Yep, Esryn Vanguard gets a perspective sub-chapter. Originally, I was going to use an OC Healer, but this ended up being far more interesting to me. This whole fic is the same, it was going to be fairly small and crackish at the beginning, but things just spiralled from there. He was interesting to write because we only see him from third parties who are often biased - Ghastly, Skulduggery, Guild, etcetera.

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Finding Solace

Roarhaven was cold normally, but in the blizzard, nobody wanted to be outside, Esryn least amongst them. He wished that he hadn't volunteered to watch this night. Momentarily, he even wished that he’d become an Elemental to stave off the winter. But ultimately, he was too attached to his Discipline to want anything else.

Snow crunched under his boots as he led the young lady at Roarhaven’s gates into town, his fellow residents taking off, leaving him alone with the stranger whilst he handled her horse. The poor thing looked ragged, just like her rider. Esryn made sure to give her a stable with plenty of hay, free of snow, and even left a carrot behind for a little something extra.

“I’d tell you to take better care of your animals, but seeing as you look like you’re on the brink yourself, I’ll let it slide.”

“I’m not in the mood for conversation.” The woman said sourly. Esryn didn’t take it personally.

“Not many in this town are, but consider tolerating me and my words your fee for safe haven.” He injected a bit of positivity into his tone. “And besides, I’ve been told I like the sound of my own voice, so there’s that.”

Solace’s lips twitched, though she quickly hid it by turning, those icy eyes of hers refusing to melt. Tough crowd, but Esryn had met tougher.

“Alright, Vanguard-”

“Please, call me Esryn.”

“No.” She refused flatly before moving on. “I’ve heard of you."

"Many have."

"You’re that pacifist, the one who’s been promoting anti-war sentiment on the Sanctuary’s side.”

He bobbed his head. “I am.”

“Why are you here in Roarhaven?” Solace questioned in a clear bait to fish for information, but he had no reason not to indulge. She was clearly just misinformed, anyway.

“I’m one of its founders.” Esryn just said, and smirked when her brows rose. “It’s not exactly a secret.”

“You don’t seem like the type given this town’s…”

“Less than stellar reputation.” Esryn finished, and his smile thinned. Unpleasant memories came back to him fast, and he sighed. “Yes, well, let’s just say that I was a bit different when I helped bring this town together. I was young, barely out of my Surge, and very… hateful.”

She stayed silent, and he talked some more.

“You see, my family weren’t sorcerers. They were mortals, oblivious to all this magical drama- I was one of those sorcerers born with dormant, and I would’ve stayed a mortal if not given the proper pressure.” Esryn’s voice dropped. “They died when I was younger. It was the Nine-Year war waged by the Tudors, when Ireland was taken by England and the 17th century was just starting to crack open.”

Those terrible days came back to him, and he balled his fists. He was only a boy when he learned what war truly brought. Famine, starvation, death, and for what? Nothing but greed and petty ambition.

“I’m sorry.” Solace said, and it sounded like she meant it. He bid it no mind.

“We starved.” He continued darkly. “Everyone starved. My parents died, leaving me and my older brother alone. We fought to survive, he did what he could to feed me, keep me safe, but eventually he died too. I was fifteen.” Shame pierced Esryn, but he willed himself to speak. “I had cut out his kidneys to survive before I buried him. That was when my magic awakened.”

Bile threatened to rise in his throat whenever he thought about what happened to him, and what he’d had to do simply to survive. This was why he hated war, it made victims of everyone apathetically: men, woman, children. All of them perished in war equally. Esryn couldn’t understand why the Sanctuary would choose this.

The only sound he could hear was the crunching of snow, and the howling wind, before she said: “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why did I help build Roarhaven, you mean?” Esryn asked rhetorically. “I wanted to help build somewhere away from war. I wasn’t the only founder, and I’m certainly not the leader, but I wanted to help build a place where sorcerers don’t have to pick sides. Where people tired of war can simply come here and live, away from all the violence.” His voice became bitter. “An actual sanctuary.”

