Logan trimmed his beard by the shallow pool, metal claws gleaming.

Mesmerized by his ease with his Affliction, Marie fingered her own locks in contemplation.

Her own Affliction would protect her once they separated, but it would be better to avoid detection altogether, if possible.

"No." Logan decreed before she could voice her query.

With his uncanny responses, she sometimes suspected him to be a reader of the minds.

However, a comparison to vague memories of her uncle cast great doubt upon that idle suspicion.

"And why not? It's what they do in the stories."

" Maybe for a waif, but you-" He trailed off gesturing toward her indistinctly.

"But I?" She doubted such a style would suit her; however, it was the prudent course. "Surely, it would be safer to travel thusly."

He nodded in her direction. "You'd make a piss poor man."

"And what makes you think that?" Marie asked, ignoring his coarse words.

"Your gait for one. You're too…," Logan grimaced, trying and failing to find an appropriate adjective, "womanly."

The northerner's assessment engendered a bubbling of irritation. Marie was sick to the death of being held beholden to such expectations. With precious few models to choose from, she summoned her lord father to the fore, determined to prove the Wild's Man wrong.

His bafflement felt gratifying, though the sentiment may not have been entirely her own. When the curious metal embedded in his arms began to sing to her, she chained away the consciousness that belonged to the Lord of Lodes.

"How'd you do that?"

"My affliction," Marie shrugged, laconically. The drain of restraining pilfered gifts took a toll. It was trifles compared to knowing that she had, in some measure, proven her worth to the man across from her.

"Your scent- " The man stopped himself, his brows drawing down in speculation.

"You must admit that my gait is not an issue." She pressed on principle, feeling stronger now that the other's soul was chained back into the depths of her mind.

"Too poncy," Logan denied, the strange mood between them dissipating. "You walk like a lord. And your hair suits you better long."

Marie would have thought her caution matched his aims; he'd been painstakingly taking measures to obscure their passing in the journey thus far.

However, the man could be infuriatingly intractable in his course, once his mind was set. She'd learned that well enough at the keep.

"I will protect you," he announced before she could form a new rebuttal, "Hair back, cloak up."

Marie let the matter drop, too weary from her recent display and their travels to truly pursue it any further.

They had lit from the castle with much more haste and far fewer provisions than she intended. Logan sought to establish as much distance between them and Lodes Darkholme as quickly as possible. The pace struck, coupled with the abrupt departure, mad Marie feel as though they had hounds on their heels. She would be missed presently, and such idle musings were not like to be far off the mark.

Marie also admitted, if only to herself, that while not unfit, she was unused to such venturing.

She wished, not for the first time, that they had absconded with a horse or two. A five day's ride to her uncle's hold at Westerly Rock made for a much longer walk- a walk that could be for naught if the man she had met but once refused to render her aid.

They had stopped by this spring for a welcome reprieve. Having not truly slept since before her lady mother restrained her days prior, Marie felt woefully unfit to travel another step.

Just as she began to doze, Logan's tense energy roused her.

"Stay here. And keep your wits about you. This spot should be safe enough, though I wouldn't swear by it. I'll be close and return before noontide."

Marie's brows drew, concerned.

"Where are you going?"

"Hunting. We need meat."

Logan could not retreat quickly enough from their makeshift camp. He did not like leaving Marie vulnerable, especially as worn out as she seemed. His beast, however, was soothed at the thought of hunting and hunting for her.

It was the reaction of the monster to Marie that concerned him most. His sudden attachment was inexplicable, yet undeniable.

His instincts told him to keep close to the maiden and not leave her. But then those same instincts also told him to bed her repeatedly until she was heavy with his child; therefore, Logan did not think his baser nature terribly reliable with regard to her.

Because, ultimately, he would leave her behind.

She had her course, and he had his. They intersected only briefly, and once he saw her safely arrived at her destination, that would be that.

