She had heard him moving around her cabin in the darkness. Soft growls, sharp scratch of nails against the plank walls. Sniffling and huffing. Whimpering exasperatedly when morning sun forced him to leave her small hut. There were nights she was compelled to go and let him in, welcome the darkness in to her home, but she always managed to quench that urge.
It was ironical. She was the source of light for the village, yet they shunned her from their midst, feared her knowledge and skills. She made the candles they burned in their homes and at the altar of the church, yet she wasn’t welcome to any of those places because of her heritage. When she walked among them men turned their backs with disgusted sneers on their faces. Women ignored her completely. Children ran away from her as if she was tainted with leper. Yet when one of them fell ill, she was the one they sought out. When light of the day dimmed, it was her candles they lit to push the shadows to the furthest corners of their rooms.
Her father had named her Anna Marie. Villagers had long forgotten those names, and called her Rogue instead.
“Excuse me… Ma’am? Excuse me…” Marie tried to gain the attention of the woman who was selling herbs. Most of her remedies and flowers she used to her candles she collected by herself, but she had seen a bouquet of sunflowers that were hard to get around here in the back of her tent. Woman refused to acknowledge her and kept chatting with merchant that occupied the tent next to hers.
“Ma’am, excuse me!” Marie raised her voice and was rewarded with a snort before woman turned her attention back to the merchant. Marie started to turn, her head bowed, swallowing her disappointment, and bumped against something warm and solid.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Please, accept my apologies!” She babbled almost incoherently, keeping her head bowed, not wanting to look up and see the anger and fear reflecting from the face of the man she had collided with.
Instead of angry string of curses and hard push she felt strong hands curl around her shoulders and turn her back towards the woman that sold flowers.
“Lady here would like to do some business with you, if it isn’t too much to ask…” Low, raspy voice spoke from somewhere above her head.
“I don’t do business with the likes of her, my good man. You would do wisely to let her go,” woman snapped, eyeing them from head to toe.
“Yes. That would be for the best. If you please could just let me go, sir…” Marie whispered. She could feel several pairs of eyes upon them.
“Will you do business with me?” She heard man asking. Woman nodded.
“I’ll have those sunflowers.”
“All of them?” Woman asked surprised. Rare commodity like that wasn’t cheap.
“All.” And he still hadn’t let go of Marie. Woman retrieved the bouquet and laid it on the counter. Man let go of Marie long enough to dig up the amount of gold needed to pay for the flowers and tossed the coins to the counter, picking up the bouquet and shoving it to her.
“Here.”
“This is… Thank you, but this is too much, sir…” She tried to stutter when man ushered her through the crowd, shielding her and the flowers with his large body.
“Please, let go of me. It’s not… Sir!” He had fallen to step beside her and grabbed her hand to his larger one, walking fast past curious stares people were throwing on them. She noticed they were walking out from the village, towards the path that lead to her cabin.
“Sir! Please! Would you be so kind as to let me go!” She stopped and ground her heels to the ground. Man let go of her hand and stopped, turning to look at her.
Tall and dark. Wide shoulders. Long hair pulled back to a ponytail. Long leather coat hiding his body from her view. Dark shadow of stubble accentuated his jaw. Feverish hazel eyes that seemed to pierce her whole being.
“You’re the one they call Rogue, right?” He asked. She nodded.
“I have a job for you. I can pay. In gold.”
“Consider these flowers as a payment.”
This she could handle. A customer. They walked in silence towards her cabin. He kept his hands to himself and let her lead the way.
“What do you need me to do? Are you ill?” She asked. Man chuckled softly.
“I guess you could call it illness… I need you to make me a potion. I have the ingredients with me.”
“I need more information. I can’t just toss random things to a pot and wish it’ll work,” She said.
“I’ll give instructions. My condition isn’t something I’m willing to discuss with anybody,” man grunted.
