Disclaimer: The Old Kingdom and all related characters are the legal property of Garth Nix. I am merely borrowing them for my own amusement.

The spray flicked around his ankles, leaving both boots and the rock they stood on increasingly wet. Crossing the stepping stones at this time of year was always a little more perilous than usual, though by now he knew the way so well he rarely had to do more than glance downwards every once in a while. This time, however, he was being particularly cautious—a carelessly placed foot would put more at risk than normal.

"Last one, Sabriel." He kept his voice as low as he could, soft and encouraging, without it being lost to the river's roar. "Ready?"

At first Sabriel didn't reply. She was tucked tight against his body, small hands fisted into his surcoat with an almost desperate intensity. As the river had daunted many an adult before, he couldn't fault the four-year old girl for being frightened. Finally she nodded, a movement more felt than seen with her face pressed so tightly against the curve where shoulder met neck.

"Good girl," he murmured, taking a moment to make certain the grip he had around her was as firm as it could be without causing hurt. His feet also shifted, bracing solidly against the rough surface of the rock as he crouched slightly—and sprang. Having to carry his daughter the entire way across had tired him somewhat, but his leap was still strong and true, sending both man and child easily to the landing stage.

The smile that curved his lips was equal parts relief and fondness. The House was not the safest place in the Old Kingdom, but it certainly came close, particularly given the current time and situation. It was the place where he could come closest to relaxation, to letting his guard drop. The place he would not have to feel his heart clench every time Sabriel wandered from his sight.

She was still clinging to him, and the gentle question of "Would you like to get down?" was met with a frantic headshake. As such, he had to push his way through the front gate one-handed, closing it again automatically and barely noticing the welcoming flicker of Charter marks that locked it behind him. The white stone of the House stood as tall and steady as ever, as much a fortress as a home, and as he strode along the path, past fountain and orchard, the door swung open, as though it knew just who had returned to seek its comfort and safety.

Of course, while some doors could be spelled to open on their own, the House's was not, which meant that someone had opened it for him. The culprit was revealed as he stepped through the doorway, sendings already gliding forward to assist him in the removal him of his damp outer clothing. Green eyes glanced his way briefly as their owner quietly shut the door again.

"Welcome back at last, Abhorsen."

"And good afternoon to you too, Morgenth." He was forced to wave the sendings off again, as it was impossible to remove so much as his cloak with Sabriel in place, and though he knew they would never make the slightest attempt to hurt the child, he could feel her quivering against him.

"A message-hawk arrived for you two days ago." Morgenth had never wasted much time with pleasant, if inane, asides, and stood with his hands linked behind his back, coloured eyes contrasting sharply against the paleness of his skin. A translucent paleness, unlike the unnatural, washed look both Abhorsen and Sabriel shared. "I was going to forward it on as per usual, but at that point I received your own message, and I felt it could wait for your arrival."

"Nothing too urgent then?" He looked down, fully meeting the servant's gaze for the first time since he had walked through the door.

"Mmm." The small man looked darkly thoughtful, and Abhorsen felt himself begin to frown. "It's hard to say. My knowledge wanes...either way, it seemed better to wait the few days it would have taken to reach you in any case and not risk it being lost or tampered with." There was a sardonic glint in his eye that dared the Abhorsen to contest the decision.

Trust was never really meant to be a part of the relationship—the marks built into his servant's binding had made that clear, as had his aunt's warnings. Morgenth was not a fool. And it was that knowledge that made him nod, accepting the choice. "Very well. I'd best take it as soon as possible, in that case. In my study."

"Of course." Abhorsen had long become accustomed to the hint of mockery that so often permeated what should otherwise be respectful works, and as such ignored it.

As the albino walked away, presumably to catch the attention of a sending—which could be difficult as, to Abhorsen's quiet amusement, the sendings all seemed to harbour a certain dislike of the servant—he strode a few steps to the left, into the main hall, complete with dining table. There weren't a great many places in the House designed for children, though he supposed he would have to look at outfitting one of the bedrooms at some point. If the plan he had brewing in his mind came to fruition, Sabriel would not have to remain here long. And for now, the main hall was as safe a place as any.

