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moiraineswife · 6 years

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Infernal Mending: The Locket, Part 3 - A Mollymauk Fic

Part 1 || Part 2

Finally posting part 3 (I definitely didn’t forget about this except for the fact that I kind of did)

Title: Infernal Mending

Fic Summary: Molly has no memories of his past before he woke up at the side of the road, half-dead, and was taken in by the carnival that became his family.The only connection he has to who he was before is a locket given to him by Yasha.

Now travelling with his new, strange group, he begins to understand who he was before, and is forced to face the ghosts that emerge from the locket he opened with unthinking curiosity.

Mollymauk backstory/character study/exploration of the new team dynamic. Something in here for everyone. And shit loads of angst. Because I’m me.

Chapter Summary: Molly cools off after the uncomfortable moment with Jester, and gets help from an unexpected source that advises him on how to put things right.

Teaser: ‘ In that moment he was close to wishing, as he had in those early days, that they had left him there to die. Nameless. Storyless. Forgotten. It was kinder than this. Kinder than pretending that he hadn’t died that day. Kinder than allowing this shambling wreck with no sense of self or purpose to continue existing in the world and call it living.’

Link: AO3

Without another word he sped up to walk ahead of their little convoy. The wagon didn’t move fast, with their sad, solitary horse to pull it, and it didn’t take much effort to get clear ahead of them, out of range of their whispered comments about his behaviour, their prying eyes, and above all, the hurt on Jester’s face.

An empty pit inside him had opened up and threatened to swallow him whole. He shouldn’t have snapped at Jester like that, he hated himself for snapping at Jester like that but...He had done so well at pretending he had started to deceive himself, had started to believe that he might actually be a whole person, who didn’t need anything but the last two years he could remember to cobble together a sense of self.

Yet listening to them all talking, hearing how their families, their upbringings, however had or good, had shaped them, driven them, given them purpose, given them identity, had made him realise how hollow he was by comparison.

Molly put on a front, that wasn’t exactly a secret. But usually when people acted the way that he did they had things to hide. They had secrets. They had something or someone they were trying to conceal. He had nothing. He was nothing. Nothing and no-one.

The front had been enough for so long. The pretence, the lies, the bullshit he spouted whenever anyone asked him a difficult question about where he had come from or why he was like this. Most of them had known it was bullshit but that hadn’t really mattered. All that had mattered was that he had said something, he had found some lie, some story, something that he could hold on to and pretend with.

It had all slipped away when they had started to talk of family. That hadn’t been as much of a problem in the carnival. Everyone had been there to either run from something, hide from something, or pretend to be something else. No-one had pried into the others’ pasts, and there had been few questions about family. It had been commonly accepted that they were each others’ family now, and that that had happened for a reason.

He covered his face with his hands and groaned softly. Why hadn’t he just been able to lie? Why hadn’t he just been able to tell them all that his mother was a famous musician with so much talent that kings begged her to play at their court, and that was why he could sing so well himself? His father had been an incredible painter, and was the source of his own small creative prowess? Why hadn’t he been able to invent a younger sister with lavender skin and big black eyes who he sang lullabies to, just to please Jester? Why had he gone to pieces like that?

Why, why, why?

Nothing made any fucking sense. Nothing had made any fucking sense since the day he’d woken up in a puddle of filth and rain at the side of the road and been taken in by the carnival that had happened past him and pulled him out of death’s embrace that had been closing so sweetly around him.

In that moment he was close to wishing, as he had in those early days, that they had left him there to die. Nameless. Storyless. Forgotten. It was kinder than this. Kinder than pretending that he hadn’t died that day. Kinder than allowing this shambling wreck with no sense of self or purpose to continue existing in the world and call it living.

On some strange instinct, he pulled at the fine gold chain around his neck and pulled the heavy locket up from where it had been resting, warm from the heat of his body, just over his heart.

He turned it over and over in his fingers, his calluses scraping on the edges of the fine engravings that patterned it. He clicked the latch and opened it, staring down once more into the eyes that had been haunting his dreams since Yasha had given it to him in the Feed and Mead tavern a few weeks earlier.