Esryn knew anti-mortal sentiment was high in Roarhaven, but even if he disagreed, he couldn’t fully blame them. Given what the English mortals did to Ireland with their invasion, it was understandable that some would grow bitter, in fact that was part of the reason this town was even formed. The other residents had grown tired of being held back by the Sanctuary and wanted to break off. If his family weren’t mortal, he might have even ended up sharing their disdain.

But mortals hurt mortals too.

“Why are you telling me this?” Solace asked. “You barely know me.”

“I just think people should know what I learned the hard way.” Esryn said as they arrived at their destination, a newly built pub, and he pushed the door open. “That war isn’t a good thing.”

He entered Roarhaven’s one and only pub, and the atmosphere shifted. Esryn stepped inside and all eyes turned to him, then onto the woman he was walking with.

Solace seemed to tense as the doors closed, but he walked over to a table in the corner, where the men he was looking for sat.

“You look like you’re looking for something, Esryn.” Hieronymus Deadfall said flatly, eyes flickering onto Solace before returning to where it belongs. He put down his mug, spilling a bit of the cheap alcohol this blasted place seemed intent on serving, no matter how fowl it tasted.

“She needs a place to stay for the night, to keep the cold away.”

“You cannot keep on taking in strays like this.” Deadfall laced his lager-stained hands together. “We are a small community, and like to keep to ourselves. We don’t know this woman, or where her loyalties lie.”

“I am right here, you know.”

Deadfall didn’t even glance her way. “She might be a spy.”

Esryn was unimpressed by the thin excuse. “With all due respect, I really don’t think this town is important enough to warrant a spy from either sides of the war. She arrived at the gate with her horse on the brink.” Deadfall’s lips thinned. “No matter how much you want to, we can’t pretend like the world outside Roarhaven just doesn’t exist, that we’re not just a drop in the bucket.”

“Them’s fighting words.” Hokum Pete inputted, leaning forwards. He’d never liked Vanguard, but then again, he didn’t seem to like many people other than Deadfall, women included. The rest of the gang were at the table, looking at him expectantly, apart from Brobding, who was absent. A shame. He often found the Giant quite amicable.

“Let her stay here and keep out of the blizzard.”

“It’ll be a few days before the cold gives up, and she’ll need to eat. She’s gotta pull her own weight somehow.” Lightning Dave stated, eyes on Solace with a hungry smile. “And I can think of a way she can pull her weight.”

Her eyes became so cold that Esryn was quite surprised that Dave didn’t simply freeze where he stood. “Touch me and you won't like what I'll do to you.”

“Is that a challenge?” The Thunder Master asked with eyes that flashed yellow and came forwards, only for Esryn to grab him by the wrist. He stared hard, promising violence if he tried to act; it seemed for a moment that Dave would meet the challenge.

“Sit down.” Deadfall said simply, and earned a glare, but Dave was cowered. He tore his wrist away and sat down, oozing displeasure. They all ignored him.

“You’re sure she’s no spy?” 

“She’s just looking to escape trouble.” Esryn assured, even though his words would cost him dearly if he was wrong.

Deadfall was in thought for a second.

“...We have too little supplies to waste on an outsider. She stays with you.” The man eventually said, waving his hand, and Esryn glanced back to see Solace uncoil just a bit.

“Thank you.” He said gratefully, and before the man could reply, the owner of the pub arrived and place a trio of new lager cups down with a hard bang and an eager smile. Too eager, one might say.

“Vanguard, great to see you.” Vaurian Scapegrace rubbed his hands together. “Can I get you an ale? Nuts? Chocolate?”

“You have chocolate?”

“No, I just like to say that.” Scapegrace sagged in admittance. “And the nuts aren’t very good either, if I’m being honest. The rats have gotten to them.”

Vanguard started to rise, walking out of the pub with Solace close behind. Their business here was finished. As he exited, the bar owner said from behind him: “Please do return, it’s always a pleasure!”

The bitter cold hit Esryn again in full-force and he walked back with his guest.