“Fine. You can go and find another healer then…” She snapped. Man actually growled and grabbed her arm, stopping her and spun her around, face to face with him.
“You’ll do as I say, witch, and I might let you live…”
Not an ordinary customer. A hunter. She swallowed uneasily, trying to mask her nervousness when she spoke.
“We have a deal, then…”
“Here.” Man placed a small wooden box on the table with a trembling hand. She took it and opened it. Inside was a small leather pouch, few cloves of garlic and a small glass vial filled with clear liquid.
“Ground the garlic, add silver from the pouch and mix it with the water in the vial.”
“You could have done that by yourself. What do you need me for?” Concoction was familiar to her. Garlic, silver dust and holy water. Hunters used it to weaken werewolves. It took away their ability to turn to their bestial form.
“Just do it,” man growled, gaze fixed to the box.
“There. Done. Happy?” She asked, handing him the vial, filled with clear, sparkling liquid. Man narrowed his eyes, shook the vial and lifted it up for inspection.
“How much do I owe you?” He asked.
“I told you already, those sunflowers cover all the costs.”
“Fine. How much for a bed for tonight?” Man asked. She snorted.
“That kind of ladies you’ll find from the village. I’m not for sale.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, witch. I need a place to sleep. Innkeeper threw me out. Said I was bad business.”
“I’ll ask two things in exchange for sleep under my roof. Your name, and a promise that I’ll be alive and well when you leave in the morning.”
“You can call me Logan. As for your wellbeing… I won’t raise my hand against you as long as you let me be, that I can promise,” man said, pocketing the vial.
“You can sleep in front of the fireplace. It should stay warm through the night. I have a spare mattress and some blankets…” She started.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine as it is,” Logan said.
“But I am quite hungry,” he continued.
“Are you sure you dare to ingest witch’s brews?” Marie asked, attempting to find a playful tone, but it came out rather accusingly.
“Witch or no witch, man has got to eat eventually. Ride here was long and hard, didn’t have opportunity to stop for a proper meal.”
She could feel his eyes on her, observing her every move carefully when she went upon to her task of making dinner. Nothing fancy, just a stew made out of turnips and lard with little barley thrown in to the mix. It would be filling, and keep the hunger at bay for some time.
“What was so urgent that you didn’t have the time to stop and rest?” She asked, finding his silent scrutiny unnerving.
“Heard a rumor.”
“That’s all? A rumor?”
“I arrived last night. Found out it was more than a rumor. Took care of it. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
She stirred the stew in the pot. Turnips were already softening. Logan had opened his jacket and was leaning back on his chair at the end of the table, hard lines on his face softening a bit.
“This rumor of yours… Was it the one that has been mauling the cattle around here?” She asked.
“Yes. Tracked it down. It had been sniffing around this cabin of yours. Found a fresh trail. A wolf-man. Some poor soul… But its taken care of now.”
“Who was it?” She asked. He looked surprised.
“I know they’re not just beasts. There’s a real person under that fur and fangs. Who was it?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. It’s gone now. And it looks like I caught it before it had the time to cause any real damage.”
“This is good…” Logan was shoveling down his third helping of the stew. She ate slowly, her mind still wrapped around their earlier conversation. She felt responsible of these people. No matter if they treated her as a pariah, they were her connection to the world, and she knew most of them better than their real friends and spouses did. And now she was feeding the man that had killed one of them.
“I really would like to repay all of this for you somehow. Is there anything I can do?” He suddenly asked.
“Bunch of weeds seems somehow inadequate compensation, and I don’t like to be in debt.” She shook herself out of her thoughts and glanced around.
“Well, there’s a shed outside. There are dry logs that need to be chopped up…”
“Consider it done.”