One of the doors was empty. In the other was a thick piece of paper, painted over with a clear liquid that reminded him of a pottery glaze in order to preserve the image below. It depicted a tiefling woman. Her horns extended straight up above her head, like a ram’s, spiralling slightly at the tips. Her skin was a deep blue, darker than Jester’s, but she had red eyes, like his. Above the top of her head, in blood red ink, were four numbers: 3010.

He had no idea who she was. But she had been important enough to him, at some point in his life, to keep safe in this locket that he had still been carrying when the carnival had found him. And she had begun to creep into his dreams, already dark and twisted, that woke him before dawn most days, shaking and sweating, clutching at the details of the demons his mind danced with at night, at the possible insight they might give him into his past. But he still had no idea who she was. His mother, perhaps, when she had been younger? Or maybe a sister, as Jester had suggested. Or a friend. A partner?

It seemed his search for answers about himself was only giving him more and more questions, adding to the already extensive list of things he didn’t know. It was exhausting and infuriating, and never more present to him than when the others had so poignantly reminded him of the life he didn’t have.

He was like a ghost walking among them. Not part of their world, but not able to move on or find peace either. Lost. Adrift. A soul condemned to wander on this plane for the rest of eternity, searching for those who may once have loved it.

It was a lonely, cold, isolating thing, and as the last vestiges of whatever it was that had made him snap at Jester faded away, he realised it had settled firmly in his chest, in the place where his heart might once have been.

He walked. And walked. And walked. Until his feet protested and his calves felt as though someone had applied thumb screws to his tendons. The sun had set below the horizon and the cold wind tugged at his coat before he realised it was time to stop.

Glancing over his shoulder, he scanned the horizon for some sign of his party and, after a moment, he spotted a rising column of smoke from a fire. He made towards it, vaguely hoping it was his friends, and not another random band of travellers. Though if it was, he assured himself dully, they might yet be more willing to take him in than his group would.

Once his self-pitying thoughts about his past had elapsed, which admittedly had taken some time, his thoughts had turned instead to how he had snapped at Jester. Thinking about it now caused him to wince, not least because of the way the others would react. Shouting at Jester was like kicking a puppy. It was, above all, an inexcusable crime that served no-one and left the world a little darker than it had been before.

After almost twenty minutes of walking, he crested a small rise, and came upon their poor horse which was grazing absently on the thick tufts of grass around it, swishing its tail back and forth to ward off the flies.

“Hello there dinner,” he murmured quietly, stepping forwards and allowing the horse to nuzzle at his hands. He’d gotten into the habit of feeding it a sugar lump a time or two while he’d travelled with it in the circus and the thing now assumed that every time he approached it, it was going to get sugar from him. He had gotten into the habit of calling it ‘dinner’ a few days ago, because it made Jester squawk indignantly every time he did so.

“Go back to your grass, friend,” Molly told it quietly, “I haven’t got anything for you I’m afraid.”

The temptation to remain beside the horse and not move any closer to the small fire they had managed to get going was extremely tempting, but he didn’t need to add ‘coward’ to his long list of flaws of today.

So he strolled into camp as casually as he could and announced to the people gathered there, “The road ahead is clear. No dangers.”

There was a long, agonizing silence as they all slowly looked up at him. Finally, after letting him stew in his own discomfort for a lot longer, Beau broke it.

“And how the hell were we supposed to know there was danger or not?” she demanded, screwing up her face in that frown of distaste she reserved just for him, “Seeing as how you didn’t bother coming back to us for six hours, by which time we’d already stopped.”

“Well,” Molly said, chewing on that for a moment as he swaned closer to the fire, suddenly realising how cold he was, “If something dangerous had attacked and killed me, my lifeless body at the side of the road would probably have been a good indication for you all to stop, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, stop and give whatever finally did you in a fucking medal,” Beau muttered under her breath, turning her attention back to the chopping board balanced precariously across her knees where she was helping Fjord with dinner.