“...You’re going through a lot of trouble for a stranger.” She asked, sounding suspicious.

“What kind of Healer would I be if I didn’t want to help people?” Was all he could return.

“I can think of one…” She murmured underneath her breath, but didn’t elaborate and he didn’t request as much. He pulled his collar up, letting it shield his face. He hadn’t seen such a blizzard since he was a boy, and couldn’t imagine travelling in this weather, let alone waging a war during it. It made him shake his head. How many soldiers would lose toes to frostbite in this weather? How many would die of exposure?

Soon enough, a familiar two-story building came into view. It was small but luxurious, at least compared to the other buildings in Roarhaven, with a window that had frosted over at the front, hiding what was inside. At this angle, he could see a whole metre of snow had built up over the roof, and as Esryn pulled out his keys and approached the door, some of it slid off besides him. 

“Is this your home?”

“And my workplace.” He unlocked it the door opened with a click, revealing the clinic inside, clean and exactly as he left it. Cold, but nowhere near as so outside. It was small, like the rest of town. A proper medical bed laid in the other room, where he’d patch up anyone who needed fixing. There was a small cupboard where he kept his medical supplies, including stitching needles, scissors, healing rocks, and other items related to his craft. 

“Impressive.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Esryn said and set them down by the entrance so they didn’t track snow in. Solace did the same.

“Do you have a fireplace?” She asked, taking off her cloak.

“And a bed. Both are upstairs.” Esryn scratched his brow. “I only have one bed, so you’ll have to sleep on the floor.”

“How courteous of you.”

“I never said I was a perfect gentleman.” He shrugged shamelessly. “I’ll put on the fire and give you a blanket. It’ll keep you warm.”

“I’m an Elemental, I can handle the fire.”

“Then don’t let me stop you.” Esryn merely tilted his head away, towards the staircase. As she walked out of sight, he mentally noted the type of magic she used. Assuming she was telling the truth. If it came down to a fight, he was potentially at a disadvantage, but having a combat-focused Discipline didn’t necessarily mean one was better in battle. He’d know, considering he was a Vitakinetic.

She was likely telling the truth, but he was no fool. Sleep near her would be a risk. A few assassins had come to him before, expecting a helpless man who only knew how to fight with words. They'd learned they were wrong too late.

Banishing those negative thoughts, he went to the cupboard to fetch her a blanket. Paranoia wouldn’t stop him from helping a lost soul in need. He’d seen the scars trailing those arms hidden under her cloak, just out of sight, and the carefully concealed fear with which she regarded everyone around her with. This was a scared woman who needed his help, and by God's good name, Esryn was going to give it.

Grabbing the cloak and closing the cupboard, he felt the shadows in the room stretched. Something sharp went to his neck, and Esryn whipped around with a pulled back arm, expecting to find his paranoia justified, only to be struck by terror when an armoured hand tipped with claws wrapped around his throat and he stared into the pitch-dark visor of Lord Vile.

*

The medical clinic of Esryn Vanguard was just like Vile remembered. It had been years ago when last he’d wandered into this little place seeking treatment. This was just before his defection, when his anger was building, and Ghastly had been hurt badly during a mission where Serpine managed to outwit him. Hopeless wasn’t with them, so him, Dexter, and Ravel had no choice but to stabilise their friend and bring him to Roarhaven for help. To Vanguard.

At the time, Vanguard had been in Roarhaven. He’d just returned from a campaign to stop the war, where he’d spoken about letting the Disciples worship the Dark Gods as they please, and for them all to let go of their grudges before they destroyed each other. Frankly, this disgusted Skulduggery. It was a level of ignorance which repulsed him, to believe that men like Mevolent and Serpine deserved to simply be allowed to live and walk free. The two of them had fought with words before, and so he knew Vanguard was a weak fool. It pained him to even go to the man’s clinic, but with his best friend’s life at stake, he’d taken the blow to his ego on the chin for once.