She watched through the small window. As soon as Logan had eaten, he had shed his jacket and walked outside. He was standing in front of the shed, testing the blade of the axe, and swinging it over his shoulder. He winced a bit and rolled his neck. Shook his shoulders. She kept staring at him, oddly fascinated when he went upon his task with fierce determination, practically assaulting the logs with rusted axe. He was favoring his right side, even though she had earlier noticed him being left handed. He had taken off his black leather vest, but had kept on his white linen shirt. It was a hot day, and soon the shirt started to cling to his skin, revealing sculpted muscles, and something wrapped around his torso.
“Thirsty?” He flinched before turning and took the pint she was offering, drinking eagerly. It was just water, but he consumed it as ravenously as the stew earlier. Small dribble escaped from his lips when he lowered the pint and handed it back to her. She followed the path it took, down his jaw, along his throat, down under the collar of his shirt.
“Thank you.” He was slightly out of breath, and sat heavily to the ground, picking up the axe he had dropped.
“This needs sharpening. And you should keep this inside. Not in the shed. Rust will ruin the blade eventually if you don’t keep better care of it.”
“I don’t know how to sharpen it.”
“There’s a blacksmith in the village…”
“And he’ll be happy to come to me if he needs my aid, but I’m not welcome to his shop.”
“Right… Could you bring my coat?”
Leather was soft, but the coat was surprisingly heavy. She head soft metallic clinking when she picked it from the chair he had placed it. Tools of his trade, she realized. There were several pockets and straps sewn to the inner lining of the coat. Two heavy revolvers, several daggers and small pouches hung from those. She carried it carefully outside and gave it to him. He fumbled through pockets until he found what he was looking for. A whetstone. What was left of it at least.
“This’ll have to do…”
She sat next to him. Watched the play of muscles on his forearms as he ground the axe against the stone, peeling layer after layer of accumulated rust off from the sturdy blade. It was easy to forget what those hands had been doing last night when she had slept. It was easy to forget what was buried under the supple leather of his jacket. It was easy to forget who he was. Easy to forget whom she was. As soon as he put the stone aside and spoke it all came rushing back.
“Look… I’m sorry. I really am. But there was no option. The man he once was… He was gone. I had to do it. If it’s any consolation, I don’t like it either. I don’t take pleasure from my work. But it has to be done.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. What is done is done,” she huffed standing up. He braced his right hand against the ground and stood up carefully. Rolled his shoulders and breathed deeply. Pain flickered over his features briefly.
“You’re wounded,” she noted, pointing at the small dark red flower that had broken through the shirt and bandage underneath it.
“Nothing serious. Just a scratch…”
“Nonsense. Come inside and I’ll take a look at it. That bandage needs changing. And you have fever. It might be infected.” Healer in her took over. No matter what they were, or why he was here, she couldn’t just sit and watch his discomfort.
“But it’s nothing…”
“Stop whining. Surely a big man like you isn’t afraid of a small woman?” It worked every time, like a charm. He picked up his coat and axe, muttering some obscenity under his breath but followed her in to the cabin.
“Sit and take off your shirt,” she instructed, pointing at a chair she pulled next to the fireplace. He was already shivering lightly. Air in the cabin was cooler than on the outside in the sun.
“It really is no big deal. A branch caught me when I fell from my horse…” He still resisted feebly, but shrugged off his shirt. Makeshift bandage around his torso was soaked through with blood from where it covered his left side. She started to unwrap it carefully, noticing dark bruising all around his muscled body. Old scars criss-crossing his tanned skin. This close she could feel the heat radiating from him. Thin sheen of perspiration covered his skin. She could smell the foul stench of sickness.
“Nothing?” She whispered after the last layer of linen fell from the wound. Not one, but four deep gauges marred his side. What ever had caused it, had torn through skin and muscle, and she could see bone fragments lodged in to ugly mess of puss and blood.
“Sure would like to see that branch that tore you open…”
“No… You wouldn’t.”
“What’s this?” She asked, noticing reddened patch on his chest. It looked almost as if he had been burnt.
