Chapter Text
author's note: alright, hi! so to open, this is going to be alex/oc, but considering who he is as a person it's going to be the slowest slow burn ever to exist, honestly. in fact, it'll be 90% pain and 10% sass until it even begins to get to that point, and probably will continue to be long after. updates will be as frequent as circumstance allows; so as to not be overly canon-divergent, some chapters will be postponed until the next comic update. there may also be some plot-related revisions should what i have planned conflict with the canon developments yet to come.
in the meantime, you can check out audrey's information (it's ridiculously extensive and detailed, and is in no way necessary to read; it'll just give some insight into her character and some hints as to what might happen and what already has) over here at tillitsgxne.tumblr.com. i should be working on the next chapter throughout the next few days, and it'll be up for sure sometime this week. please leave a comment to let me know what you think so far!
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"The last errand you had me do got me attacked by some weird, cliché jester guy with a dumb hat!" The young Mercian argued, arms waving with his frustration and awe as he all but yelled at his 'boss'. Since arriving in Arcadia, Cog was consistently shocked by how utterly ridiculous the place and its people truly were. No number of warnings from his old friends could have possibly prepared him for the raging sea of eccentricities this new development had thrown him into; and Alexander was the cherry on top of this unbelievable shit sundae. He wasn't just infuriating; no, this pompous, preposterous man treated the outrageous occurrences in this city like the epitome of normalcy, and the Mercian boy would hardly be surprised if he asked him to assassinate the emperor himself with as little concern as he'd demonstrate if he'd asked for his mail delivered. Cog was very, very quickly beginning to feel like he was the last sane person in a whole country of crazy.
"So excuuuuse me if I'm not eager to do another one!" He concluded, crossing his arms across his chest in an act of ineffective defiance. His arguments, however, fell on Alexander's usual deaf ears, and the blond man simply offered him a disinterested and disapproving glance as he continued about his work. It was like talking to a rock. This was the eighth time today that the younger boy had decided something to be his most infuriating quality; lists wouldn't even work on this guy. Everything was at the top of it. Fixing him with a solid glare, the young artisan waited with unwavering irritation for his concerns to be dismissed.
"I would hardly call that an attack," the ambassador soberly stated, the tone in his voice leaving little room for argument. "And I will remind you that the reason for this errand is to nullify his involvement with you. There is no reason whatsoever for you to be so incessantly petulant." Shuffling the papers on his desk into an organized pile, the man finally turned his gaze to his assistant, hands neatly folded on the desk in front of him as his cold eyes looked on Cog expectantly.
"Why can't you do it, then? If you know this lady, why am I the one who has to go talk to her?" The Mercian demanded, arms uncrossing as his expressive body language made his growing frustration very clear. Arcadia had been nothing but trouble for him, and none of this should have been his problem to begin with; he was hardly interested in putting himself right back into the path of insanity all over again.
"How simple you must believe my life to be if you think I have time to pursue such trivial matters myself," the diplomat retorted, mild displeasure clear in his voice as he leered across the desk at the younger boy. "I had hoped you would at least recognize what the duties of an assistant were by this point."
"You kidnapped me! You can't go around calling your captive your assistant just because you make him go around doing your chores!" The artisan all but exploded, incredulous at just how much this man could justify and normalize for the sake of 'peace'. If everyone kept acting like this situation was any kind of normal, he was going to lose his mind.
"Enough," Alexander ordered, raising his voice only enough to make his impatience with the boy clear. "I have neither the interest nor the time for this conversation. You will do as you're told. My patience with your tantrums is growing thin, Kleinschmidt." His words were spoken with a sternness that warned against any opposition, and the noticeable narrowing of his eyes when Cog opened his mouth to argue was more than enough to close it.
"Yeah, okay, 'sir', fine! I'm going. Have fun with your super important paperwork," the exasperated boy agreed, gesturing sarcastically at the pile of paper before huffing loudly and promptly leaving his office. Arguing with the delegate had yet to get him anywhere good, usually just digging him deeper into this hole of a situation he was trapped in, and his stubbornness tended to be won over by his frustration when it came to dealing with the blond.