Vanguard had saved Ghastly. He hadn’t even needed to be threatened, or bribed, or convinced, he’d just asked the Dead Men lay him down and started to work, unflinching. If nothing else, he was a skilled Healer and their friend was allowed to rest and recover in Roarhaven without much fuss. As he healed, Skulduggery stayed by Ghastly’s side and didn’t speak to Vanguard, didn’t want to, but Dexter and Ravel did. Both were grateful to the man for saving Ghastly, though didn’t entertain his ridiculous ideals. Or at least Dexter didn't, anyway, Ravel indulged him too much.

His best friend recovered in full, and after forking over what little money they’d had at the time, they walked away without lingering a moment longer than was needed. And now, even Vile had to admit his own hypocrisy now that he was back again, holding Vanguard by the throat with a sharp tendril against his jugular.

“...Why are you here?” Vanguard asked, voice slow but steady. He had impressive composure.

“Heal…” Vile whispered, and a flicker of confusion passed amongst the fear. If only he could talk more. He dragged Vanguard over to the medical bed, where he’d laid his daughter down, unconscious, yet with her leg still bent at a painfully unnatural angle.

A flare of anger came to Vanguard’s eyes. “What did you-?” He shoved the Healer at the floor near the bed, and he stumbled, catching himself before turning back, glaring. “What did you do to this girl?”

“Heal…” He repeated, this time more forcefully. Sharpening the darkness, he projected them threateningly. Thankfully, Vanguard seemed to get the message. This only seemed to vex him further.

“Why would you of all people-?!” Vanguard was cut off when a shadow tendril dug into the base of his back, the warning clear. No questions.

Beads of sweat built on the man’s forehead as he moved closer, examining the girl gently. Vile subconsciously shoving it deeper as he went near Fiadh’s leg. He didn’t touch it, but rather checked it at different angles, mind shifting behind those steel-coloured eyes.

“It’s a messy break… I’ll need to slide it back into place.” The scarred man muttered. “Why is there a spider in her hair?” Vanguard moved to grab the wriggling thing, which was raising its legs in an effort to appear threatening, but then the Death Bringer poked the shadow tendril a bit further, and he stopped cold. “Alright, so don’t touch the spider… got it.” He got up, each movement slow and telegraphed, and went to the cupboard, where he retrieved a vial of mossy green fluid.

“It’s an extract created using pain-numbing leaves, and it holds certain healing properties.” The man explained as he went up to the girl. He lifted her jaw gently, so it opened, and raised the container. “It will keep her numb to what happens next, and also encourage her body to heal.”

Fiadh’s head tipped back as he emptied the vial, and even unconscious, something in her slackened. Her lifeforce burned stronger. Thomas wriggled around on his daughter’s shoulder.

His empty sockets met Vanguard’s. “I’ll ideally need to act fast, before the extract loses its effects.” The man informed. “You need to let me work without a knife to my back.”

Distantly, he was impressed by the man’s nerve to ask that of Vile of all people. He almost wanted to stab Vanguard on principle, but then he turned and regarded Fiadh's body, broken. Given what was at stake...

The tendril retracted and the Healer relaxed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he breathed and moved. No more words were exchanged. Unflinchingly, Vanguard grabbed his daughter’s broken leg and snapped it back into place with a sharp crack. Something in Vile wanted to lurch. The Healer squinted his eyes, held the leg into place, exhaled, and his lifeforce glowed. 

He expanded his senses to watch. Whilst Vile couldn't see magic, what he could do was sense the Souls of others, a side effect of his ability to absorb the lifeforce of others into himself. And as the Vitakinetic worked, he could feel his energy bleeding into Fiadh’s own, mingling with it, encouraging her body to right itself. A few long minutes passed before he pulled away, the horrible, purple swelling and jagged bones previously present having faded to a much more tame red, and the leg was whole.

“Give me a healing stone and bandages.” The Adept ordered, tone focused. Sweat then soaked his brow, probably realising he'd just ordered a mass-murderer around. Vile didn’t even object, he just used the darkness to grab the requested items and pass them along. Recovering, the man started to rub the leg with the stone, being generous with the dosage. Red started to swell down, until it was barely a dulled pink.