He crouched down so that one knee rested against the floor and Sabriel would be able to stand. She did not seem willing though, only tightening her hold. Abhorsen repressed a sigh. Normally she was a bright and curious child, and had loved to explore every new location they passed through. He could only assume she was struggling to adjust to the separation from travellers that had all but served as family for the girl.

"You are going to have to let go at some point," he said, gently teasing.

She lifted her head, just enough to give him a glimpse of her dark eyes, before she buried her face back into the material, her reply little more than a muffled, "No."

For a moment he considered taking her with him—but no, he didn't know what the message hawk brought, and Sabriel was too young yet to be exposed to the darker side of his duties. "I need you to stay down here, just for a little while."

"Don't want to!" she cried, wriggling deeper into his hold.

He shifted his tone, moving from indulgent father to the father who had to be listened to. "I won't be long. Stay within the House, and do not go into any rooms where the doors are closed."

Slowly, reluctantly, she unhooked her fingers, and allowed herself to be placed on the ground. Abhorsen smiled, ruffling her dark hair fondly. "There's my girl." Though it failed to draw an answering smile from her, the tears shining in her eyes remained unshed, and she made no attempt to grab at him as he stood.

"It is ready for you, Abhorsen. If you are ready."

He nodded in response to the dwarf standing in the doorway, and began walking towards the parlour and the stairs that would take him to the study. When he drew level with Morgenth, he paused, and glanced back at his daughter, standing small and alone in the massive room.

"Morgenth."

"Yes?"

"Stay with my daughter, Sabriel, till I call for her. Make sure she's comfortable.

"Wh-"

"And do not ask her to remove the binding."

Without so much as looking back to acknowledge Morgenth's displeased surprise, the Abhorsen strode away, his mind already turning over the possible problems that awaited him.

000

Left alone in the company of a small child, Morgenth was less than pleased. It was hardly the first time he'd seen one—there had been a couple of times he recalled the House being veritably filled with the little monsters—but he didn't think he had ever proved himself to be the most desirable sitter. Admittedly the Abhorsens had never proven to be particularly adept at child-rearing either, and as such seemed to try to have only one or two, in order to not ruin the lives of too many at once. It was a bit of a risk when everything about the survival of your station depended on the continuation of your bloodline, but they had always been a strange and frequently stupid lot.

None of this explained why he had been left with the girl.

She was smaller than he was, though not by a great deal. The clothing she wore was surprisingly rough, if obviously well-made. Dark features coupled with Death-washed skin, much the same as her father; indeed, the same as all of her ancestors. There was a bit of Nidema in her angular features—or was that Darzael he was thinking of? Either way, there was no doubt which line she belonged to, and Morgenth felt he could confidently say he was looking at the next Abhorsen.

And the next Abhorsen was looking back at him quite fearfully. It seemed she thoroughly shared his unease with the situation. Unfortunately, this very unease violated the order he had received, and Morgenth cast about for a way to relieve it. He took a step towards her, cursing under his breath as she scuttled backwards, eyes wide and unhappy. She wasn't comfortable with him.

Make sure she's comfortable.

Damn it all, he thought sourly. Terciel had always been particularly good at giving orders that were difficult to twist. He could feel the words eating at him, the longer he waited. He was a servant of the Abhorsen, bound to do their bidding, and to resist meant more trouble than it was worth. With a last, sullen huff, he gave into the urge coiling its way around him. Gave in and let it wipe away his current form, replacing it with one that the child would be comfortable with.

When he next opened his eyes, he was a great deal smaller. Cat, it seemed. It could be worse; he had fallen back on this form before, amongst those Abhorsens who weren't quite as lenient in allowing him his human one. It wasn't his favourite, but it was serviceable in various matters. Even if it did seem to influence him in ways that could linger for days afterwards.

The child was still nervous, but even from this distance he could see the spark of curiosity begin to grow in her eyes. She liked cats. Of course.

"Pussy?" she said doubtfully.

"Yes," he drawled, rising to his feet and stalking over to the girl, who did not move away this time. While he could technically 'stay with' the child from the doorway, he somehow doubted her father would be impressed by the effort, and those thrice-cursed sendings would be sure to find a way to let him know exactly what happened. "My name is Morgenth."