“Don’t know. Are you going to do something or ask questions?” Logan asked, avoiding her gaze.
“I’ll clean the wound first. This might sting a little,” she warned, picking a piece of cloth from the bowl on the table. Rosewater with lavender. He grimaced and hissed through gritted teeth when she dabbed the wound lightly. His fingers dug in to his thighs when she applied more pressure, trying to squeeze out excess muck from gouges.
“That ‘cure’ I made… It’s for you, isn’t it?” She asked while rinsing the cloth. Logan had slumped against the backrest of the chair, his chest heaving.
“What if it is… For me?” He wheezed.
“You know it isn’t a real cure? It prevents you from changing, but it doesn’t vanquish the wolf from you,” she said, dabbing the wound more gently now, cleaning the dried blood from around it. Logan was hissing and squirming under her ministrations, in turn spewing curses and in turn pleading for some higher deity to his aid.
“I know this isn’t ‘a cure’ per say, but it’s my only option...” She had cleaned the wound and bandaged it, and now Logan was sitting his back turned to the fireplace, leaning his elbows to the table, toying with the vial, staring silvery sparkles in it with glassy eyes. She had bathed his whole upper body with the mixture of rosewater and lavender, and scent of them wafted around him.
“How long ago were you wounded?” She asked, adding wood to the fireplace and draping a blanket over his bare shoulders.
“Don’t worry. I will be long gone before anything happens.”
“How do you know that I won’t alert hunters after you?” She asked, and his eyes flashed to hers briefly.
“I don’t know that. Wasn’t planning to let you know…” She backed away from him, hand fumbling the poker from the side of the fireplace.
“But I gave you my promise. I won’t hurt you as long as you let me be. You have been very decent hostess. Considering everything, I think I should get going before I overstay my welcome,” Logan said, shrugged off the blanket and reached for his shirt. It was still wet. She had washed it and draped it over the fireplace to dry off. Marie’s fingers curled around the poker when he stood up. He didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care.
“I ask you only one thing…” He said, fumbling with the fastenings of his vest with trembling fingers.
“Give me three days to get away from here before you alert the people. Can you give me that?” Buckles on his vest refused to obey and he stopped trying and reached for his jacket instead. Moving around made the muscles on his side twitch, and suddenly he fell on his knees, gasping for air and clutching the wound, trying desperately to stay conscious.
“Three days? Even if I gave you three weeks you wouldn’t get even out from this cabin! Come on. Get up…” Marie discarded the poker she had grasped in her fear and crouched beside Logan, urging him back to his feet.
“Where are you taking me?” Logan was swaying, leaning heavily against her. He was burning up. It felt almost like holding a sack of hot coals, and there was a wet, feverish gleam in his eyes.
“I’m taking you in to bed. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
“I can’t stay. I have to go before… I have to go…”
“You will go to bed, take your medicine like a good little wolf and sleep it off. We’ll see about you leaving after the fever has broken.”
“Take this. Wear it all the time…” Logan cringed, handing her a large silver cross that hung from silver chain. Metal was burning his fingers, sure sign of wolf’s taint in him. He slipped the chain over Marie’s neck.
“And take this…” He gave her one of his revolvers.
“It’s loaded. Shot in the head works best, but it’s better if you aim here. You’re more likely to hit,” he said tapping his chest.
“I don’t need this. You will take ‘the cure’ now. If you start acting weird and try anything, I can just bonk you on the head with poker. Takes a while to clear from that. I think I wouldn’t even be able to pull the trigger,” Marie said, pushing the gun back to him.
“You’ll take it, and you’ll use it if I as much as scratch my ears. Is that understood?” Logan hissed, wrapping her fingers around the gun, nearly crushing her fragile bones with his grip. When she didn’t answer, he squeezed even harder and shook their clasped hands.
“Is that understood?” She couldn’t give him a verbal answer, but took the gun, slipping it to the pocket of her apron. Logan let out a relieved huff and fell to the bed.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Marie snapped and tugged him back up.