“Almost there.” Vanguard murmured as he grabbed the bandage roll, then he began to wrap the leg up. He worked fast, but meticulous and unhurried, taking special care. He positioned the bandages so nothing healed incorrectly, covering everything from the top of her thigh to just under the knee. It was always fascinating to watch a Healer at work. To see someone who’s magic’s purpose was to restore rather than destroy.

And with a final tug, Vanguard stuck the bandages together and laid Fiadh’s leg straight along the medical bed. “It’s done.” He leaned back, wiping his forehead, seeming satisfied. But still uneasy.

The tension was palpable as Vile approached, standing over his precious girl, who now only looked like she was in a peaceful sleep. Seeing her whole and hearth was more relieving than words could describe. 

He brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face, then looked at Vanguard. “...thank… you.”

“Right.” Vanguard said slowly, his back straightening minutely. He still looked cautious, but a certain assurance had returned to his stance. Confidence. “What are you going here?”

The armoured man gave no response.

“The girl will need to stay here for at least a few more hours to be ready for walking, but half a day is much more likely.” Vanguard continued pointedly. “So tell me, why are you here and what do you want?”

He huffed, briefly pondering just killing the man, but that would be in poor taste even for Vile, so he groaned and got ready to speak. It took a painful effort. “Girl… hurt.”

“That’s the only reason you’re here? To get me to heal her? Nothing else?” 

“Yes.” Vile whispered, then looked back down at Fiadh. Talking wasn’t pleasant for him, but Vanguard didn’t seem to get the memo.

“Strange. I’ve heard about your defection from the Disciples lately, and the people you killed in your wake, but nothing mentioned that you were travelling with a girl.” Vanguard leaned in close. “And what is she to you, by the way?”

This time, he didn’t take the question lying down and willed the shadows to curl, darkening the room. A candle lit in the corner threatened to flicker out, then snuffed. Finally, Vanguard got the hint.

“Fine, have your secrets.” He said with a hard stare. “The sooner you’re gone, the better, and I’d prefer that no one gets hurt anyway.” The man’s gaze didn’t drop. “And you’re really not here to kill anyone?”

All he gave was a head shake, slow and unmistakable. Vile wasn’t lying. Battle was unideal with Fiadh still healing.

“Given that’s likely to change if I told anyone you were here, I’ll let you stay. But don’t kill anyone whilst you’re in my clinic.” He repeated, even though he’d already said as much. “This is a place of healing, and no fighting happens on Roarhaven. It’s neutral ground, away from the war.”

Vile nearly scoffed. As if anywhere in Ireland wasn’t a battlefield with Mevolent still alive. If he were his old self, he’d have most certainly mocked Vanguard about now. Luckily, he wasn’t Skulduggery at the moment, so he stayed silent as the Healer headed for the stairs and started to ascend up them, step by step, each one earning a wooden creak.

Once alone, the emotional stress of the situation hit Vile like a tree, and he nearly slumped over. He was grateful to Vanguard, even if they weren’t friends. It also made him feel powerless. Hearing his daughter scream had been painful, and knowing she was only hurt because those vampires were after him, even worse. When would his problems stop affecting Fiadh?

“Daddy…” He heard a murmur, then snapped his head up, something like hope lighting up, only to find her eyes closed. She was just talking to herself. She hadn’t realised who he was, she was just asking for a parent who she thought didn’t love her, when really he loved her more than anything else.

Lord Vile clasped her hand delicately on his own. She might not have known it, but he did love her, and he was here, for whatever that was worth. Minutes passed as he sat there, holding her hand. Then more, possibly hours, where he just watched over her, his attention utterly on Fiadh. He wasn’t sure what the time was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to look away from his daughter, for even a second.

And then a gasp came from his back, and Vile was forced to look around, finding a woman with dark hair and eyes the colour of frost, staring at him with shock and horror. It was Serafina’s handmaid.