The tired diplomat leaned forwards with a sigh as he watched the Mercian leave; with all that hung in the balance, it was more than mildly frustrating to see the situation be treated so inconsequentially, particularly by the source of his troubles himself. But it would do him no good to explain the weight of the situation to the boy; after all, he'd be equally unwilling to help -- just more informed. He hardly needed his assistant to be any more of a walking liability than he already was. Either way, there was no doubt in his mind that the vulnerability Cog presented would be enough to manipulate and sway his old cohort into unreservedly offering him her assistance.
---
The resonating clang of her hammer hitting metal had become a soothing chaos to the blacksmith that elicited it; the life she'd built for herself now was immeasurably different than the one she'd grown up in, and throwing herself into that change all at once had eventually led her to accept that change was the only thing that stayed the same. It was consistent. She could count on it. But that revelation couldn't change who she was, and routine was still so inherently important to her that her mind fought to retain it even when it was impossible to maintain. And that sound, the clash of two powerful constituents breaking and rebuilding to create something beautiful; that was the part of her days that gave her life. When one lived alone after a life of constant companionship of some kind, the isolation that became so integral in his or her life could throw their sense of reality into a downward spiral. It was an easy delusion to adopt that your world was separate from that of everyone else, that the separation you'd been forced into kept them from ever affecting you again.
She saw life through glass, living and interacting behind that barrier that made it all seem unreal; like her days were a formality she was expected to complete like a checklist, but never really hers. She was separate, and nothing could touch her. But neither could she.
Her delusions kept her safe, but they kept her cold. It was a sacrifice she wasn't sure she'd wanted to make, but one that had made itself nonetheless. Even so, the warmth of her fire and the metal she welded brought her peace, and reality seeped through into the creations she made each day. They were beautiful, because they were passion; the last passion she still had.
It had taken her a long, long time to rebuild what had broken. The photographs of her parents were hidden away; she kept them, and she always would, but she could never look at them. Her walls were still fragile, and her scabs were not yet scars; the longer she looked, the more desperate she became to bring back the past and live in it once more. It was a dangerous temptation, and not one in which she often indulged. But sometimes it simply couldn't be helped, and their memory infected her mind like a virus that threatened every antibody she'd developed; and emotion blotted out all else, leaving her defenseless once more.
They hadn't deserved the fate they'd been given. The magic in their blood shouldn't have earned them death; they were good people, she argued to no one. They had done nothing wrong. What they did, they controlled, and never used it to hurt. They were aristocrats in high standing, and their genetics alone burnt all of their hard work to ash; who they were no longer mattered, and they were vermin because of what they were.
And she was the same. But she had been spared. He couldn't help, Alexander had told her. It would cause a public outrage, he reminded, if he acted in defense of two magic users; his political standing would be in jeopardy. After so many years spent in college as his friend, it was that moment that showed her once and for all that that held no value to the man with whom she now spoke. Whatever had happened to him, whatever made him lock himself away; it had changed him, and it had changed them. His priorities were clear. She was not amongst them. Her family would be hanged, and he would allow it. When she left his office that day, she had left him behind with it; his effortless dismissal became mutual, and she wiped him from her mind like a chalkboard that was left simply blank.
When they told her that she was to be released, she couldn't understand. For a brief moment, he wrote himself back into her life, and she allowed herself to hope that he had changed his mind; but her parents' lifeless bodies hanging outside nipped that wish in the bud, and it was the last time she would ever let herself hope again.
They had found evidence, she was informed, that she wasn't related to them by blood; this was a lie, she knew, and she knew it was his. Their property, their inheritance, they explained, would be forfeited with this development, but she would be freed; their will left her the ownership of the small blacksmithing shop they'd bought her years before, and it was the only thing left that she had.
When she moved in and spent her first night in the remodeled shop she multi-purposed as a home, she decided that she should've died with them. If they deserved death for who they were, she deserved to be hanging there with them. But he had taken that from her, and she would never forgive him for that.
The life she'd made for herself out of that chaos was stable, but she was fragile; she had broken into pieces, and glue could give the illusion that she was fixed, but it would never be the truth.
But she would never stop putting those pieces back together, and the intricate, finished sword she now held in her gloved hands was proof. If she could still create, she could still heal. There was still something left in her to grow from. She refused to let anyone or anything snuff that out. With a rekindled sense of determination, the woman put her calloused hands back to work, moving onto her next piece with ease and serenity.
