TOG fic: The Crow's Nest
Mar. 15th, 2023 09:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sealieMini The Old Guard fic.
Little in the way of warnings apply, although a memory of past battlefields intrudes
un-betaed
Indulgent
Summary: once again Nicolò makes a new friend (or two… three)
The Crow’s Nest
sealie
The Crow’s Nest
“Tik, tikk, tik, tik,” Nicolò encouraged as he offered minced up worm to a fluffy chick wrapped in an old blanket by the cottage’s fire.
“Habibi?” Yusuf sighed into his palms. He had only been away for three nights, and Nicolò had managed to adopt a baby crow of all things.
“Yusuf!” Nicolò glowed, but he continued to feed the fluffy scrap.
Mentally, Yusuf shrugged, knowing that they had a new companion for the next twenty odd years of their stretched lives.
“How was your trip?” Nicolò asked.
“I passed Andromache’s papers to Marlowe. He knew of their content before I gave them to him.” Yusuf shrugged. “I do not know what he will make of the information.”
“He will make of it what he will,” Nicolò’ said, phlegmatically.
“And who do we have here?” Yusuf crouched beside his love.
“I am not naming him,” Nicolò declared.
Oh? That was different.
“I took him from the terrible children living in the croft by the river. They told me that they found him in that woody copse by the old farm,” Nicolò said. “I suspect that they stole him from the nest when the parents were collecting food for their nestling. I will return him in the morning.”
Outside the windows, the night was as black as the crow’s wings.
“Will we be up all night feeding the babe?” Yusuf asked, knowing both his love and learning from a parade of rescued animals over many years.
“Yes. I will welcome you home, properly, my love, when we have returned the baby.” Nicolò raised his face, and Yusuf had to kiss him.
The rapacious hunger of a growing passerine crow or raptor demanded feeding at every strike of the bell. Looking after a nestling was a labour of love or the dedication of a master falconer. Nicolò embodied both, and Yusuf was his willing partner.
“Do you need more worms minced or shall I find us an old chicken from the coop?” such was the language of love.
~*~
Yusuf cradled the nestling in the blanket as Nicolò stalked ahead of him scanning trees, up and down, left and right.
He spotted the nest almost instantly. Yusuf followed Nicolò’s gaze up to the large nest tucked in the spindly branches high above them.
“Uhm, it is good that we’re immortal,” Yusuf said. “I don’t think that those branches are going to support our weight. Falling. Inevitable.”
The nest was perfectly situated to look over the farmers’ fields around the woodland. A crow, screeching angrily, perched beside the nest. Ready to protect, on alert, previously disturbed.
“Why do they like to nest so high up?” Nicolò asked rhetorically.
Yusuf handed the chick over. “I’ll go back home and get the ladder.”
“And some ropes.”
“And some ropes.”
~*~
Yusuf returned with the ladder, somewhat delayed by Widow Soli, who had wanted to chat and find out why such a nice boy had a ladder and rope. Saving a baby crow had made her wander off shaking her head at their idiocy. Boys.
Nicolò was, as he expected, half way up the tree, sitting in the vee where the main trunk forked. The nestling was tucked in his hood, pecking furiously at Nicolò’s long braid, squalling for food. Two crows circled the tree, cawing furiously.
Yusuf didn’t vacillate, he set the ladder against the trunk and shimmied up.
“Tesoro.” Nicolò offered a stabilising hand.
“Are there other chicks in the nest?” Yusuf asked, as he hauled the rick-rack ladder up behind them.
“One, I think?”
They might then have a better chance of the crows taking the baby back, Yusuf supposed. If there had been four, mother and father may have purposely thrown the baby from the nest, saving effort and food for the strongest nestlings.
“Illya was not cast out,” Nicolò read his mind—and he had named the crowling. “He would have likely been injured from the fall. Those dreadful urchins stole him.”
Indeed, above them the bark was scuffed and branches broken, leaves torn by small feet and hands: climbing.
Yusuf got the base of the ladder wedged where the main two branches bifurcated. Nicolò eeled around him, helping angle and prop the ladder in and on the tangle of branches and twigs up toward the nest. Yusuf would hold and Nicolò would climb.
“This will be fun,” Nicolò proclaimed.
Caw!
“Climb, Nicolò, before we lose an eye or worse.”
Yusuf braced the ladder as Nicolò slowly scaled each rung. He used the tangle of branches on either side to stabilise his climb rather than putting all of his weight on the rickety ladder. The larger crow settled just above the intricate twiggy cup of the nest, and cocked its head to the side, watching.
“I am returning your baby,” Nicolò said lowly.
Yusuf imagined a baleful red cast to the demon bird’s eye. He remembered many battles with such birds feasting on the aftermath of carnage.
Nicolò reached the near top of the ladder. Yusuf strained to hold the unwieldy weight steady, feet braced on stouter branches, muscles screaming.
“Hurry, my love.”
