Chapter Text
To bring down the house: phrase, idiom. To evoke tumultuous applause and cheers, as in 'Her solo brought the house down'. This hyperbolic term suggests noise loud enough to pose a threat to the building—an unlikely occurrence. In the late 1800s, British music-hall comedians punned on it: when the audience greeted a joke with silence, they said, “Don't clap so hard; you'll bring down the house (it's a very old house).”
Jaime took a deep breath. Let it out. He shook out his hands, careful to do so in such a way that it didn't cause the blood that was coating his hands to splatter all over everything.
A buyer for the pelts was close to town, where Eskender liked to meet; Eskender never told him exactly how close just in case Jaime got any bright ideas about escaping, but Jaime guessed they were about a two days' ride. That meant Eskender wanted the pelts ready to go by the time he sent a team out in the morning to sell the pelts to the main buyer, and either barter the remaining pelts or buy supplies as he led everyone in the hunt for more werewolves.
The problem was, roughly eight of those pelts were still living, breathing werewolves, with families and lives. The other twelve were already a pile of skins, ready for Jaime to begin the process of fleshing. In front of him, there were more wolves, bound and snarling, trying desperately to escape their fate. To escape Jaime.
It had always gone down like this. No matter how much Jaime begged and pleaded and endured the contained lightning that raced through his collar on the runestone's command, it always ended with wolf blood soaking him past the bone. Eskender had only had to activate the collar via runestone for two minutes this time before Jaime had cracked and begged for the knife.
Jaime's stomach rolled, and he slammed his eyes shut, willing himself not to vomit. Eskender was never kind to those who showed such signs of weakness, especially those who weren't actually people, like Jaime. His knuckles were white as he gripped the skinning knife in his hands, half tempted to drag the knife over his arm just to ground himself.
"Mage," Eskender barked, noticing his sudden disappearance. "This wolf won't skin itself."
A throwing knife whizzed past Jaime, embedding itself into the ground a few feet away from him. Eskender was using him for target practice again. Excellent.
Slowly, Jaime wobbled to his full height, fully intending to return to his work and get this over with.
The next knife Eskender threw went directly into Jaime's thigh, and Jaime screamed as white-hot pain lanced through him, his hands coming up to clutch at the knife sticking out of his leg. His hands itched to take it out, his body chanting at how wrongwrongwrong it was, but he resisted; as long as that knife remained in the wound, the rate of him bleeding to death in the grass would be slowed.
"Hmm, looks like I hit an artery," Eskender muttered, and before Jaime could even react, he had pulled the knife out of Jaime's leg. Blood gushed out of the wound, and Jaime rushed to put pressure on it, feeling a roaring in his ears. "Oh, I'd say so. Boy, I got you deep!"
"P-please, may I heal it?" Jaime gritted his teeth, forcing himself to calm his breathing and keep the edge of panic out of his voice.
"I dunno...you have to use quite a bit of magic today to work these hides..." Eskender stood, staring up at the sky, scratching his head. He idly flipped the blade, coated now in Jaime's blood. "How about...you get to heal once the last pelt is ready for tanning? Hmm?"
Eskender pulled out the runestone, hovering his thumb over the rune threateningly, and Jaime flinched. "Y-yes, sir," he managed to spit out, his head feeling like it was full of cotton.
Eskender laughed. "Good boy." He patted Jaime on the head, like a dog forced to heel, and Jaime resisted the urge to lean into the rare non-painful touch.
Eskender's smile soon turned to a sneer, and Jaime realized with a small spark of fear that he had been standing still for some time. Eskender gave Jaime a hard shove, back towards the next bound wolf and the task at hand, and Jaime took a deep breath, trying hard to steady his hands and stop the world from spinning.
"If you aren't quick," Eskender hissed, "I know of a mage just a town over who's look just as pretty in a collar. Don't think I'll save you if you bleed to death."
Jaime nodded, feeling like there were rocks in his head. He only had to kill...eight? Ten? Twelve more wolves?
Fuck, he was definitely going somewhere awful when he died.