---
The disgruntled artisan stomped begrudgingly through the streets, tired eyes all but glaring up a buildings as he searched for the address Alexander had neatly written out for him; the sun was already well on its way to going down, and he was sure the ambassador wouldn't hesitate to scold him for taking so long to complete such a 'simple' task. Well, he lived here; he knew where things were. He was hardly in a place to decide what's easy and what's not. He--
His mental reprimanding of the man came to a reluctant pause when the numbers on a small, two-story building matched those on the note he was currently crushing in his irate grip. The Mercian came to a quick stop, relief flooding through him as he looked it up and down, shoulders falling in exhausted relaxation. At least he was getting somewhere. The building was simple, not overly fancy or decorated; its white brick walls were well-maintained, and a gold paint accented it from the window panes and door frame. 'Letztetal' was written tastefully on the sign that adorned the space above the door that Cog hesitantly pushed open, a small bell ringing upon his entry.
A woman (the right one, the artisan hoped) was hunched over a large, open fireplace, goggles covering her eyes as she concentrated wholly on the metals she was welding. The sharp noise of the bell was enough to shock her into dropping the hammer she'd been working with altogether, jumping openly at the sound. It clattered to the ground with a resonating echo, but the blacksmith's attention was now focused entirely on the intruder instead.
Breath steadying, she released an exhausted sigh, pushing the thick goggles up to her forehead as she brought her eyes to her guest's.
"I thought I locked that," the craftswoman commented, more to herself than the boy who now stood in her doorway. "We're closed." She stated flatly, etiquette faltering as her fatigue grew more prominent.
"What? But it's only --" Cog argued quickly, pulling a watch from his pocket in disbelief. It couldn't have taken him that long to find the place--
"-- 7:30, yes. I close at 5. If you come back tomorrow, I'll be happy to help you then. For now, I must ask that you leave." Her words, stern as they may have been, held much less malice or irritation and much more genuine exhaustion. She offered no hostility; she was just driven by the overwhelming need to be left to work in peace. She hadn't taken a day off in weeks, which was entirely her own fault; but overworking herself so consistently had more lasting effects than she'd thought it would, and every bit of her being was desperate to just stop for a while.
"No, wait -- I'm not here to buy anything, I --" the younger artisan started, electing to reword his motivations when she raised a skeptical brow. "Are you Audrey Blumenthal?" he asked, closing the door behind him and making no move to leave as she had requested. He was hardly willing to return to the fortress not only late, but empty-handed; his tolerance for the diplomat that he would have to report his failure back to grew weaker every second.
"Yes," the woman replied, voice tinged with irritation as she ran a calloused hand through her hair. "Are you going to tell me what you want?"
"I'm here to-- Well, the Ambassador sent me to come talk to you; I'm his new assistant." A quiet 'unfortunately' was added as an afterthought, prompting a brief snort of laughter from the otherwise serious woman he addressed.
"My condolences," she began, tone much lighter than it was moments before as she allowed herself a quick quip of sarcasm. "But if he sent you to ask something of me, I'm very, very disinclined to listen." The prompt declination was followed by a quiet exhale, and she struggled to keep the sense of dread that followed his words from being entirely obvious. Even so, it cemented itself within her, for she knew that his interest in her never brought good things. It was an unwelcome, terrifying feeling, how her body reacted to the mere mention of him; she was terrified when she wished she was angry, and her logical mind was filled with irrational thoughts and worries of what might come.
"Yeah, really, I get where you're coming from," the Mercian replied quickly, expression showing genuine sympathy and mutual exasperation. "I'd just tell him to bite me if I could, I really would, but can you please just listen? I don't want to go back to Mr. Sassbassador over there with more bad news and listen to more of his 'Cog, do I have to do everything myself?'s and 'Cog, it's soooo simple for me, a fancy diplomat with pretty hair who's lived in Arcadia his whole life, so why can't someone who literally just got here do it just as well?'s--"
The Mercian cut off his own rant, breathing out an aggravated sigh; judging from her vaguely amused expression, he was pretty sure his point got across already either way.
"You don't even have to say yes if you really can't do it, but please just hear me out?" Even in his tired, agitated state, the boy managed to pull the most convincing puppy-dog eyes Audrey had seen in quite some time. When his request was met with silence, his shoulders immediately drooped in defeat as he moved to reopen the door, but was stopped as she finally nodded, gesturing to some couches next to the display windows. A wide grin spread across his features as he animatedly crossed the room to take a seat, waiting with renewed hope as the woman put away her tools and cleaned up her workstation.
