, in all of its woven emotion. To hear her.

And then, the voice answered.

”…John. John Doe. Who are you?”

Chapter Text

“…Jesus Christ.”

“Where am I? Why am I here???” the voice, John, demanded.

Faroe pressed the heels of her hands (both, now.) to her temples, momentarily hoping she might just crush her own skull. “…you’ve got to be fucking kidding-”

“Are you listening to me???”

“Yes, of course.” Faroe snapped. “And you can see, can’t you?” She followed up, waving a hand in front of her eyes. 

“…Yes. We’re in some sort of cabin.” John answered, going more quiet. “There’s a lot of blood, and a bag that’s been knocked over- damn it- what the fuck is going on???”

Faroe sighed, trying her best to shove down the torrent of conflicting emotions bubbling up inside her. “Okay… okay. You’re a fragment of the King in Yellow. Is that right?”

John seemed to hesitate for a moment before replying. “…How do you know that???” He spoke with heavy apprehension.

Faroe breathed in, gathering herself. Damn it.

“My friend. She was like you.” Her heart twisted around the word was. She quickly buried the feeling, just like all the others. Not now. “The two of us were bound, just the same as you are to me now.

John said nothing.

“But we were separated.”

“Separated?” John echoed, and Faroe could hear a shift in his tone.

“Yes.” Faroe answered curtly. She pushed away the echoes of Jane’s terrified voice on the plateau from her mind, and tried to keep her own voice steady. “…And I made a deal. One that apparently ended up bringing you here.”

“…With who?”

Faroe didn’t answer at first. She didn’t entirely trust whoever this John was. It could all still be some trick, of Kayne’s, maybe even the King. She had already revealed so much, and if what Kayne had said really was true, and this was a fragment of Hastur, who knew how far off he was from his original nature?

“…Something powerful. Someone, rather.” She spoke. “…I just needed to save my friend.”

“…Your friend. What was their name?” John spoke, with a tone suddenly more gentle. The familiarity struck Faroe instantly, and anger flared up in her chest.

“No. You don’t get to know that. Nor mine.” Faroe spoke coldly. “And don’t even try that voice with me.”

“What voice???” John retorted, indignant. “I’m just- I’m just trying to understand all of this!”

“You don’t need to.” Faroe spoke, low and dangerous.

“Then why am I here???”

“I don’t know, alright?” Faroe said, tearing her hand from where it had been tangled in her hair. “Believe me, if I could, I’d send you right back, because frankly I wasn’t looking for another little voice in my head.”

John made a noise of frustration that almost approached a growl. That felt familiar too.

“Listen. I don’t want to fight with you.” John said, exasperated. “Whoever you are.”

Faroe rose to her feet with a wince, as some faint twinges of pain still radiated up her leg, though the bone itself seemed to feel fine as she stood on it.

“Great.”

“But- look,” John continued, suddenly very urgent. “I have a friend too. And I need to get back to him.”

Faroe knelt down to feel around for the bag. She brushed her hands across the floorboards, until her fingertips hit familiar cold metal. She picked up the lighter, and absently flicked it open.

But what John said next made Faroe’s heart seize in her chest.

“…Do you know anyone named Arthur Lester?”

Faroe froze. 

The name pierced her like a knife embedded in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t-

“…Hello?”

Then her mind finally caught up. And with it, white hot anger.

“…Oh, fuck off-”

“What??? Wait- that lighter-” 

Faroe snapped it shut and quickly shoved it in her pocket, her heart racing now.

“No- no, what the fuck is this, exactly?” Faroe spat.

“I don’t-”

“You show up here, with a name like hers, sounding like her, and now acting like you know him-” 

“What- I’m not-” John started.

“That’s all this is, isn’t it???” Faroe’s voice shook. “Another trick to mess with my head??? Still trying to break me, even now???”

“What are you talking about???”

“Well, it’s not gonna work.” Faroe said scathingly. “I know your game. You’re not ‘John Doe’…”

“You’re just Yellow.”

“No.” John spoke. “I’m not.”

Faroe scoffed. 

“Listen.” John shot back. “You don’t know anything about me.” Then, he sighed. 

“But I am not the King. And whatever this is, whatever reason I’ve been stuck here with you, all I know is that we need to work together.”

Faroe huffed a humorless laugh. “And I should trust you why, exactly?” Her hands found the sewing kit, and she snappily tossed it back into the bag.

“Because I’ve been through this before!” John snapped. “And you obviously know Arthur somehow, if we can just work together, I can get back to him-”

“Shut…” Faroe whispered, nearly shaking with rage.