"Get. Fucking. Started." Eskender snarled, and Jaime felt Eskender's boot connect with his back, making him stumble forward. The knife plunged directly into the wolf below, and the wolf screamed, thrashing to get away.
Hurriedly, Jaime killed the wolf, wincing at the thought that he had caused more suffering, even unintentionally. He had no wish to continue; what use did he have for his life? It would be better for every wolf if he were dead, but that other mage, the one who at present likely had a family and a home and friends, would take his place. Something in his heart twisted at that. He could only delay one person's suffering.
This magic truly was a curse.
"I'm sorry," he chanted quietly, even as it felt like his tongue became far too large and unwieldy for his mouth. "I'm sorry." With shaking hands, he continued his work, skinning each wolf, tears smearing his vision until it was hard to tell where his hands ended and the wolves began. It felt like time was too slow and too fast.
The blood from his knife wound trailed down his leg, soaking the fabric to his skin. It was oddly warm; a comfort he didn't deserve. He blinked, vision swimming and swirling as he struggled to stay upright. He was alive, at least. That was something.
The wolves were all dead, at this point, and the hunters began to drag the corpses away to do stars-knows-what with them. Jaime wasn't completely sure, but judging by the black smoke that always seemed to stain the horizon while he worked, he assumed they burned the corpses.
Once, about a week after they had collared Jaime, Eskender tried to force him to use the bones and the meat of the wolves to do more spells; spells that made Jaime's skin crawl to think about them. Eskender had wanted power unfathomable.
Eskender had beaten Jaime senseless three separate times, but Jaime had refused to do anything with the wolves' corpses or even look at the books Eskender had bought to teach him darker magic.
Of course, after that, Eskender had taught him how to skin a wolf, claiming Jaime needed to 'pull his weight' as he scarfed down the soup Jaime had spent hours making. It had taken Jaime nearly an hour with the runestone collar activated before he caved, hands shaking so badly that he ruined the first pelt beyond repair and received a black eye for his troubles. Jaime had sewed Eskender's pants a size smaller afterwards just to feel like he had gotten something back, but all he had gotten out of that was an extra beating.
Jaime shook his head, trying desperately to return to the present while he still had a present to return to. After the skinning came the fleshing, or separating the skin from fat and sinew. This Jaime was allowed to use magic for, even if the other hunters had to keep kicking him awake. Twenty pelts. He just had to make it through twenty…thirty? At least a dozen pelts.
He took it back, Jaime was cold.
The other hunters were talking to him, telling him to do this and that, but their voices felt like they were a thousand miles away. It was time to dry the pelts (with magic), rehydrate the pelts (with magic), and clean the pelts (with magic). Magically, he got through all of that without being killed or severely damaging a pelt, even if he was drenched in sweat and blood by the end of it.
There was a lot of magic around here these days. Even he was tired of talking about it.
…..Where was he?
A hunter grabbed his wrist as he made a grab for the flesher's knife. Jaime's brow furrowed.
"This is the next step," he tried to say, but the words felt like sand pouring between his fingers. His vision was beginning to grow spotted and dark, and it was getting harder to stand on his own two feet.
Maybe a quick nap would be alright? A nap would be pretty great.
Jaime closed his eyes to do just that.
When Jaime opened his eyes, it was to Eskender's face about three inches away from his own. Eskender was bright red with rage, and was roughly shaking him by the shoulders.
What was he saying?Jaime really couldn't tell. It felt like he was underwater. Blinking in the sudden light, he focused, trying hard to make the syllables Eskender was speaking into words.
"Heal!" Eskender shouted. "Heal yourself, damnit!"
There were other words, too, but Jaime didn't need to be told twice. His magic, warm against his skin, began to spread out, knitting the worst of his injuries back together slowly.
Jaime sighed, relief hitting him like a tidal wave, and the darkness pulled him back under.
Jaime's dreams were restless, burning, fiery things. He was lost, constantly searching for something he had driven away, fighting back the fire he knew instinctively he had caused somehow. He turned, and there was his mother, standing in the flames, staring at him with a haunted experssion.