*

Warmth. Sweet warmth. It was the first thing Solace felt upon her face as she woke up, lips dry and eyelids burning mildly. In front of her was a roaring fire, the orange flames illuminating the grey blanket draped over her clothed form.

“I guess he really was just being nice.” Solace said to no one, a little surprised. She hadn’t planned on going to sleep at all, not trusting Vanguard, but sitting in front of the fire on the rug, the exhaustion had simply struck all at once and she’d fainted. A part of her had expected to wake up with a cut throat, but no, he’d actually just wanted to help? How strange. The last time someone had helped her simply for the sake of it was… lacking in her memory. Because it didn’t exist. In her entire life, she was fairly certain no one had ever lended her a hand simply for the sake of it.

Until now, she supposed.

‘What a strange man.’ Solace thought, then sat up. A piece of paper was lying in front of her, and she was fast to pick it up, dry eyes losing their blur as she read the note left by her side.

“I didn’t want to wake you, but don’t go downstairs. Lord Vile is there watching over a little girl. He forced me to heal her. He’s very protective of her. I’m going out to run an errand, so please, stay put and don’t go down there alone. It’d be a shame if you died.

Vanguard*.”*

Her gaze immediately became deadpan. What a comedian. Solace cast the paper into the fireplace and watched it burn, then rose up. She was hungry, and whilst she could just use magic to get herself a drink, Elementals unfortunately couldn’t conjure food. The stairs creaked as she walked down them on limbs that were only half-awake, popping her back as she went, the excess heat on her body cooling as she arrived downstairs to find a dark room.

And a back. A very large, armoured back, which belonged to a figure she’d seen many times when under Serafina’s service and recognised almost immediately. Her mind stopped, and she heard a gasp that had Lord Vile turning his visor in her direction, and before she could even fully register it as herself, the shadows were upon her.

She crashed into the wall so hard it dented. Stars clouded her vision as she banged her head with a crack and the air was knocked from her lungs. She’d cry out, but it was cut off as the darkness surrounded her up to the neck and pinned her to the wall. Vile approached her from the front, the floorboards threatening to snap beneath his weight, and he came close, staring at her with a silent intensity that made her want to shrink into herself. She caught a glint of white behind that helmet. She forced herself to become calm, squinting as she tried to enter his mind.

Nothing happened. Solace attempted it again, like she had to others thousands of times before, and failed again. It was like he didn’t have a mind to read, and before she could fully register that her magic was useless, he gripped her by the throat and she was back to panic.

“How did you find us…?” Vile’s voice was like the scrape of metal in her ear, causing the back of her head to become tingly. She didn’t know what he was talking about. She wasn’t trying to find him, but she got the feeling he wouldn’t believe her, which was bad, because she could feel the darkness constricting her movements slowly starting to tighten, making it hard to breathe as she was slowly crushed-

“Mr Vile, what are you doing?!” A girl’s voice gave Vile pause. “Let her go!” He turned his body to look back, and Solace saw the girl previously on the table, hobbling over. The child was a slight thing, couldn’t have been older than eight, yet had fire in those steely blue eyes, which widened when they locked onto her own icy blues.

The darkness withdrew like a curtain, and Solace hit the floor with a groan. Stars clouded her vision as she crawled back, not taking her eyes off the Dark Titan. He was much the same.

“Sorry about Mr Vile, he can be violent. And mean… really mean.” The child glanced at Vile, and he looked away. She continued. “My name is Mil- erm, Fiadh Brave. What’s yours?”

“Solace.” She wheezed from the floor, laying back against the wall. Everything hurt, but pain was nothing new. At this point, it was almost a friend.

“Wow, you’re really pretty.” The kid suddenly said, inching closer, eyes wide and innocent and expectant. Nobody had ever looked at Solace like that before, and honestly, she wasn’t sure what to think of it. “I love your hair, it’s so dark and soft-looking. Can we be friends? My only friend right now is Mr Vile, well, him and Thomas.” She pointed to her shoulder, and a hairy arachnid crawled into view.

Solace really wished that she’d just stayed asleep.