“-so just tell me where he is!”

Faroe slammed her fist on the floor with enough force to rattle the wood.

“He is fucking dead!!!”

Faroe’s breathing came shakily. Angry tears welled up in her eyes, she silently cursed them as she blinked them away.

John did not speak. Some bitter part of Faroe almost dared him to.

She didn’t expect the broken voice that answered.

“…What.”

“He’s. Dead.” Faroe whispered bitterly. The memory of being in that terrible pit, the way Jane’s voice had softened as she had finally confided in her about her father, the utter betrayal of the cruel words she would later say; it all stung.

”You’ve been a killer long before there was ever blood beneath your fingernails.”

Faroe’s voice twisted in mournful accusation. “And you knew that.”

“Now leave me the fuck alone.”

And with quivering hands, she went back to feeling around for any more lost items. John remained silent, and Faroe’s thoughts came flooding in his place. 

That’s what this was for. Kayne wasn’t done with her yet. He had wanted her to survive, but still be his little plaything. The bastard was probably enjoying this.

She found the hairspray, and threw it in the bag.

And that’s what ‘John’ is here for, she thought with burning resentment. Whatever he was, a piece of the King, some lie of Kayne’s, an illusion.

Maybe all of it was. Maybe none of this was real at all. 

Whatever it was, she knew this was meant to hurt. It wasn’t enough to lose Jane. Faroe was still tangled in whatever web she had been caught in ever since she had opened that damned book. Now it was only taunting her, with some cheap imitation of the last person she had ever dared to-

Something dripped onto the floorboards beneath her. Faroe wavered for a moment, and realized with a start that her cheeks felt strangely wet. She slowly touched a hand to her face. Sure enough, she could feel the stream of tears.

It was an odd feeling, like they weren’t quite…

The weight of a small, dying creature in her cupped hands.

Whispered, echoed words of apology, choked through with sobs.

Feeble chirps, the movement of a dagger. The abrupt silence that followed.

Cold, flowing tears.

An odd feeling.

…her own.

Oh.

Faroe pulled her hand away. She could feel the cool tracks down her face now. Her thoughts were flying.

No. This doesn’t make any sense.

…Why would this entity be crying over her father? 

She wavered, feeling the tears start to run down her neck. She opened her mouth to speak, and hesitated.

“…John-”

“…He was supposed to live.” 

Another drop fell onto the wood. 

Another drop fell onto the bloodied road.

The King’s voice rumbled.

“You’re nothing more than a memorial to the lives you’ve selfishly stolen.” 

Her anger returned.

”…No- no, fuck this.”

Faroe clambered to her feet, swinging the bag over her shoulder and feeling across the wall.

”…What are you-”

“Where’s the damn door-” Faroe hissed. Her hand finally found the handle, and she took it with a vice grip. She could hear the screaming wind beyond the old wood. 

“You can’t go out there, it sounds like a blizzard-”

“Shut up- I- I need to-”

“You’ll freeze.”

“And why do you care?”

“Because my survival is obviously dependent on yours.” John replied forcefully. “I’m not going to freeze to death out in the snow with some stranger, not after-”

“Fine, just-” Faroe turned back to face the room with a huff. As she stepped forward, she hit what sounded like a metal pot, sending it rolling a few feet. She suppressed a groan. Searching the cabin would be much easier with a set of eyes, as much as she loathed to admit.

With heavy reluctance, Faroe spoke. 

”…What’s in this place?”

John didn’t answer right away. “…There’s a bed, a wardrobe, a chest, and a small writing desk. And I take it the torn up sheets and the blood trailing in from the door was you.” He responded, ambivalent. 

“Sounds right.” Faroe said flatly. 

“Wait- there’s a rifle mounted on the wall.” John pointed out with slightly more energy.

Faroe perked up. “Where?”

“To your right, above the desk.”

She followed his directions, planting one hand on the wood to reach up, but pausing as she felt paper shift under it.

“…I suppose it would be wise to find out who lives here first.”

“You don’t know?” 

“I don’t even know where we are.” Faroe admitted with a sigh. “Was more focused on not freezing or bleeding to death. But whoever owns this cabin might not be too happy with what I’ve done with the place.”

“…There’s a note beneath your hand.”

Faroe picked it up. ”What does it-”

”Other side.”

She rolled her eyes, and turned it over.