"All you do is burn, Jaime." His mother looked so, so sad, and Jaime longed to run forward and hug her, to beg her for forgiveness, to protect her from the darkness, but the flames licked closer and closer. He tried to run, and his feet were cuffed to the ground. All he could do was watch as the flames engulfed his mother.
"All you do is burn."
The first thing Jaime thought when he woke up was that it was rather unfair to make him re-witness the death of his mother in a completely different way; the first, original time was traumatizing enough.
The second thing that Jaime noticed was that he was going to vomit.
Jaime turned in the grass and vomited, a thick, black substance that filled his nose and coated his teeth.
Eskender turned to him, stalking over to tower over him. "What the fuck," he snarled, "is that shit?"
"Don't fucking know," Jaime bit out, which was the truth. He wasn't too surprised at Eskender's retaliating boot in his ribs for his attitude.
"Well, whatever it is, it's coming up out of the grass." Eskender pointed an accusatory finger, where black liquid was oozing up out of the ground. "Is this your doing?!"
"Sir! It's in the well!" Two hunters came running over the horizon, holding the well bucket, which was filled to the brim with a black, viscous liquid. Jaime paled. The well had been dug by Jaime himself, and it was located a good mile outside of camp to avoid spoiling the drinking water. He could personally attest that the bottom of that well contained nothing but water, sediment, and silt.
"I have no idea what this is!" Jaime's stomach rolled with more nausea, and he was sick again all over the grass, the same black ooze from before burning up through his esophagus. Eskender sighed.
"Pull yourself together, for fuck's sake." Eskender gave Jaime another solid kick to the ribs. Jaime bit back a yelp; he was definitely bruised there now.
Eskender turned to the two hunters. "Pack up camp. Mage, with them. I'm taking a team to track the next batch of wolves down; as soon as the camp is packed, burn it." Eskender handed the runestone to another hunter, who pocketed it easily, shooting a sleazy look at Jaime. Jaime shuddered.
"Move out, men! I want this camp packed and ready by nightfall!" Eskender smiled at Jaime, the same sleazy, gross look he had just gotten. "I'll be back for you soon." And then he was off in the night.
Jaime watched him leave, dread pooling in his stomach.
He prayed no wolves were out tonight.
Dmitri was so glad to be a wolf out tonight.
It was nearly the full moon, and the night was alive with the sounds of night-birds and insects. The night was cool, but not too cool; just enough where it was refreshing to run and weave through the trees, snapping up to see if he could reach particularly tall branches with his front paws.
Ash, the older grey wolf next to him, huffed at him. Dmitri could practically feel the eye roll and the scolding Ash was no doubt itching to give out once he was back in his human form. Ash had invited him out to gather medicinal herbs, or, at the very least, buddy-up with Ash while he gathered the necessary herbs. There had been reports from neighboring packs that wolves have been going missing; the Hearthstone pack refused to take the chance. Everyone was on a buddy system until the disappearances stopped.
With a sigh, Dmitri fell in step beside Ash, trying to mentally recall which herbs they were looking for and where they grew.
There! Dmitri bounded forward, nosing at a particular plant on the side of a tree. He was almost certain this one was correct. Three leaves, growing on a vine; that seemed vaguely familiar.
Ash looked it over, and then looked at Dmitri. He gave a small shake of his head, eyes wide. Dmitri whined, staring at the plant in indignation. He was almost certain they were the same!
He could hear Ash tutting at him as he walked away, even in wolf form, and Dmitri got the sneaking feeling he was banned from gathering any herbs for the time being.
Well, whatever! Dmitri put on a burst of speed, blowing past Ash and barreling towards a small clearing. He ignored Ash's warning yelp; he would just be a few feet away, and he was just scouting, everything would be-
The bear trap that snapped around his leg was not in the least expected. Dmitri let out a yelp, whining as he looked down at the rusty teeth of the bear trap keeping him stuck. He definitely needed a tetanus shot and a drink after this.
