Against the Odds

The smell of rotting flesh burning was palpable. It was the first thing Oliver noticed when he finally awoke from his slumber. That and the sound of panicked yelps from his friend. Sighing and cursing with every move, Oliver sat up to look at the white-haired man. Well- man, it was a bit of a stretch for Thierry. With a pale face that never entirely lost its baby fat and a frame that looked as flimsy as an autumn leaf, he was permanently frozen in the body of his seventeen-year-old self. Oliver always found himself caught between jealousy and pity for him.

 On the one hand, he would love to not live with all the pains in his back, the wrinkles and bags under his eyes that bore deeper than his skin and all the other stresses and woes that came from living in a forty-five-year-old body. On the other hand, as much of a burden as his furry little problem was, at least it only affected him once a month. The full moon only came about every twenty-eight days or so. Sunrise was a constant. It didn't matter if the sun was shrouded behind clouds like a blushing bride; it still burnt Thierry's skin. Also, adding to the pros of being a werewolf and not a vampire, Oliver could grow facial hair while Thierry couldn't. Oliver wasn't sure what allowed vampires to walk around, bleed, and perform other normal bodily functions but not grow hair. There was a lot about vampires Oliver couldn't understand, despite his childhood friend being one for the last twenty-eight years. The way all pigment leached out of their skin and hair after being turned, the need to be invited into homes before being able to enter and most bizarre of all, the aversion to garlic. Magic and logic were true opposites.

Still sitting on the cave floor, dirt and leaves matted into his hair, eyes bleary and heavy with sleep, Oliver blinked at his friend, who was now far away from the cave entrance. "Thierry, we talked about this," Oliver said in a low growl. "Sorry, Ollie, it's just the view was so pretty when we got here last night and I thought it would look even better at sunrise, so-" "You went outside to watch it even though it could have killed you," Oliver finished for him, not even disguising the exasperation. He pulled a leaf out of his beard and tossed it aside. Gods, he needed a drink. Not necessarily anything alcoholic. Just something to jolt him back to life. Maybe that bean juice Kya introduced to them.

Apparently, just the memory of the elvish teen was enough to wake Oliver up properly. That was why he was in this stupid cave, not his warm bed at home. During their last encounter, the little rogue told him about rumours she'd heard about in the underground. Rumours about a witch who was said to be able to make and break curses. One of the rumours had been told that she could bind the essence of night into vampires so that they could walk in the sun. He hadn't wanted to believe it at first. He hadn't been able to trust that he could finally have a way to pay back the debt he owed Thierry. However, when Kya offered the last known location of the witch to make up for the "Blackthorn Incident", he knew it was legit. His nightmare child was not the type to make grand gestures without ensuring she could deliver. And oh, did she deliver. They might not have found the witch yet, but they were close. Oliver could smell the magic pouring off the witch as soon as they reached the forest's edge. It was dizzying, really. Most magic smelt like a combination of old books and hot metal. This witch- he wished he could remember her name; her magic smelt different. It was deeper. Older than the sea. There were rumours that she was the first witch. Oliver dismissed those rumours. She'd have to be hundreds of years old if she genuinely were such. No, it was more likely that those theories were the work of overactive imaginations.

"We should have packed more water," came Thierry's voice, summoning Oliver back from his thoughts. He made a gruff noise of agreement. There was a pause before Thierry spoke again. "I must admit Ollie, I don't understand why we're going back home, I thought you hated your mother." Right, the lie Oliver had told him. Somehow, he'd forgotten the crap excuse he'd given to drag Thierry out onto the road trip. To be fair to Oliver, there was some truth to it. His mother really was on the edge of the Styx. Any day now, the Ferryman would take her aboard his boat and send her down the deathly rivers to whatever afterlife awaited her. It was yet another thing Oliver was struggling to come to terms with. Yes, he had good reasons to be angry with her for all the lies she told him. Lies that partially ruined his life. But he just couldn't bring himself to hate her. Well, not enough to be devoid of feelings about her death at least. He said as much in reply to his friend. All be it in much simpler words. "Anyways, I'll go look for a nearby stream and collect more water into our skins," he added, quick to change the topic. "You stay here." "It's daytime, what else am I going to do?" To Thierry's credit, the words were said without bitterness. They stung regardless. Logically, Oliver knew Thierry held no resentment against Oliver for his current existence. Being rational was never something he was good at, though.