Nicolò scooped Illya out of his hood, and with the utmost gentleness placed the baby into the nest.
“Be well, and thrive, Illya.”
The mother bird swooped low, snatching a tuft of hair from the side of Nicolò’s head. He swore, but didn’t flinch, so as not to knock the nest from the tree. Blood ran down the side of his head, coating his ear and glistening. There was an ominous creak.
The ladder under Yusuf’s hands juddered.
“Nicolò!”
He jumped, removing his weight from the ladder so that the branch didn’t break and threaten the nest. Like a cat he dropped, slapping branches as he plummeted, slowing his fall. He fell the last few feet into the soft mulch below.
“Nicolò!” Yusuf hung out of the tree.
Nicolò lay on his back in his own nest of broken twigs and leaves. “I am well, Hayati.”
Yusuf dropped the ladder on him, as a matter of principle.
~*~
Yusuf lay content, cradled in Nicolò’s arms. They had saved a baby bird. He was peculiarly satisfied by the day’s actions. A simple act. Nicolò was radiant; happy. They had eaten a humble dinner, a stew of lentils and dried fruit, with hearty, buttered bread. Before a gently glowing fire, they read the next chapter of their book by candlelight, turning pages together. Yusuf always ahead of Nicolò—waiting patiently for Nicolò to stroke his finger, signalling: Onwards, my love.
Tap. Tap.
Yusuf craned his head around. Nicolò was already untangling himself from their blanket nest.
“Nicolò,” Yusuf whined. “You’re letting in the cold. It was the wind, rattling the glass.”
“I’m just checking, Yusuf.” Nicolò pecked a kiss on the top of his head.
Nicolò pushed his beaky nose against one of the panes of sugar glass in the window, and squinted outside. His eyesight might be unparalleled but Nicolò was not going to be able to see anything in the pitch black darkness. He cracked open the window letting in a sudden, icy stab of air.
“Nico!”
“Sshh,” Nicolò soothed, closing the window just as quickly.
Yusuf lifted the blankets, letting Nicolò bury in next to him. He could have sworn that Nicolò was chilled in the heartbeats it had taken him to check that they were safe. But Yusuf knew that he enjoyed dramatics.
“What was it?” Yusuf asked. “What did you see?”
Nicolò held up a rosy, luminescent stone in the firelight.
“What?” Yusuf plucked it from his fingers. It was cool to the touch.
“River quartz,” Nicolò said. “Left on the window sill.”
“How?”
“I think,” Nicolò said, snuggling in, “our new friends have left us a thank you gift.”
Fin
Little in the way of warnings apply, although a memory of past battlefields intrudes
un-betaed
Indulgent
Summary: once again Nicolò makes a new friend (or two… three)
The Crow’s Nest
sealie
The Crow’s Nest
“Tik, tikk, tik, tik,” Nicolò encouraged as he offered minced up worm to a fluffy chick wrapped in an old blanket by the cottage’s fire.
“Habibi?” Yusuf sighed into his palms. He had only been away for three nights, and Nicolò had managed to adopt a baby crow of all things.
“Yusuf!” Nicolò glowed, but he continued to feed the fluffy scrap.
Mentally, Yusuf shrugged, knowing that they had a new companion for the next twenty odd years of their stretched lives.
“How was your trip?” Nicolò asked.
“I passed Andromache’s papers to Marlowe. He knew of their content before I gave them to him.” Yusuf shrugged. “I do not know what he will make of the information.”
“He will make of it what he will,” Nicolò’ said, phlegmatically.
“And who do we have here?” Yusuf crouched beside his love.
“I am not naming him,” Nicolò declared.
Oh? That was different.
“I took him from the terrible children living in the croft by the river. They told me that they found him in that woody copse by the old farm,” Nicolò said. “I suspect that they stole him from the nest when the parents were collecting food for their nestling. I will return him in the morning.”
Outside the windows, the night was as black as the crow’s wings.
“Will we be up all night feeding the babe?” Yusuf asked, knowing both his love and learning from a parade of rescued animals over many years.
“Yes. I will welcome you home, properly, my love, when we have returned the baby.” Nicolò raised his face, and Yusuf had to kiss him.
The rapacious hunger of a growing passerine crow or raptor demanded feeding at every strike of the bell. Looking after a nestling was a labour of love or the dedication of a master falconer. Nicolò embodied both, and Yusuf was his willing partner.
“Do you need more worms minced or shall I find us an old chicken from the coop?” such was the language of love.
~*~
Yusuf cradled the nestling in the blanket as Nicolò stalked ahead of him scanning trees, up and down, left and right.
He spotted the nest almost instantly. Yusuf followed Nicolò’s gaze up to the large nest tucked in the spindly branches high above them.
“Uhm, it is good that we’re immortal,” Yusuf said. “I don’t think that those branches are going to support our weight. Falling. Inevitable.”
The nest was perfectly situated to look over the farmers’ fields around the woodland. A crow, screeching angrily, perched beside the nest. Ready to protect, on alert, previously disturbed.