“…This looks like a letter. The handwriting is poor…”

John slipped into narration with an odd ease. Faroe found herself focusing on his voice. It still sounded like Jane’s, but as he went on, Faroe became more aware of small differences in his speaking patterns, how he spoke a bit more gruffly than she did, and it dawned on her that he sounded closer to the voice of the King. It left her feeling all the more apprehensive.

Faroe had only noticed on the plateau how Jane’s voice had changed from his. How it had become something subtly more her own.

Wonderfully so, she thought.

…How soon would she forget what it sounded like?

“Are you listening?” 

Faroe was jolted suddenly by John’s voice. 

“I- um, spaced for a minute.” She answered quickly.

John gave a grumble. “It was tough to make out. The most I could get was something like ‘Leaving now, Sorry Mum.’ I can’t even tell who it’s addressed to, or from.”

“Damn.”

“However, there’s a letterhead at the top. For a ‘Larson Mining Company.’”

“I can’t say I’ve heard of it.” Faroe sighed. She placed the letter back on the desk and felt for the top drawer, sliding it open.

“Ammunition, a box of .22 caliber rounds. There’s more pages in here, some have signatures at the bottom but the writing looks… almost childish. I think it says… Jack Larson.”

“Larson… so someone connected to the company.” Faroe thought, shifting the papers.

“Oh- there’s some money at the bottom.”

“Well. I’ve gone this far already.” She said, taking the bills before reaching down to open the bottom drawer.

“How about in here?”

“Stacks of paper.” John answered as Faroe reached inside, plucking one from the pile. “Some writing implements, ink. These look to be blank forms. All with that same letterhead, Larson…”

“This could be a mining office, then?” Faroe shut the drawer and turned to face the room again. “Where was that wardrobe?”

“Opposite side. Just walk forward.”

Faroe crossed the cabin, finding the wardrobe and opening it.

“There are jackets, a few collared shirts, and some worn pairs of pants. All of them are stained with dirt at the knees. They look to be denim.”

“Better than what I have now, I suppose.” Faroe said, taking and folding one of each over her arm. “Especially if I’m to go traipsing through the snow again.” She shut her eyes and began to quickly change.

“And what exactly is your plan?” John asked with heavy cynicism.

“Well firstly,” Faroe said, discarding the tattered clothes that had served her for months in the Dreamlands with a relieved sigh, before pulling on the jeans. “Finding a way out of this place, wherever it is.” She fumbled with the buttons of the shirt. “Beyond that we- I only really had one other lead.”

Faroe opened her eyes again as she straightened up, running her hand across the hanging coats. “Which one of these looks the warmest?”

“Hm… try the second to last. It looks to be sheepskin.”

“Definitely feels it.” Faroe confirmed, brushing over the soft wool of the lapel before taking it out. “The extra pockets will be nice as well.” She added, tucking the lighter into the one of the lower pockets before twisting it around herself.

“Anything else?”

“…Your hand.”

Faroe paused in buttoning up the coat. “What?”

“The pinkie...” John followed up, quietly bewildered.

“Oh. Um, this?” Faroe answered hesitantly, raising her left hand and flexing her fingers. The slight dull pain of the embedded wood had already faded into the back of her mind, hardly a footnote among the other aches she had collected over the past few months.

“…It had to be… er, removed.” Faroe started. “There was this forest-”

“In the Dreamlands? You were in the Dreamlands???” John sounded incredulous.

“Yes...” Faroe trailed off. She carefully took her left hand in her right, tracing over the knarled wood as she had done so many times before. "...We were trapped there for some time."

“This doesn't- we were the only ones... other than-”

Faroe's eyes narrowed.

“When did you escape? How did you-”

“Look- enough, alright?” Faroe said quickly. “It's- it's not important, right now.”

“How is it not important???”

“Because…” Faroe started, only to trail off.

“…Because???”

“-Because I don't fucking know you, okay???” Faroe snapped. “And- and I don't want to know you either.”

“...Why???”

Faroe struggled again to find words.

She quietly took another set of clothes before shutting the wardrobe, and rested her head on the door with a frustrated sigh.

“Because... I can't do this again.” She said in quiet defeat. “I didn't want... this again.”

“...I just wanted her safe.” And with me, though that part would remain unspoken.

John was quiet, and Faroe swore she could almost feel the buzzing of his thoughts in the back of her mind.

“…You can't keep me in the dark forever.”

Faroe couldn't help but chuckle.

“Not a great feeling, is it?” she muttered under her breath.

John made a sound as though preparing a retort, but instead settled for a deep sigh.

“…The chest is to your right. At the foot of the bed.”