He would go his own way evading the Outlander, and she'd stay behind- vulnerable to the Aberration's machinations.

That won't do.

It was a sound plan. The right plan; however, Logan already knew that he could not bring himself to abandon the young woman.

On this, the monster that lurked beneath his flesh would not budge. Were he to try to simply walk away, the beast would assuredly, take and keep, hold.

He was damned in either case. She could not remain with him, and he could not let her go.

He narrowly avoided tromping through the forest in his agitation. Scenting rabbits close by, Logan stilled to avoid startling them back down their burrow.

Marie was unused to such rough terrain. He should have allowed a horse, despite the attention it would have brought along with it.

The undead likely killed them, anyway, along with all the rest unlucky enough to be caught in their path.

Not much shook him, but those creatures were unnatural in a way far beyond any Afflicted he had ever encountered in his admittedly spotty memory. Logan had heard whispers of the Outlander's Affliction, though if the rumors proved true, it gave Nur a sway unlike any he had ever seen.

Logan's hunting was brief and fruitful, despite his uncharacteristic mental distractions. Reluctant to leave the girl to her own devices longer than necessary, he returned swifter than was prudent with regard to his baser inclinations.

What he found had the beast testing his restraints.

"Girl! Marie!"

The Lady stood immobile, impossibly rigid. As he rushed closer, he found her eyes rolled back into her head, unseeing.

The world sharpened further as the creature within him bled into his vision. He did not try to wrest back control; they were like of mind in this.

Marie's scent drifted queerly to his senses. Unlike the hints of iron and copper he'd scented in her earlier demonstration, this new undercurrent was softer, rolling and ethereal, reminding him strongly of a warm summer breeze.

She swayed on the spot, her rigidity subverted by abrupt languor. Logan closed the remaining space between them, sweeping her into his embrace just in time to prevent Marie from falling to the ground and injuring herself.

Mindful the warnings of her skin, Logan arranged the young woman carefully in his arms, settling them both under the generous boughs of an ancient oak.

A keening whine rent the air, and he was surprised to find it issued from his own throat.

Hers was unlike any fit he had encountered. There were no convulsions, nor frothing, her breathing remained even and peaceful- her eyes showing eerily white were the only indication that the woman in his arms was under a spell and not merely sleeping. He had no idea what to do to bring her back.

Logan was praying to Gods he long ago forsook when Marie's pace of breathing finally increased and her eyes slid back to their proper place.

"Logan," her gloved hand grasped his bare one, as her feverish gazed focused on him. Her voice issued strangely, ominously to his hearing. "You must trust me. We cannot out run them. We will allow ourselves to be captured. We can escape once-"

His brow furrowed as he tried to interpret the information her scent conveyed. It roiled and shifted. The scent of breezy summer fading precipitously to the one he knew as belonging to Marie and only Marie.

"Out run who?"

"I- oh." Marie's eyes cleared, finally herself. "I don't remember."

The eve's fire was small, providing scant, though appreciated, warmth. The day grew unseasonably chill, and her reluctant savior had even more reluctantly kindled the flickering flames. They had struck a good pace this day, after their earlier rest. Marie ached from their travels, but felt invigorated, even so.

"You can see what is to come?"

The doubt in his voice was evident. She had avoided the topic of her earlier vision after its occurrence, and the haste of their travels did not permit much in the way of conversation. It had been too great a hope that the northerner would let the matter drop.

"No, not-" she started, endeavoring to find the most adequate way to explain, "yes. Though, it is not simply so."

"I thought your affliction was in your skin." Logan observed.

"Mine is. The Sight was my governess's gift. I-" killed her, though she could not bring herself to say it. "The visions came to me through her. Upon her death."

"That what you meant when you said your affliction takes?"

He was no dullard, and she narrowly avoided cringing at his perceptiveness.

"Yes," she affirmed. "Glimmers of others' afflictions remain, however, hers is the most... present. I can control it no better than my own skin. Eirene could control her Sight and remember as keenly as a memory; however, I rarely keep what I see."