Resigning herself to taking the night off -- as she was sure this would not be a short conversation -- Audrey stopped at one of her glass cabinets to pour herself some brandy before finally joining her guest at the small meeting area she used to negotiate with clients. It took every ounce of her self-control not to plop down gracelessly onto the far side of the corner couch; better judgement pushed her to sit neatly instead, crossing her legs as she swirled the drink idly in her hand.
"Your name is Cog, then?" she confirmed, relaxing her back against the soft surface of the seat.
"Yeah, I'm Cog-- ...Actually, you know what, every time I've introduced myself here, some crazy, terrible thing had to happen afterwards, so I'm gonna stick with just 'Cog' this time." His exasperation with the recent events was clear in his words, and the woman across from him nodded in agreement. She could relate, in a way.
"On with it, then. What does he want?" she questioned flatly, wasting no time in getting to the point. The Mercian almost openly grimaced, barely holding himself back from asking if everyone in this place was as rude as Alexander. With a discontented sigh, he dismissed it nonetheless and continued.
"Well, he brought me over from Mercia to be his assistant, and the fact that he 'outsourced' seems to be bugging a lot of people over here. Actually, mostly just this one guy. Big green hat, kinda looks like it's about to come to life and eat you. Really dramatic. Always looks like he's about to sing his own villain intro." He stopped briefly for confirmation, and the woman nodded vehemently. "Yeah, him. Anyway, he's been a huge pain lately, and Alexander wants to hire you to 'watch over me' until it's all worked out."
"Why didn't he just hire an assistant that didn't need a bodyguard? Better yet, someone who wouldn't be causing that conflict altogether?" Her questions were thoughtlessly rude, and while she'd meant them to be practical and far from insulting, the dramatic change in the boy's expression quickly proved that they hadn't come across that way.
"I'm not causing any conflict, okay? This isn't my fault! I didn't ask to be his dumb assistant, I didn't even want to be--" he cut himself off before he had the chance to say too much, sighing loudly. His expression warned her not to ask. "I'm not some kid, and I can take care of myself. I don't need a bodyguard, and it wasn't my decision to come here tonight." While his voice shook with his frustration, there was a hint of hurt in his eyes. If he wasn't being treated like a child too incapable to do anything right, he was being treated like he was just too young to handle 'adult' things. Just once, he wanted someone to talk to him like they would anyone else, not like he was just some little kid who wouldn't understand. His emotions were clearly written across his features, and the woman across from him frowned, taking a slow sip from her drink.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to come across as if I were blaming you; it just doesn't seem like Alexander to make himself more trouble when he could've just killed two birds with one stone. If things aren't the most efficient they could possibly be, there's something we aren't being told; suspicion is always justified when it comes to him." Her words were genuine, as was the apologetic expression she now wore; whatever circumstances this boy was dealing with were much more complicated than she'd given them credit to be. Consequentially, she supposed it was only right to give him more credit, too.
The Mercian's tension dissipated slightly, shoulders falling as he let out a deep breath. Amber eyes fell to the floor, tired just from considering that his captor had more in store for him that, of course, he was keeping to himself. Because his future livelihood was certainly not his own business. Cog found himself rolling his eyes at a conversation that hadn't even happened yet, and lamented over this mess of a life Alexander had forced him into. Shaking his head as he dismissed his internal Alex-beating, the artisan raised his gaze to that of the woman he now addressed.
"Well, if he's hiding something, I'd be the last person to know. All I do know is that he insisted I come find you and ask for your help, and then bring you back to the fortress to talk to him," he concluded with a sigh, looking at the blacksmith expectantly. Hopefully.
With puppy-dog eyes. Again.
Audrey released a sigh of her own, glaring down at him in defeat as she leaned back in her seat. Truly, the thought of seeing the blond man again after so long brought about far too many unpleasant emotions; the most prominent of which being anxiety and apprehension. But she knew better than to think that declining his request would stop him from getting whatever it was that he wanted. It would only exacerbate an already ridiculously inconvenient situation. And whoever this 'Cog' was, the last thing she wanted was for him to suffer needlessly because of her fear. Downing the rest of her drink all at once (in preparation, one might say), she proceeded to give the young boy a begrudging nod, standing from her seat as she set her glass on the table that separated them.
"Fine. Let's go."