Molly stepped forward to help too, feeling pity for the poor roots Beau was currently mangling, but Fjord told him in a voice that was curt but civil, that he didn’t need any help. After almost five minutes drifting around the camp trying to find something to do with himself, he felt a tug on the hem of his cloak and looked down to see Nott there.

“Yes?” he said, arching an eyebrow at her.

“The horse has a stone in one of his shoes, we think,” the little goblin girl informed him in a soft voice, “But he won’t let any of us close enough to look, he just kicks. Maybe, maybe you could fix that?”

“Of course,” Molly said, thinking that getting kicked in the face by a grumpy, overworked horse was entirely more enjoyable than the alternative.

“And,” Nott whispered, dropping her voice even further and glancing around, as though afraid to be seen talking to him, “You should give her some flowers.”

“Who?” Molly said, bewildered.

“Jester,” Nott said, as though this was obvious and, in hindsight, it probably should have been. She shuffled her feet and explained, clearly thinking him to be incredibly dense, which perhaps he was, “She likes flowers. It can be how you say sorry.”

He sauntered back to Winter’s Crest, still placidly chomping on the grass, and set about examining his feet. The horse didn’t think much of this, and did indeed kick, but a few soft words and touches were enough to calm him so that Molly could actually help the silly beast. He stood beside it a while longer, chewing on his mint leaves, pondering Nott’s words to him before deciding that it almost definitely couldn’t make the situation worse.

He was thankful for his darkvision as he scoured the nearby bushes and grasses for some likely looking flowers. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any around save a few half-wilted dandelions. As far as apologies went, they would probably make the situation worse.

In the end he got hold of a stick around as broad as his thumb, and roughly the length of his forearm, plopped himself down on the grass next to WC, who spared him half a glance in between his grass-chomping, and began whittling it.

Half an hour later, he had what he hoped would suffice as a fairly reasonable apology gift and approached the camp again.

Jester was being kept well aware from the food, as they had all learned the hard way was essential to avoiding food poisoning on this trip together, and drawing furiously in her sketchpad. He wondered briefly if it would depict him headless, along with a prayer to the Traveller for something nasty to find and kill him the next day, but he didn’t really think Jester had a truly vindictive bone in her body.

He had barely opened his mouth when Fjord and Beau seemed to coalesce from the darkness on either side of Jester, both standing straight, arms folded, glaring at him like bodyguards.

Frowning, he opened his mouth to say something that would either make Fjord laugh or Beau punch him, when Jester interrupted, “It’s alright, it’s alright. You don’t have to protect me from him,” she said, rolling her eyes as though she found her companions completely ridiculous. Molly felt his heart lighten for just a second, thinking that maybe she wasn’t as hurt as he’d feared. Then she added firmly, “I can do that myself.”

Beau and Fjord did at least move aside, though Beau continued to frown suspiciously at him even as she did so, and neither of them went far. Molly tried to ignore them as he focused on Jester.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly to her.

“What is it?” she asked, looking curious, her voice perking up apparently in spite of herself.

“An apology,” he said, frankly, then withdrew the thing he had carved from her and handed it out to her, “Nott suggested flowers, but I couldn’t find any. And besides, I think you’ll like this better.”

“Better than flowers?” she said, suspiciously, “Is it a doughnut?”

He laughed a little at that, “Unfortunately not. If I’d passed a bakery in the middle of a field I’d have been sure to get something for you. This is the best I could manage with what I had available to me.”

She took it from him and raised an eyebrow, obviously unimpressed. “It’s a stick,” she informed him, “Definitely not better than flowers. This one isn’t even on fire,” she glanced around him to where their fire was currently consuming many sticks.

“Take a closer look,” he urged her, afraid she was going to impulsively set it alight just to declare it better than a simple stick.

Frowning, she peered down at it for almost a full minute before she declared, “It’s a stick with holes in it. Probably better than just a stick, but not better than flowers.”

Sighing a little in spite of himself, Molly held out a hand, “May I?” he asked her.