She crouched down as he approached, wrapping her arms around her knees to keep her balance. The move surprised him; not many children knew to get down on the same level as an animal in order to make the creature more inclined to come close. "Mmm-mo..." She frowned, obviously struggling to pronounce the word. "Mor-gef?"

He tried not to wince.

Sabriel nibbled her lip, brow furrowed in concentration, apparently determined to get this right. "M-mogget."

"Yes," he mewed hastily, before she could mangle it any further. "Yes, that's fine. Mogget."

Oh, how times changed. To be reduced to this. Constricted forms and names from a child's tongue.

"Mogget," she agreed, and actually gave a little smile. "Pussy-cat." He could see her fingers twitching hesitantly on her knees, and it was clear what they wanted.

"Oh for the love of..." he muttered, before surrendering dignity, and leaning forward to reluctantly headbutt the nearest leg. Immediately the small smile broadened into one of pure delight, and one hand detached itself in order to stroke along his back. While clumsy, it at least wasn't painful, and the newly-christened Mogget bore it with every ounce of patience he could dredge up from the depths of his soul.

She had the blood within her, so she had to be feeling the magics woven within his very being. She either didn't know what it was she was feeling, or she was too young to care. So when her hand found and lingered on the binding—having conveniently taken the form of a collar—he froze. Do not ask her to remove the binding.

He wasn't asking.

She fingered it curiously, drawing a single digit along the red leather and no doubt wondering at what she felt stirring within. Something was stirring within him too, waiting with held breath as it came so close to the buckle-

-only to slide past as something else caught her eye. "Pretty bell!" The finger flicked at it, and the tiny remnant of his brother sang out a reprimand, a warning, a reminder, a tightening of the binding.

Mogget wrenched himself away from her, out of her startled reach, a snarl springing forth. "Don't touch that!" Did he mean the bell or the collar? He didn't think he knew.

She had snatched her hand back in alarm, and overbalanced to sit on the floor. The dark eyes were once again confused and fearful.

He ducked his head, washing his bib furiously in an attempt to regain composure. So close, so close, was he truly that much of a fool? So close to freedom, so close to destruction, so close, so close.

A whisper jerked him out of his agitated thoughts. "Pussy. Mogget. Sorry."

"As you should be," he muttered in-between licks. He was aware that his tail still lashed and his ears were still pressed flat against his skull, and deepened the rhythm of the grooming, seeking to calm himself, and quickly.

"Are you mad?" That sounded almost tearful, and he abandoned the exercise with helpless frustration.

Yes. I'm always mad. "No." Sabriel didn't look like she believed him, so he stalked over and brushed against her side. It was a brusque movement, with stiff legs and fur that still bristled, but it earned him a sniff and a nod.

They could not sit here and do this. He did not think he would be able to cope, trying to hold a discussion with a four year old innocent child of an idiot. Who else would leave him with such a thing? He knew nothing of children, save that they were the youngest of a painfully young people, and in a bare flicker of a moment they would be dead and gone with the rest.

There were days he thought this was the real punishment. A timeless being forced to endure every second of passing time.

"Come on," he said, padding a few steps past her to look back imperiously.

She didn't move. "Where?"

He gestured with a paw towards the doorway and across towards the adjacent room. "To the kitchen."

Sabriel brightened. "For food?"

"Yes." The gleam in the green eyes indicated the soothing of some of the affront; perhaps something could come of this after all. "For food."

She came willingly after that, hesitating only briefly in the entrance to the kitchen, presumably made a little wary by the standard clattering and hissing that accompanied all kitchens of sufficient size, not to mention all the cowled Charter-built cooks. When Mogget strutted in, however, she followed willingly enough—which was good, seeing as the sendings very rarely suffered his presence in this part of their domain. A couple did in fact pause in their duties, turning to examine the intruders with invisible eyes, but they could not contest Sabriel's right to go where she would, and so, by proxy, could not contest his.

When she wandered a little too close to a stove for their comfort, however, they could and did gently direct her to a small table. One of the more indulgent sendings soon followed the action up with a glass of milk and what looked to be freshly baked biscuits. Exactly why they were cooking biscuits Mogget wasn't sure, but then these sendings had always proven disturbingly good at judging just what needed to be made when.