“Take off your clothes. That shirt is soaking wet, and those trousers need to be washed up.”
“Can I have some privacy?” Logan asked when Marie showed no signs of leaving, or even turning her back.
“I doubt that you have anything I haven’t seen before. But if you’re shy…” She smiled and turned around. She could hear Logan harrumphing. Clothes rustling. Soft clink of buckles and small odd bits of metal.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He was somewhat stuttering because of the tremors that wracked his body.
“Christ! You have a cold bed…”
“Here. Drink this.” Marie handed him the vial. He shook it to mix the silver flakes back in to the liquid, then without hesitation threw it back, swallowing it quickly.
“This is going to hurt like bitch…” He groaned, bracing himself for the inevitable burn that would spread through his system.
“Oh, God…”
She knew there was nothing she could do to alleviate his torment. He would have to ride it through on his own. She gathered clothes he had dropped to the floor.
“May God be with you…” Whisper flowed from her lips easily. She had gotten used to console her patients. She may not believe in to God whose name Logan was screaming, but her words seemed to help him a little. Instead of spewing a colorful string of curses Logan curled on his side and started praying.
She crept out and closed the door to her bedroom. She could hear his pitiful pleas and cries even through the door, but that was nothing new. She had treated pained patients before. What came a surprise to her was her will to go back there and hold him, to try to take away his pain. She shrugged off that feeling and started to boil water for to wash his clothes.
Hours passed. Sun set and moon rose. His voice had broken hours ago, and instead of praying he was trashing wildly on the bed cursing God, cursing Satan, cursing the wolf and Marie, and himself.
“Shot me… Please… Just finish me…” He was scratching the sheets. Moon looming outside of the window was pulling the wolf forth while the cure kept it shackled. There was a wild yellow gleam in his eyes, and she could see sharp tips of elongated canines when his lips parted to yet another pained gasp.
“I won’t kill you. You will get through this. Shouldn’t take long anymore…” She wiped the sweat from his face with a wet cloth.
“How the fuck would you know… Oh, Christ… It burns!”
“I have done this before. Watched over the taming,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Low rumble escaped from Logan’s chest, a warning purr, but she didn’t retreat. There was no real danger, not anymore.
“Who…?”
“My father. He was bitten one night when he was on his way home from the village. He was tired, had been down there all day selling candles. He was careless. Wolf-man attacked him.”
“Where… Where is he now?” Logan gasped. He was grasping the straws already, trying to find anything to distract his mind from the ravaging pain.
“He killed himself after a year. He couldn’t… He couldn’t go through with this anymore.” Taming had to be done every month during full moon.
“Well, what is your… Expert opinion about… Me?” Logan asked, grasping the hem of her skirt and burying his face to it when yet another bolt of red, hot hurt raced through his body.
“I’m no expert. And it’s up to you if you make it or fail it.” She untangled his fingers from her skirt and stood up. His glowing gaze followed her to the door.
“I washed your clothes. I’ll make you a bath later. Just tell me when you feel you’re up to it,” she said without turning to look at him. It was already hard enough to leave him alone.
She busied herself in making candles. Task simple enough, every move efficient, coming from her spine, routine born from performing the same phases day after day, year after year. She managed to block out the surrounding world so completely that she didn’t notice when Logan few hours later emerged from the bedroom, wrapped up to a rumpled quilt, every bone and fiber in his body still shivering from abuse that his body went through during the night. He patted to the fireplace and sat on the armchair she had dragged in front of it earlier.
“Good morning, Rogue,” he spoke softly, throat still raspy and sore from screaming. Marie spun around startled, grasping the cross that still hung on her chest. She didn’t believe in to the suffering figure carved on to the cross, but she knew Logan was a believer, and wolf in him would recognize the power of the silver that the cross was made of.