She handed him back the roughly carved flute, now looking slightly suspicious, as though afraid he was teasing her. Beau and Fjord were both watching him now, and Nott was peering from around Caleb’s legs at him. Their eyes on him, he blew gently and played a soft few notes.

Jester clapped her hands together in delight while at the same time he was almost certain he heard Fjord give a soft groan. Like Molly, he was probably fully aware that this gift meant they’d never have another peaceful moment on the road.

“It sounds just like an owl!” Jester said excitedly, snatching it from him and blowing it herself. The note she made was a little more cracked than his had been, since she hadn’t quite perfected the art of not doing something to the fullest extent that she possibly could, but she looked very pleased with herself all the same. “You were right, this is definitely better than flowers,” she informed him.

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Molly said, bowing to her, “I’ll teach how you to play some songs on it tomorrow,” for the sake of all of their ears, he hoped she picked it up quickly.

He opened his mouth to continue, but Beau interrupted, “Is that it, then?” she demanded, shifting protectively a little closer towards Jester, arms folded.

“No,” Molly scowled, “It’s not.” With that, he turned firmly away from her and said to Jester in Infernal, “Can I have a word? Just the two of us?”

She studied him for a long moment, then she said, “Yes, alright,” in Common, set down her sketchbook, and got to her feet.

She took his hand and promptly began to lead him away from the confused Beau and Fjord.

“Jes?” Fjord said, a question in his voice.

“We’re not going to have sex with each other, “ Jester informed Fjord placidly, while Beau choked, “Don’t worry,” she patted his arm in an apparently reassuring way then, with surprising strength, tugged Molly deeper into the darkness.

She seemed to have a destination in mind, and he didn’t protest as she dragged him into the shelter of an old oak tree and plopped down, patting the grass beside her in invitation. He accepted it, and joined her on the ground.

Before he could say anything she spoke, examining the roughly carved flute in her hands. “Where did you get this?”

“I made it,” he replied, in Infernal.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, “Really?” she said in the same language.

He nodded, “Really really.”

She studied him for a long moment, apparently trying to decide if he was teasing her, then said, “I didn’t know you could make things like this.”

He smirked at her, “I’m a man of many talents and mysteries, my dear.” She continued to watch him and after a long moment he shrugged and said, “Yasha taught me how to do it, while we were travelling together. Something to keep my hands busy, she said.” He had needed that, back in those days, just to keep him from climbing the walls or clawing off his own skin in frustration. “She’s much better than me, the things she can make are incredible. But don’t ask her directly about it.”

Jester cocked her head, curious, “Why not?” she asked.

Molly smiled thinly, “She’s self-conscious about it,” he said, “Doesn’t like attention being drawn to her. She’d probably butcher me right here and now if she knew I’d even told you this much.” He wasn’t sure how much of an exaggeration that was. It probably depended on Yasha’s mood in the moment she found out. “Although,” he added wryly, “I suppose you might not object to that.”

Jester considered him for a moment, then she said, “I would.” There was such a sweet sincerity to her words that he felt yet another stab of guilt for having snapped at her before. “You were a bit of a dick,” she admitted, “But I wouldn’t want her to hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” he told her, quietly, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

“No,” Jester agreed, with that characteristic candid bluntness of hers, “You shouldn’t have.”

Without really noticing what he was doing he started pulling up long blades of grass with his fingers and absently weaving them together. Jester watched him for a long moment. Finally, he said, his voice soft, “It’s nice to have someone to speak Infernal with again.” That seemed to catch her off-guard and she just blinked at him, “Haven’t you missed it?” he asked her.

“Not really,” she said slowly, “But I haven’t been travelling for as long as you have.” She considered for another moment, then, “And it is nice to have another tiefling to talk to. Fjord is very nice, but for a sailor he’s very bad with languages. He doesn’t even know the fun stuff like the curse words!”

Molly laughed at that, “I take it you’ve already solved that problem?” he said.

“Of course I have,” Jester replied, looking mildly offended that he’d even felt the need to ask. “He now knows how to say all the important things.”