He turned back towards Ash, and the grey wolf shook his head, exasperated. When Dmitri shifted, and Ash saw the state of his leg, his face softened; even when he was trying to be a hard-ass, Ash could never shake the healer instincts.
In the span of a breath, Ash was human again, and he poked around at the trap with gentle fingers, searching for the release mechanism. Dmitri snapped his jaws at him, and Ash glared.
"Don't you dare take that tone with me. You were the one who took off. What, thought it'd be fun to leave me in the dust? What if you or I had been kidnapped, hm?" Ash raised an eyebrow.
Dmitri looked properly chastised, ears now back and tail tucked. His eyes flicked up, over Ash's shoulder, and Ash got the sudden, sickening feeling that they weren't by themselves any longer.
"Yes, we wouldn't want either of you wolves kidnapped," a voice said from the trees.
Ash whirled around. They were surrounded by hunters, at least a dozen, all brandishing knives slathered in wolfsbane. The leader, a tall, blond man, smiled at him, flipping his knife in his hand. Ash felt a growl building in his throat, even in human form. Ash turned to block Dmitri with his body.
"This is Hearthstone territory," Ash announced, leaving out the fact that they were on the far edges of the established property line. "I suggest you turn around and return from where you came from."
"I don't think we will," the blond man said, taking a casual step forward. "But we'll give you a chance. You get a fifteen second head start, wolf."
If you leave your friend behind was unspoken, and Ash actually growled at that. He would never be fast enough to warn the others, and Dmitri couldn't move that fast with his newly injured leg.
Ash smiled. "Thanks for the offer," he bit out, "but I'm really not interested in making deals with fucking scum of the Earth."
Ash turned on his heel, slamming the release mechanism open, freeing Dmitri. With a howl of pain, Dmitri sprung free of the trap, launching himself head-first at the leader hunter, jaws snapping for his jugular.
Fuck, howling—duh! Ash shifted back into wolf form and tipped his head back, howling for pack, for backup-
And then the lead hunter had Dmitri by the scruff, the wolfsbane knife held to his throat. "If you want him to keep his vocal chords," the leader shouted, "I suggest you quiet yours."
Ash stopped, making eye contact with Dmitri, who was likely begging Ash to get away, but Ash wasn't going to leave Dmitri like that. Ash did growl as the first hunter came forward, taking a hesitant step back, before launching himself forward at the hunter, snarling.
The hunter yelped, clearly not expecting that, and Ash allowed himself a few moments of victory before the hilt of the hunter's blade slammed against the back of Ash's head, and everything went black.
In the end, every tent pole, bedroll, campfire, and pelt was loaded into a couple of wagons just as the sun began to set over the horizon. Jaime was helping secure the last of Eskender's belongings as Eskender himself came riding up on his horse, eyes wild from the hunt. He growled when he saw Jaime.
"Somebody was supposed to collect the mage," Eskender shouted at the two hunters in the camp, rage plain across his face. He didn't bother dismounting, just rode straight up to Jaime and hauled him into the saddle in front of him, so that Jaime was bound to be flush against Eskender's crotch the whole time. With a slap of the reins and a kick with the spurs, they were off, racing through the woods at top speed.
After a moment of hard riding, Eskender spoke. "You know, it's your birthday tomorrow, mage."
That took Jaime off guard, and he snuck a glance up at Eskender to see if he was joking. Eskender looked serious enough. Jaime decided to risk it.
"…How old am I turning?"
"Old enough, mage!" Eskender snarled, and Jaime dropped the subject; it was clear Eskender didn't know.
After a few, tense moments, Eskender spoke up again. "I'll give you free reign to do whatever you want tomorrow evening; within reason, of course. You can pick one thing."
Dread began to creep up Jaime's spine; this was so out of character for Eskender it was unreal. Eskender was never nice; there were times when he wasn't cruel, sure, but he was never nice. This spelled trouble for Jaime; maybe Eskender really was thinking of capturing that other mage.
Whatever the case, tomorrow evening was when Jaime had to make his move.
"Well, think it over." Eskender huffed, putting on another burst of speed. "Don't say I never did anything for you."