Thierry was losing his mind. It was almost sundown, and Oliver hadn't come back yet. He kept trying to listen out for him. His footsteps. His breathing. His heartbeat. Anything to tell him the man he loved like a brother was still out there. Anything. He heard nothing. He hoped that it was nothing. That he'd just gotten lost on his way back from the river. But he could hear the river's steady stream. He could hear the fish swimming in its waters. The deer grazing beside it. He hadn't heard Oliver there for some time. His instinct was to go after him after he hadn't returned within the hour, but the burning sensation forced him to recoil backwards. It was moments like this when he hated his body. Moments when his friends needed him, and he couldn't be there. After the incident that turned Oliver into a werewolf, Thierry promised to support him. When he discovered that he couldn't do that as a human, he sought to become something else. Something strong enough to take on the people who insisted on hunting people like his friend for their skin and bones. Something fast enough to run after his friend during full moons so he could be free and unchained without hurting anyone. Something that would survive until Oliver's last day on earth. So he became a vampire. And right now, being a vampire means he can't go looking for him. And gods above and below it hurts more than the daylight. 

Moments after sunset, Thierry runs out of the cave. He runs blindly, stumbling over the terrain without any regard for himself. There's blood. Why is there the smell of blood? As he gets closer to the smell of the blood, he hears the familiar sound of Oliver's heart beating. It's going too fast for his liking. It sounds like he's fighting for his life. He can't hear any other heartbeats. Is he fighting other vampires? It happened every now and again when they came across other vampires. Other werewolves, too. There was some ancient feud between the two that neither could find in themselves to care about. What did it matter if every other vampire and werewolf hated each other? They didn't need to be part of that war. It wasn't part of their story. Not their beginning. Not their middle. It could not be the end.

 When Thierry finally sees his friend, he is relieved. Then confused. Then horrified. Oliver is sitting on the ground, head buried between his knees. His hand is bloody. It was already crooked; it never healed properly after his first full moon, but now it looks awful. A tree trunk next to him has been entirely knocked down. Punched through. He can see the splinters in Oliver's hands. "Ollie," he calls out gently, not wanting to startle him too much. He's not seen Oliver this vulnerable in years. He's crying. Thierry knew his mother being sick was a hard tonic to swallow, but he hadn't expected this.

Oliver does not look up at him. "I failed." It comes out in a broken voice etched in pain and tears. Thierry has never heard his voice sound like that. "Hey no," Thierry starts because how can he let Oliver think that of himself? "You haven't failed anyone. If anything, your mother failed you when she didn't tell you about your dad being a lycanthrope. You had a right to know about what was happening to your body Ollie. She shouldn't have tried to hide it from you. And you don't know if she's passed already, you could still reach her before she goes. You have time Ollie, so don't give up. Not yet."

Oliver mumbles something in reply, but Thierry doesn't hear him properly. The hammering of Oliver's heart is too loud. "Ollie, I can't hear you, can you try that again?" He asks gently. Oliver forces his head up, but he's worked himself up so badly that he's slurring his words a bit. Thierry kneels before him and talks him through a breathing exercise. It takes a while before Oliver's breathing and heartbeats return to normal. All the while, Thierry gently removes the splinters from Oliver's hands. "Ok, let's try that again, what happened?"

Oliver doesn't look at him as he talks. It sounds off warning bells in Thierry's head that something is, in fact, very wrong. Oliver tells him about what Kya told him about some witch who had the power to let vampires walk in the sun. How he'd already known his mother was sick prior and used it as an excuse to head in this direction. He lied to Thierry about this trip because Oliver knows Thierry well enough to know he'd think looking for the witch was selfish. "I've searched this entire forest, and I've found nothing. I can't even smell her magic anymore. She's gone, and so is the one chance I had to…" Theirry can't listen to this anymore. He cuts him off.

"Stop, Ollie. Just stop. There's nothing you can do about it now. Ok, just stop. My inability to walk around during the day is not your fault. It was my choice, mine. The same way I chose to drink animal blood over human. The same way I chose to come here with you. I have never, ever done anything I did not want to do because of you or anyone else. I am so sorry I never realised how much you needed me to say those words to you out loud." Oliver shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just-"his voice cracked. "I just wanted to thank you for being the brother I needed. Properly." Thierry shakes his head. He'd say something sentimental, but it's not what his friend needs. So instead, he says, "Gods, you werewolves and your emotions." It earns him a snort of laughter and a shove, but it's worth it. His friend is ok again.