Faroe tucked the spare clothes into the bag before turning to reach for the chest, grunting with exertion as she pushed it open.

“There is a pair of boots, a lantern, some gloves, a coil of rope, and a broken bottle of oil.”

“Hm. Shame.” Faroe mused as the glass shifted when she went to take the boots. “Can’t go much further in these old soles.” She said with a grimace as she peeled off each of her barely held together shoes, dropping them unceremoniously next to the chest.

“Do you seriously plan on going out there now? Why not just wait until the wind subsides?”

“Well,” Faroe said, firmly lacing up the boots before reaching to pull on the pair of gloves. “Since I’ve fully committed myself to burglary, it might not be the best idea to stick around for the owner of the cabin to return. And a person traveling in this weather, well.”

Faroe lifted the lantern from the chest, setting it down on the floorboards with a clank.

“They’d have to be a bit mad.”

“…And so we’ll be doing exactly that.”

“Yes.” Faroe answered, tying the coil of rope to her bag before rising to her feet with the lantern in hand. “And I suppose just hope the storm covers our tracks well enough.”

“…A flawless plan that won’t end in our deaths.” John answered dryly.

“I should fair a bit better this time with proper gear.” Faroe offered half-heartedly. And not bleeding to death. And with two working legs, she recalled with a wince.

“Look- if this is a mining office, that means there must be a mine nearby. And surely a town too.” Faroe turned towards the door. “Can you take a look at the surroundings?”

There was an immediate rush of frigid air as Faroe pulled the door open with some effort.

“…It’s dark out, early morning or late evening, but it’s hard to tell. Fuck- It’s difficult to see much.” John raised his voice slightly to be heard over the wind.

“Damn-”

“Wait- I can see a faint light in the distance.”

Faroe’s heart leapt. “A town???”

“No- no. It’s… something smaller. But it’s the only thing in sight.”

“Okay-” Faroe leaned to push the door shut again, returning the quiet of the cabin. “We’ll go out towards that light. Hopefully it leads to some sort of civilization.”

”Well. The real question,” John spoke with more gravity. “Is do we take the gun?”

Faroe’s brow creased as she considered. She suddenly recalled the howling of the wolves as she had pounded on the door. Quite vividly.

“There are… wolves. Out there.” Faroe said with settling unease.

“…For fucks sake.” John sighed in frustration.

“We’ll- we’ll take the gun.” Faroe decided, turning back to walk to the desk and reaching up to take the rifle.

“And do you even know how to fire one?” John asked with skepticism.

“Presumptuous, are we?” Faroe responded with a slight edge, opening the drawer to reach for the box of ammunition. “I’ve shot my share of tin cans in the woods.”

“Oh. Er-”

“Whatever.” Faroe loaded the rifle after a bit of blind fumbling. “Shooting blind is a different story though. But the noise itself should be enough, I hope.”

“…Right.”

“Well then.” Faroe slung the rifle over her shoulder and started towards the door, lifting the lantern.

“Wait.”

Faroe stopped in her tracks. “Hm?”

“Can you… can you tell me.” 

Faroe tilted her head. “Tell you…?”

John’s voice sounded fragile.

“How did he…” And he trailed off.

Oh.

Faroe opened her mouth to spit some fiery retort, but she stopped. She didn’t get this. She didn’t get why this… thing, that couldn’t have possibly known her dead father beyond her own whispered words, could speak of him with such remorse. It wasn’t possible. 

Her father had died two decades ago. No fragmented king could possibly feel anything for him.

And yet.

“I watched him die, Jane. I. I watched him bleed out onto that road. And I did nothing.”

She let her breath hiss past her teeth, like hot steam. 

“You know how.”

The silence hung heavy in the air.

“…Right.” He answered in a voice like broken glass.

Faroe took a shuddering breath, and started walking again. She tried not to think of the single tear she felt running down her cheek.

John’s voice came again as she reached the door.

“Was he… alone?”

Damn it. Damn it.

She could feel herself on the pavement again, scraped knees, blood splattered dress, and approaching sirens.

The glassy eyes, and single hand extended out towards her.

…Was he alone? Or was it too quick to be alone?

Faroe squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the secondhand tears start to fully spill. She couldn’t tell if they were entirely John’s anymore.

“…No.” She breathed shakily.

She took the door handle again, and braced for the howling wind beyond.

“…Let’s go.” Faroe said distantly.

Yet, she spared a moment to reach up, smearing away the wet with the back of her trembling hand.

“…Okay.”

And she pulled the door open, meeting the snow.

Chapter Text