“How do you feel?” She asked. Taming didn’t always work. Sometimes the concoction was lethal. Sometimes wolf kept its hold from the host.
“Like me. Tired. In serious need of a bath. I reek,” Logan said, clearing his throat and wrapping the quilt around him tighter.
“Wolf venom healed me before cure purged it out. I just need to rest for a while, but I’ll be out of your hair by nightfall.”
After he had bathed Logan had gotten dressed and walked out, finding a warm patch of sun from the soft grass that grew around her cabin, lying there to sleep. He had slept nearly whole day. In the evening they had eaten, he had collected his belongings and now he was leaving.
“Here, this is yours,” Marie said, handing him the cross. He trailed the small silver figure carved upon it; sad smile tugging the corners of his mouth when metal burned his finger.
“Keep it. As a thanks for everything you have done.”
“Go with God.” She couldn’t find appropriate words for goodbye, so she chose words she had heard believing travelers use when they parted company. Logan smiled and grasped her hand, bringing it closer to his face and bowing slightly.
“May goddess bless you,” he murmured softly, using the sacred language of Latin to act that his church had doomed to be heresy.
She stood and watched his retreating back until his figure blended completely in the shadows before returning back in to the cabin and locking the door.
Das Tier In Mir (Wolfen) -lyrics
Silva in lumine
Lunae arcana est
Domus mea
Silva in lumine
Stellarum est
Es ist das Tier in mir!
Es weckt die Gier nach dir!
Hab dich zum Fressen gern!
Kannst du mein Verlangen spürn?
Dunkle Wolken und finstere Gedanken,
die Vollmondnacht zerbricht meine Schranken.
In mir kommt die Gier auf Getier, dass ich massakrier.
Spür diese Lust auf Blut jetzt und hier.
Tief in der Nacht die funkelnden Sterne,
ein süßer Geruch zieht mich in die Ferne.
Aber Acht wenn ganz sacht in der Nacht meine Glut entfacht
und der Jäger in mir erwacht!
Silva in lumine
Lunae arcana est
Domus mea
Silva in lumine
Stellarum est
Es ist das Tier in mir!
Es weckt die Gier nach dir!
Hab dich zum Fressen gern!
Kannst du mein Verlangen spürn?
Fremde Gedanken, wilde Gelüste
Das verlangen nach dem zarten Fleisch von Brüsten
Will reißen, will beißen, zerfleischen, zerfetzen,
bei lustvoller Jagd meine Beute hetzen.
Glutrote Augen folgen deiner Spur,
die Witterung führt über weite Flur.
Ich mutier zum Tier, bin ein Geschöpf der Nacht.
Ich bin der Jäger des Mondes bis der Morgen erwacht.
Silva in lumine
Lunae arcana est
Domus mea
Silva in lumine
Stellarum est
Stellarum est
Stellarum est
Ahhh!
Ich werd zum Tier!
Ahhh!
Ich werd zum Tier!
Es ist das Tier in mir!
Es weckt die Gier nach dir!
Hab dich zum Fressen gern!
Kannst du mein Verlangen spürn?
Es ist das Tier in mir! (Background: Silva in lumine)
Es weckt die Gier nach dir!
Hab dich zum Fressen gern! (Background: Silva in lumine)
Kannst du mein Verlangen spürn?
Silva in lumine
Lunae arcana est
Domus mea
Silva in lumine
Stellarum est
Stellarum est
Stellarum est
Stellarum est
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Author's Chapter Notes:
Marie and Logan aren’t mutants in this one, but they both have their own little secrets. You probably recognize several different stories and movies behind this one. Perhaps the strongest influence I got from the movie Van Helsing. Song that finally jarred this one loose in my head was E Nomine’s “Das Tier In Mir (Wolfen)” (The animal in me). Rating NC-17 is for the later parts of this story. Uh, and the part where they meet for the first time I shamelessly stole from the movie "Shadow of the sword". I'm a bad girl.