Molly smiled, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He was silent for a log moment, staring up into the velvety black sky that blanketed the world. They were far enough away from any cities that he could see stars stretching out in endless clusters before him, like handfuls of diamonds tossed across the sky by the hand of a careless god.

Yasha had told him once of the strange beliefs of her people with regards to the stars. They believed that the entire sky was actually only stars, and nothing else. The black patches were not the sky, they were simply stars that had not been given souls yet.

He had questioned her on what that had meant, and she had solemnly told him that every star he saw in the sky corresponded to a departed soul. When a loved one died, she had claimed, their soul was carried into the sky, and drifted into one of the empty, waiting, black stars, illuminating it.

Shooting stars were the last farewell of a soul as it left the world as they knew it and was carried into the sky to take its rightful place. Her people believed that some day, when the sentient races had completed their quest in this world, that the last thing the gods would see was the sky was it should be, an oasis of rippling light, every dark, empty star filled, and that the world would then ended.

As he stared up above them he wondered if his family were up there, watching him, or if their stars, like his, were dark. He wondered if the woman from the locket was there, too...

“Mollymauk,” Jester said after a long moment, interrupting him.

“Mm?” He started, looking down at her.

“I’m not sure how to tell you this,” Jester said in Infernal, gently patting his hand, “But this is a really shit apology.”

He barked out a laugh at that, “It is,” he agreed, then dragged a hand through his hair. His fingers caught on the tiny braids Jester had been weaving into it that morning, which he had forgotten about until now. “I haven’t had to apologise to people too often,” he explained, with a broad, lazy smile, “It’s one of the many burdens of being as perfect as I am-“ he broke off, snickering, as Jester playfully shoved at him.

He sobered up a moment later, gazing up at the stars once more, his throat growing tight. “The truth-“ he faltered, swallowed hard, and forced himself to try again, “The truth is, Jester, that I wasn’t really trying to apologise there. I was trying to explain.”

Jester’s brow furrowed in answer to that, “Explain?” She repeated, confused, “By telling me about Infernal?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice growing suddenly hoarse, thick with an emotion that he couldn’t place that welled up from his chest and threatened to drown him for a moment. He swallowed it back down and forced himself to continue, though he didn’t look at her now. “Before you I hadn’t spoken Infernal in a very long time. I had no-one to speak it to. No-one in the carnival knew it, and I almost thought it had left me, too, until I saw you again.”

Jester stayed uncharacteristically quiet and still, as though she had been frozen, watching him silently.

With a ragged, shuddering breath, he looked up at her again and said, “My family are gone, Jester.” The words were true enough. Whether the interpretation she chose to place upon them was also true was another matter entirely, but not one he cared to dwell upon at the moment. “All of them. There’s nothing left of them. And so...So it was nice to have someone speak Infernal with me again.”

She reached out slowly and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. At the same time, she tangled her tail with his, a common sign of intimacy and affection that he had also not experienced...For as long as he could remember. Yet it felt right. He smiled, a little shakily it was true, but he smiled.

“I know it’s not an excuse,” he continued, “But that was why I snapped at you before.”

“It must be painful to think about,” she said quietly.

He swallowed, “It is,” he admitted, and for some reason, it felt good to say that, to acknowledge that there was this wound in him, this hollowed out scar, capable of hurting him still, even if he couldn’t recall the wound itself.

“Then I’m sorry I pushed you so hard to talk about it,” Jester said, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder and putting her arm around him. She was by far the most comfortable of their group with casual physical affection, something he was glad of.

“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me,” he promised her, turning to the side and kissing the top of her head.

She was quiet for a long time, allowing them to settle in the peaceful silence. Then she said abruptly, “Deal,” and got to her feet without warning.

Molly blinked, a little thrown by this sudden turn of events, even more so when she swooped down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I forgive you, Molly,” she said, and he felt a soft warmth spread through him at her words. “And to prove how much I forgive you, I’m going to go back to camp and tell Nott not to put beetles in your dinner after all.” With that, she skipped off.

“Wait, what?” Molly shouted after her, her words only just hitting him as he scrambled to his feet and chased after her.

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