The other hunters were visible now, all crowded around what looked like five or so wolves. All of them were unconscious, and all of them were tied up, all four paws lashed together and muzzles tied shut with a bandana on each wolf. Jaime felt a pang of regret that all of them were in wolf form; it made things easier on himself, sure, but these wolves had no idea they would never be human again.
Eskender gripped Jaime roughly by the collar and deposited him on the ground, directly in front of the other hunters.
"Spell some cages, then spell the wolves. Then you can get started on dinner, mage." Eskender urged the horse forward towards the small building they had set up for the horses without another word, not waiting to hear anything Jaime could say.
Jaime sighed, turning towards the spot in the clearing that the hunters had marked out with stones. He had barely enough magic left to do as Eskender said; even then, he was bound to be exhausted after this.
With a groan, Jamie called on his magic. Tree roots burst out of the ground, twisting into five cages, with slats in each that could be seen but not passed through. They weren't the solid metal that Eskender preferred, but Jaime had a sneaking feeling that, after tomorrow night, it wouldn't matter anymore.
Next, it was time for the wolves. Jamie reached out to each wolf, laying the heavy blanket of enchantments over each of them to keep them in their fur. Each wolf hardly stirred; Jaime had gotten very good at this. Forced practice had a way of resulting in…well, results.
The last two wolves were injured. Jamie had just enough magic in the tank to heal each wolf, just a little bit, ignoring the way his collar got hot with the unauthorized magic. One wolf was a dusty light grey, and was bleeding sluggishly from a knife wound to the leg. The other was a darker, more varied grey-black; the thought of a knife sliding through that skin and making it a pelt made Jaime's skin crawl. He had a sprained ankle.
Jaime was able to help the wolves enough to prevent the wounds from immediately festering. He finished laying the spells, intending to get up and start on dinner.
When he opened his eyes, Eskender was in his face.
"Put up the wards, mage," he snarled. "Concealment spell and an alarm spell."
"What about dinner?" Jaime asked.
Eskender nailed Jaime with a backhand. "I'm cooking." Jaime could hardly hold back a wince; Eskender couldn't cook worth shit. "You aren't coming back to the tent until those wards are done, so you better get started!"
Eskender stalked off, leaving Jaime reeling. The other hunters laughed at him, not caring at all how exhausted he was. They loaded each wolf into their own cage, then, releasing the wolves from their bonds as Jaime spelled the cages shut, each hunter wandered off to start the festivities and unpacking for the night. Jaime was left utterly alone.
It had been a whole since anyone had trusted Jaime alone. The collar had a limiter on it, designed to keep him in range and able to be utilized, and the collar prevented unauthorized magic. There wasn't a whole lot Jaime could do, but he still wasn't trusted by himself often. He had ran too many times in the early days.
With a breath, Jaime started the wards, feeling utterly spent. Something in his chest creaked and groaned and cracked under the strain as he forced himself past his magical capacity.
When he was done, when the last golden thread solidified into the last ward Eskender wanted, Jaime vomited. He was relieved to see it was normal, and not strange, black goop, but the action hurt, leaving him weak and light-headed.
For a moment, Jaime simply sat there, chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. He watched idly as Eskender walked out of the mess hall tent, swinging a handle of gin as he ducked into the tent he and Jaime shared. Jaime shuddered; when Eskender drank, he wanted Jaime to service him.
Jaime felt like being sick all over again.
Jaime looked around, looked at the wolves he had forced into cages and the awful men he had enabled to rip and tear their way through countless packs, looked at the dark smudge of miasma on his shirt from earlier. He took a deep breath and looked up, staring up at the stars.
He could find a way to end it all. He could have always found a way to end it all; a slip of the knife, or a slip of his guard around a wolf, and he would have been dead meat much earlier. He needed to take it all down; to kill every last hunter, including himself.
Jaime looked at the wolves, still unconscious in their cages. He refused to be the cause of their deaths.
After all, all Jaime knew how to do was burn. Maybe it was time to spark the kindling.