The Song of the Storm King: Night Watch

A short story I started a few hours before going to work and finished later. More SotSK stuff because why not? The first mention of the Storm King is here and the second mention of the Storm King is here. A poem featuring Garrett the Fox can be found here.

Characters are as follows:

Lyrica Lyra/Lyrica Archer: A starving artist/wandering bard turned mercenary in order to sustain herself.

Marta of Westhaven-upon-the-River-Red AKA Marta the Wasp: disgraced Lady-of-War who fled from her country because she slept with her liege-lord’s daughter. Likes teasing other girls but only pursues blue-blood, much to Garrett’s chagrin.

Garrett the Fox: Our titular Storm King and the mythical Fox, the spirit of Pyrrhic victory.

Thomas Jonathan: Garrett’s ward and protege. Former child soldier and deserter of a militant religious faction.

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Lyrica was stirred awake by someone stroking her hair. Marta was squatting beside her on her bedroll, twirling her fair hair around her long fingers repeatedly. Marta smiled and dropped Lyrica’s hair, untying her own hair before sitting down on her bedroll.

“It’s your turn for watch.” the Lady-of-War said, grunting as she lay down, “Hope we get to town soon, I could use a hot bath.”

“Marta, please stop touching me. It’s creepy.” Lyrica whispered, not wishing to wake her tent mates. Marta smirked at her and rolled over on her side, her back to Lyrica.

“Maybe.” she said, “Goodnight.” Lyrica scrambled out of the tent, snatching up the company war horn so she could begin her watch as soon as possible. She bundled up her hair, long and fair, and tucked it beneath her button cap. They had made camp on a ledge overlooking the coast, the trees sparse around and behind them, the crashing waves quiet in the distance. The moon stared down on them from up high, surrounded by a cloud of stars the glittered in contrast to it’s fragile ivory. The night sky sent a shiver down Lyrica’s spine, sending her on her way to inspect the camp’s perimeter. The salt circle perimeter was unbroken, ensuring that they were still protected from the evils of the night, for a while at least. Sitting at the edge of the circle closest to the coast was Garrett the Fox, the only person who not only listens to Lyrica’s complaints but has the power to help her regardless of the situation. She padded over to him and stood beside him as he vacantly stared off into space. His lips curled into a smile as he caught her eye, a smile that used his mouth but not his eyes.

“Evening, Lee, what can I do you for?” he asked, stretching and cracking his shoulder joints.

“It’s my turn to keep watch.” she said quietly, shifting her weight from side to side, “You can go to bed now.” Garrett nodded his head, turning back to face the coast.

“If it’s all the same to you, Lee, I’m going to sit out here a while longer. I’ll send Tom to relieve you when it’s time.” He cast Lyrica a sidelong glance as she lingered at his side. “Anything else you need to talk about?” Lyrica wandered over to a large rock in front of him and took a seat.

“It’s Marta …” she trailed off.

“Oh boy, not again.” Garrett sighed, “You know she’s just doing this to get a rise out of you Lee?”

“I know, but it makes me feel uncomfortable.” Lyrica squeezed her arm. “I’m not like that, I don’t want Thomas to think of me as being like that, you know?” Garrett arched an eyebrow and Lyrica was immediately thankful that the darkness hid her blushing cheeks.

“Tom’s about as attentive as a sack of hammers, so you don’t have anything to worry about on that end.” Garrett scratched at his chin stubble. “If it bothers you that much, however, I’ll talk to Marta about it in the morning. We’ll probably have to help her get laid in the future, though”

“Thanks, Garrett.” Lyrica stood up and hugged the sellsword. “You caring means a lot to me.”

Garrett patted her back. “Yeah, well, you better get a move on. I’m not paying you to loaf around.” She released him and bowed before continuing her rounds. She lapped the camp thrice, noticing Garrett still sitting alone the entire time, before she noticed that he left. Tom Jon approached her, carrying an owlet in his hands.

“Miss Lyra look!” Tom Jon thrusted the owlet at her, “I found this little guy all alone on the forest floor, I’m going to try to return him to his nest before taking over the watch.” His gentle soul made Lyrica’s heart happy. “Care to join me?”

“We probably shouldn’t leave the camp entirely unguarded, Thomas.”

“Oh.” He was visibly disappointed. “No, you’re right. I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the darkness, leaving Lyrica alone to try and listen to his efforts. She heard him tramping around in the brush, scrabbling up a distant tree, falling, and finally succeeding in returning the owlet. He returned, a twig sticking out of his hair.

“I did it.”

“I heard.” They stood around each other awkwardly. Lyrica looked back to the coast and saw that Garrett had returned to where he sat earlier.

“Oh, Thomas!” She shook Tom Jon’s shoulder and pointed at the sellsword, “Be sure to let Garrett know that he can go to bed now.”

“Sure thing Miss Lyra.” Tom Jon bowed extravagantly. “Have a good sleep.” Lyrica looked at Tom strangely, remembering what Garrett had said about sacks and hammers.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight.” She bounded back towards the girls’ tent, leaving the poor boy slightly confused and touching his cheek. Tom Jon shook his head to clear it and steadily marched over to where Garrett sat.

“Evening, sir.” Tom Jon said, “I’m taking over the night watch, you can return to the boys’ tent.” Garrett gave him that same, eyeless smile he gave Lyrica a few hours earlier.

“Ah, To Jo! about time you showed yourself.” Garrett crossed his arms and stretched his legs. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sit out here a while longer.” Tom Jon gave the sellsword a skeptical look.

“Is that what you told Miss Lyra?” Tom Jon asked, crossing his own arms in turn.

“Perhaps.”

“And Miss Marta before her?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“And Mister Hardigan before her?”

“Most definitely.”

Tom Jon sighed and shook his head. “A man needs his sleep, sir.”

“Sleep hasn’t been a welcoming host as of late.” Garrett shuddered involuntarily, filled with dark memories from a distant youth, haunted by the ghost of the Red Death.

“Garrett …” Tom surprised the sellsword by saying his name so clearly. Garrett looked him in the eye and saw only concern.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give it another try.” Garrett stood up and cracked stretched to pop his spine. “Have a good watch, To Jo.”

“Goodnight, sir.” Tom Jon followed him to make sure he went back to their tent before continuing his watch.

Garrett lay on his back in the tent, listening to the sound of crunching dirt and rustling leaves. He rolled over and over throughout the night, the next thing he knew it was morning. This hasn’t been the first night like this. He still feels just as awful because of it, but he must remain strong.