“Why do they like to nest so high up?” Nicolò asked rhetorically.
Yusuf handed the chick over. “I’ll go back home and get the ladder.”
“And some ropes.”
“And some ropes.”
~*~
Yusuf returned with the ladder, somewhat delayed by Widow Soli, who had wanted to chat and find out why such a nice boy had a ladder and rope. Saving a baby crow had made her wander off shaking her head at their idiocy. Boys.
Nicolò was, as he expected, half way up the tree, sitting in the vee where the main trunk forked. The nestling was tucked in his hood, pecking furiously at Nicolò’s long braid, squalling for food. Two crows circled the tree, cawing furiously.
Yusuf didn’t vacillate, he set the ladder against the trunk and shimmied up.
“Tesoro.” Nicolò offered a stabilising hand.
“Are there other chicks in the nest?” Yusuf asked, as he hauled the rick-rack ladder up behind them.
“One, I think?”
They might then have a better chance of the crows taking the baby back, Yusuf supposed. If there had been four, mother and father may have purposely thrown the baby from the nest, saving effort and food for the strongest nestlings.
“Illya was not cast out,” Nicolò read his mind—and he had named the crowling. “He would have likely been injured from the fall. Those dreadful urchins stole him.”
Indeed, above them the bark was scuffed and branches broken, leaves torn by small feet and hands: climbing.
Yusuf got the base of the ladder wedged where the main two branches bifurcated. Nicolò eeled around him, helping angle and prop the ladder in and on the tangle of branches and twigs up toward the nest. Yusuf would hold and Nicolò would climb.
“This will be fun,” Nicolò proclaimed.
Caw!
“Climb, Nicolò, before we lose an eye or worse.”
Yusuf braced the ladder as Nicolò slowly scaled each rung. He used the tangle of branches on either side to stabilise his climb rather than putting all of his weight on the rickety ladder. The larger crow settled just above the intricate twiggy cup of the nest, and cocked its head to the side, watching.
“I am returning your baby,” Nicolò said lowly.
Yusuf imagined a baleful red cast to the demon bird’s eye. He remembered many battles with such birds feasting on the aftermath of carnage.
Nicolò reached the near top of the ladder. Yusuf strained to hold the unwieldy weight steady, feet braced on stouter branches, muscles screaming.
“Hurry, my love.”
Nicolò scooped Illya out of his hood, and with the utmost gentleness placed the baby into the nest.
“Be well, and thrive, Illya.”
The mother bird swooped low, snatching a tuft of hair from the side of Nicolò’s head. He swore, but didn’t flinch, so as not to knock the nest from the tree. Blood ran down the side of his head, coating his ear and glistening. There was an ominous creak.
The ladder under Yusuf’s hands juddered.
“Nicolò!”
He jumped, removing his weight from the ladder so that the branch didn’t break and threaten the nest. Like a cat he dropped, slapping branches as he plummeted, slowing his fall. He fell the last few feet into the soft mulch below.
“Nicolò!” Yusuf hung out of the tree.
Nicolò lay on his back in his own nest of broken twigs and leaves. “I am well, Hayati.”
Yusuf dropped the ladder on him, as a matter of principle.
~*~
Yusuf lay content, cradled in Nicolò’s arms. They had saved a baby bird. He was peculiarly satisfied by the day’s actions. A simple act. Nicolò was radiant; happy. They had eaten a humble dinner, a stew of lentils and dried fruit, with hearty, buttered bread. Before a gently glowing fire, they read the next chapter of their book by candlelight, turning pages together. Yusuf always ahead of Nicolò—waiting patiently for Nicolò to stroke his finger, signalling: Onwards, my love.
Tap. Tap.
Yusuf craned his head around. Nicolò was already untangling himself from their blanket nest.
“Nicolò,” Yusuf whined. “You’re letting in the cold. It was the wind, rattling the glass.”
“I’m just checking, Yusuf.” Nicolò pecked a kiss on the top of his head.
Nicolò pushed his beaky nose against one of the panes of sugar glass in the window, and squinted outside. His eyesight might be unparalleled but Nicolò was not going to be able to see anything in the pitch black darkness. He cracked open the window letting in a sudden, icy stab of air.
“Nico!”
“Sshh,” Nicolò soothed, closing the window just as quickly.
Yusuf lifted the blankets, letting Nicolò bury in next to him. He could have sworn that Nicolò was chilled in the heartbeats it had taken him to check that they were safe. But Yusuf knew that he enjoyed dramatics.
“What was it?” Yusuf asked. “What did you see?”
Nicolò held up a rosy, luminescent stone in the firelight.
“What?” Yusuf plucked it from his fingers. It was cool to the touch.
“River quartz,” Nicolò said. “Left on the window sill.”
“How?”
“I think,” Nicolò said, snuggling in, “our new friends have left us a thank you gift.”
Fin