Biscuits were the best way to forge a friendship with a four year old, and Sabriel seemed to harbour none of her previous fear as she beamed at the sending. Then she looked across at where Mogget was sitting patiently on the table-top beside her. "Milk for Mogget?"

"Yes," he said, flashing the sending a smug look. "Milk for Mogget. And a fish. A fresh one."

"Fish," Sabriel agreed around a mouthful of chocolate-studded tooth decay.

Mogget was fairly certain the sending shot him a dirty look as it left to carry out Sabriel's unknowing orders. He ran down his own orders in his mind again. The child was certainly comfortable, and he was still with her. The fish was merely a side bonus that didn't impinge on her wellbeing at all. Perfect.

The milk was in a chipped saucer and the fish on a plain plate, as opposed to the delicate intricacy of the patterns on Sabriel's, but all food in the House tended to be of high quality, and this meal was no different. Eating without hands was not as easy as it looked, but he had grown more than competent at it after several thousand years.

He was just licking the last drop of milk off the end of his nose, and stalwartly allowing Sabriel to play with his tail—if she pulled it, though, he could really not be held accountable for his actions—when one of the sendings from within a different region of the House arrived, bowing to the young child of the Abhorsen, and beckoning to her.

Sabriel looked uncertainly at Mogget, and he sighed. "I imagine your father has remembered you at last. The sending will make sure you don't get lost."

She wasn't moving. He could already tell what was going to be required of him. Above and beyond the call of duty indeed.

"Pick me up," he demanded to the girl. If he had to play escort, then he wasn't going to be made to run up three flights of stairs with these tiny legs. "No, you have to—ow—put your arm under there, don't let me dangle—yes, thank you." He turned his head to glare at the sending, daring it to comment. They could not actually speak (obviously the Abhorsens had some idea of the kind of terrors they were unleashing on the world) but most found other ways of expressing their opinions. "Go on, then."

Three flights of stairs weren't easy on the child either, but youth and curiosity worked to her advantage, every new section of the House they passed by distracting her from whatever tiredness she may have felt. Upon reaching the entrance to the study, the sending once again bowed and made its exit. For his part, Mogget wriggled free of Sabriel's grasp, careful not to scratch her but quite firm in his desire to be on the floor. Just in time too, for Terciel chose that moment to make his entrance.

Sabriel all but flung herself at her father, and Terciel obliged her by scooping her up and settling her against his shoulder with a smile. Seemingly satisfied with her state of health, he nodded to Morgenth, who was once again human and therefore better able to pull his face into an expression of disdain.

"I am not a babysitter, Abhorsen," he said in a low voice.

Terciel gave a noncommittal hum, and Morgenth rewarded him a last sneer over his shoulder as he left. Perhaps he could bury himself within a deep and dark part of the House for the rest of her duration here.

"So, Sabriel," Abhorsen said, bouncing the girl slightly against his hip. His smile did not lighten the darkness recent news had brought to his eyes—hard to tell, perhaps, but combined with recent events he feared the worst—but his daughter did not seem to notice. "I hope you didn't get into too much mischief."

She shook her head with a chuckle. "Played with pussy!"

He paused, face creasing into a confused frown. "We have a cat?"

A/N: Because this is Garth Nix, a fair amount of extrapolation was needed, so I figured I'd briefly explain some of the choices I've made. Firstly, we know Sabriel has been to the House at least once or twice as a small child, but does not remember Mogget; so if she met him, which is likely enough, it had to have only been briefly. Secondly, Mogget is not the name Terciel knows him by, because he doesn't recognise it when Sabriel-the-adult refers to him as that. So why would Mogget introduce himself as such to Sabriel? It's quite possible he likes to introduce himself as something different every time, if he can, but I like to think he gets the names from somewhere. Thirdly, Mogget has never taken the cat form around Terciel, who says as much in Sabriel. Not to mention, this whole scenario is funnier when compared with a scene in Abhorsen: "Loyal servant of the Abhorsen, that's me. Ready to baby-sit at a moment's notice. Anywhere. No trouble at all."

Mogget is a little less of his snarky self in this one, but in all fairness we've seen him interact with inexperienced Abhorsens the most, who really do set themselves up for mockery. I assume he'd be a little more restrained around the older Abhorsens, and of course witty quips are kind of wasted on a child.