Her governess' death had been an accident, when Marie's affliction first manifested. She had never told the account to another, but now, with the northerner, the words tumbled from her lips unbidden.

"I was a naïve little fool." Marie began, "nursing a fancy for the blacksmith's son. He reciprocated, to his detriment."

Logan's jaw clenched, and his eyes had taken on that golden sheen Marie thought to signal the hidden wildness within him.

"It was improper, I know, my lady mother thoroughly availed me of the scandal that would have happened had he lived. We shared barely a kiss, but just that brush whisked him, and everything he was, away." Marie paused, what had occurred next was a greater burden on her soul, still. "Nearly as soon as it happened, Eirene found me with the boy and separated us. She must have seen it moments before with her Sight."

But not soon enough.

The man across from her remained silent.

"She made the mistake of grabbing my bare arm," Marie summarized, "Neither of us could pull away. "

Destiny. Legacy. The words had floated into the haze of pain and chaos in Marie's mind.

Her governess had known her own end since the day Marie was born, and yet the woman loved her, cared for her, regardless.

Marie could not fathom such devotion. If Eirene had simply avoided her, she would be alive and happy still.

She remembered the horrible heat and swirl of thoughts and memories pulled from both her victims. And the screaming after.

The bite of her lady mother's nails. Her lord father brushing her skin and sharply pulling away. Her developing affliction had been too full just then, or surely the only parents Marie had ever known would have suffered the same fate. The only obvious marking of the encounter was the new white streaking at Marie's temples.

"I soon discovered that parts of them lived on through me."

Marie had never disclosed to any other before the exact nature of her affliction.

Her Lady mother turned cold and wanted none of the details, so aggrieved as she was at the death of her closest companion. Her lord father became ever more remote. Though Marie did not need their words to discern their blossoming disdain and fear; she felt it from their shadows living on in her mind.

The northerner was quiet at the end of her story; uneasiness roiled through her. She watched him nervously from behind the fall of her hair. If she had desired his abandonment, she all but just assured it with such frank disclosure.

"Calm yourself, girl. Take more'n your story to make me run screaming. Food's done, so get to it."

The night had deepened with her recount, the stars shining boldly in the cold, autumn sky.

"Wake up." The gruff command rumbled into her ear.

Marie was warm and comfortable, bundled closely to her spicy scented bedding. She shifted, as the command issued again, more urgently. Something sharp-a rock- jabbed her side as the warmth abruptly disappeared.

Liminal twilight greeted her vision, the world around them not quite awake. Rousing herself, she found the man crouched defensively in front of her. Her cloak had been spread beneath them as a makeshift pallet.

She had been reluctant to fall asleep next to him in the first place, at first rebuking his offer to sleep by her side. Though several hours later when the night had grown too cold to bear, she had welcomed the northerner's warmth gladly. She promised herself not to fall back asleep, and keep mindful of her skin, regardless of being covered from neck to toe.

The few that knew the danger her Affliction posed had never been so brazen as to willingly touch her. Those that did not followed the lead of the rumors and avoided her. Marie was uncertain what to make of the sleeping man nuzzling into her neck. As starved for touch as she was, Marie did not know how to react now that she had it. However, in increments, she relaxed into his hold.

At some interval she drifted, despite her intention, a strange contented rumbling lulling her into a peaceful sleep.

Logan spared her a glance, golden eyes quickly shifting away. The tense set of his shoulders reminded her of the urgency with which he woke her.

"Horses. Lot'of'em." He announced by way of explanation, nodding toward the direction from which they had travelled. "Still a ways off, but coming this way. If we remain hidden-"

Cold dread trickled down her spine, as a flash of future memory washed over her. The vision was impossible, a bald glimpse at that which she desired though she had no right. Impossible though it may seem, the sight had always rung with truth before. Marie sensed, however, that if what she had seen was to come to pass, this encounter would need to be handled with the utmost caution.