Thierry hesitated to leave Oliver alone to go hunting for something to eat. Still, Oliver convinced him ultimately that he would be fine setting up a campfire. It was hard for him to be vulnerable. He'd never been good with emotions, particularly his own. He later learned that was a common issue with werewolves. Probably some sort of genetic issue that could be solved with some kind of tonic to help balance out the mind or something. Perhaps Kya's healer friend would be able to make something like that if he asked her nicely. He set up a small campfire using parts of the tree he'd punched down. He felt bad about destroying the tree, but at least he'd not hurt anyone in his despair.

"You made quite the mess," said the woman beside him. Her sudden apparition next to Oliver caught him off guard so badly that he almost stumbled into the open flame. "Apologies, I hadn't meant to scare you," she muses. To his own credit, Oliver did not sound flustered as he replied that he simply hadn't heard her approaching. The woman laughed good-naturedly. "That was by design, Mr Locke. When people come looking for me, they usually have less noble intentions."

With every word the woman spoke, the thick smell of ancient sorcery leaked back into the air. "You, you're-" "Amara de Nirvar, at your service." She offered him a slight bow and a sly grin that reminded him eerily of the nightmare child. Oliver could see her clearly as she lifted her head up to him. Perhaps she'd coated herself in a heavy glamour spell of sorts. Her eyes were utterly milky white, but they could meet his eyes just fine. Vines of leaves grew out of her head, mixed in with her salt and pepper hair. Pockets of leaves and vines appeared to be growing all over her body. By her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, and her fingernails even seemed plant-like.

Part of Oliver was tempted to ask her about it. The other part of Oliver, the part that was raised by his mother to have excellent manners, tells him that it's impolite to make inquiries about a woman's appearance when you've only just met her all of five minutes ago. That part wins. They sit together in comfortable silence until they hear Thierry making his way back to them. "Ok, Ollie, I couldn't find any of those deer from earlier, but I did manage to get some rabbits, so we should be- Um Oliver? Who's your new friend?" "Good evening, Mr. Gerrad; I believe I may be able to be of some assistance to you and your plight." It only took Thierry a moment or two to understand the witch- Amara's meaning was. "Ah you don't… need to do anything for me, ma'am. Umm, I've… gotten used to it, honestly." Amara cocks her head to the side with a raised brow. "Really? Is that why you chased the sunrise this morning and nearly burnt yourself trying to rescue your friend from gods only know what?" That was enough to dismantle Thierry's own argument to him. If Oliver had known it could be that simple, he'd have started using that method years ago.

Amara seemed to glide as she walked towards Thierry. "May I?" she asked in a melodic tone. She held out an open hand to Thierry. Oliver watched as Thierry hesitantly put his own hand into hers. One of the vines growing out of the hand holding Thierry's snaked around his ring finger before flashing and turning gold. As Thierry pulled back his hand in surprise, Amara simply said, "I usually make them silver, but given your circumstances, I thought gold might be best." Oliver watched Thierry stare at the new ring, dumbfounded. "How will we know if it worked or not?" he heard himself. He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but the words slipped out without him thinking. Amara gave him a polite smile. "You'll soon find out in a few hours."

Just before sunrise, the three stood in the cave from the night before. Amara gave Thierry a gentle nod of encouragement as the sun began to rise. When Thierry stepped outside, nothing happened to him. He was fine. He was more than fine. It was like he'd come back to life. He looked between the two before saying a hurried thank you and rushing off at top speed to greet the world properly for the first time in a long time. Once he was out of earshot, Amara turned to Oliver. "I'm going to tell you a secret. One you must never repeat to him." Before Oliver could even think of protesting, she continued.

"Vampires aren't bound by the sun. They are bound by belief. Everyone believes they must be invited before they can enter your home. Thus, they must receive an invite first. Everyone says daylight burns them. So it does. Everyone says I can let them walk in the sun, and so-""Your magic allows them to walk in the sun." Oliver finished. She nods. “So if I were to tell him that all of this was built on rumours and superstations-” “He’d burst into flames, yes.”

Oliver sighs, "Magic and logic truly are oppostites."