"It's my lord father," Marie was certain. "My vision from earlier-"

Logan had metal in his bones. They could not hide, though she wished it.

We can't out run them.

And they did not try.

Marie sat opposite her father in the night's tent. She and Logan were separated at the first opportunity. To her surprise the northerner submitted peacefully, led away by the Lord of Lodes once Marie had been sequestered. Thankfully, the oddity of Logan's eyes faded to their typical hue, moments before the company came upon them. The strange metal would mark him Afflicted by her father, but Marie thought the less the man knew of her companion, the lower his estimation.

They would escape; her vision placed them both at her uncle's hold.

And though she knew her governess' Sight on occasion had foretold possible futures, Marie's own visions had always proven true before. Therefore, she dared to hope.

The table held a bounty though she had little appetite for it. The Lord of Lodes ate heartily, unperturbed by the atmosphere.

"My grandfather could call gold from the mountains. It made him a very wealthy man."

Marie waited patiently for the Lord of Lodes to meander through this retelling of facts she'd known since she was a child. Such stories were favorites during her fairytale upbringing when she'd believed her own Affliction would take form similar to his or her lady mother's. He would have a point with this line of story; Erik was never one to boast tender feelings or recall trivialities. Marie had an inkling of where this was headed.

"My own father, Magnus, could pull ore from the earth and wrought iron with a thought. I, myself, can manipulate all metals-"

It seemed the day she had dreaded was finally coming to pass. Casting her out did not hold the weight it once had, with her new goal of freedom in mind. Given opportunity, he would use her Affliction- make her his own personal executioner- she was sure of it.

"Lord Father-"

"Spare me the contrivance, Marie. We both know I am no such thing."

Marie did not let the sting show. Even in his blackest of moods, he had never so disowned her.

"Afflictions run in families, my dear. I knew from the moment yours manifested you were not of my blood."

She had not expected the words to carry such weight. Though she knew he spoke true, she found the acknowledgement of their lack kinship difficult to face. She still strove for his approval, blood relation or no.

"You are, however, my heir. Your cavorting around the countryside with a northern barbarian cannot, will not, be borne."

His assertion startled her, though she quickly channeled the emotion into a response more expected.

"He saved me!" Marie exploded, standing and slamming her palms on the hard wood of the table.

"From the Summer King's attack?"

Attack? What happened in my short absence? Did Logan know of this, somehow? Was that why he had been in such a rush to leave?

Regardless, she could hardly tell her father that her lady mother had Marie bound in chains. The woman would deny it, in any case.

"Yes," Marie affirmed, weaving a tempered version of the truth. It was a dangerous game to play; though she saw herself far away long before any attempts at corroboration. It was, however, necessary should she wish to learn more from the Lord.

"I was trapped," true enough, though never by the southron king, "and once Logan freed me, I thought it prudent to escape as quickly as possible. Ask anyone-"

"There are precious few to ask," Erik interrupted, turning away from her, "Those who weren't counted among the dead are vanished. Taken hostage most likely. Your Lady mother amongst them."

Marie lay on her pallet in her tent, plotting her escape. Their escape.

She was not so delusional to think it would be simple. Her lord father stationed guards all around the perimeter of her temporary dwelling. To protect and to restrain.

Her lady mother's disappearance was of great concern. Despite her treatment, Marie had not wished the woman to fall to ill fortune. Whether the depth of the sentiment was truly her own or one of the other's was moot.

And Katya. Katya had been taken, as well. Though her lord father had not explicitly said so, Marie heard the gossip before being secured into a tent of her own- no afflicted had been counted among the dead.

The southron king was as likely a culprit as any. The uneasy alliance between the two houses had been disintegrating since before Marie was born. Such was as good a reason as her any that Marie would never disclose to her lord father her intended destination of the Summer King's most trusted advisor, her uncle, and Lodes' spurned ally. Were he to know of such betrayal, his censure would have been harsher than trapping her in her tent and imprisoning her only ally.

She wanted only to disappear; to be free of the chains that mired her to her station.

The need to contact her uncle was all the greater. He was on good terms with the Summer King, unlike her own house. If Lodes Darkholme had been taken by the King of the Realm, uncle Xavier would surely be able to aide in negotiation for freedom of those captured. After was a nebulous consideration, and she thought it best to not dwell on possibilities while still presently confined.

There was also the matter of Logan. She could not hope to retain him indefinitely. It was his pity she'd garnered, and it was unfair of her to-

A creaking noise and an abhorrent stench drew Marie's attention. Hair stood on end at her nape. By the time she thought to act, it was too late.

Logan reclined in a cage of metal, willed into being by the Lord of Lodes. From his prone position, Logan took the measure of the Lord's company, biding his time in seeking the most opportune moment to slip from his prison, rescue the girl, and run.

Logan was not sure he put stock in these visions of Marie's, but the fit she'd experienced the day prior had been real enough, and he was willing to go along with the farce of capture to minimize danger to her, if for no other reason.

There was also his own damnable curiosity. Logan had heard of the metal turner long before accepting the job to dispatch his daughter.

Unlike most Afflicted, the cocksure lord flaunted his power for all to see.

It had gained the man a certain level notoriety, and until present, marked him as a man Logan actively sought to avoid.

Marie had spoken true enough; the man, whose scent was ferrous, and wholly unlike Marie's, found them unerringly- drawn to the unusual metal that made up Logan's daggerlike claws.

His musings would need be revisited later- the stench of the Outlander's army tainted the wind.

They were here for the girl, and Logan's farce of capture was finished.

His claws ripped through the cage and he rushed toward the tent where Marie's scent was strongest. He had not thought the creatures would have the gall, nor the faculties, to attack again so soon.

It looked like he was wrong on both counts.

The scent of decaying flesh grew stronger the closer he got to the Lady's tent.

A soft gasp had him running all the faster. Before his yes, the undead creatures completed his forfeited task.

Marie fell.

Logan's vision veered into a haze of red as he lost control of the beast within. The destruction of the creatures in the vicinity of the girl happened in a flurry of loathing. They died with inhuman screams at his claws, and did not rise again. Eventually, distant sound trickled back to his perception- ravaging of the encampment, not that it mattered.

With none left alive, or unalive, to dispatch, his rage dimmed, leaving unsettling anguish in its wake.

My Affliction takes.

How long had it been since she'd fallen? Scant minutes at most; there was chance.

He gathered the woman in his arms, his hand cupping her face. Nothing happened.

"Wake up."

Desperate, he tore off her gloves and ripped away the sleeves of her fine blouse. Nothing happened still.

"Use your Affliction, damnit!"

Logan pulled her more full into his grasp resting his forehead on her own, desperate for her already cooling skin to take as she had so described.

"Please, Marie."

So slowly, he thought his imagination played tricks with his senses, a faint tickling grew wherever her skin touched his own. The tingle soon became a wrenching, gaping maw that drew him away, and Logan went gladly.

Marie woke to chaos without and within.

The monsters that had surrounded her moments before lay dead at her feet and Logan-

She'd killed him.

Run.

The dead man's directive rang in her head. The world roared loud and foul to her newly acquired senses. Protrusions of bone erupted from the flesh between her knuckles, the sounds of approaching battle spurring her to action.

By pure reflex, she fought her way through a new convergence of creatures she did not have a name for. They may have been men once, but they were no longer.

They rose as quickly as she could fell them, pursuing her flight. Near the far edge of the camp, the monsters abruptly retreated. Marie took the respite at face value, pausing to catch her breath.

Her mind roiled with the onslaught of knowledge from the remnants of the new soul, now trapped alongside her own.

Logan had betrayed her from the very start.

Marie fled the camp, never looking back.