Title: When Fire Meets Feathers
Author: Ani (ani_coolgirl)
Beta: none
Pairings/Characters: light Dustfinger/Roxane, hints of Bluejay/Dustfinger, Brianna, Rosanna
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, het, hints of slash
Word Count: 1,779
Summary: Dustfinger meets the infamous Bluejay.
Author's Notes: First in an AU mini-series that I'm thinking of doing (which is currently called Fire and Feathers) where Mo reads himself into Inkheart instead of reading anybody out and subsequently loses his memory. Sorry it took me so long to post something again – I blame Supernatural and Smallville for their copious amounts of pretty-boy action. Also, this hasn't been looked over very well – feel free to point out errors and expect changes in the future. I was kinda desperate to post something.

The first time Dustfinger heard the name Bluejay was in a song. It was Roxane who sang it, voice as melodious as the first chirps of the morning air as she danced in the Ombra square, her sky-blue skirt (appropriately colored) flaring out like sapphire wings. The song itself was not particularly good, but Roxane, his beautiful, talented Roxane, owned it, spun it, until it was her own. The crowd watched, mesmerized, as she beckoned them in with tales of dark forests and ambushed men, enticed them with the sway of her hips and coy gestures.

The beat began to slow; the song was coming to a close:

So fare the forest if you dare:
The Bluejay will be waiting there.
Mind your wives; mind you wares,
Though only snake will he ensnare.

It took some moments for the crowd to shake themselves from their reverie, but then applause, thick and thunderous, filled the crossroads. Roxane gave sweeping bows to all as Brianna and Rosanna scurried about, collecting tossed coins. Dustfinger elbowed his way through the masses as it thinned out, the crowd moving on to the other delights the Motley Folk provided on shining market days such as this.

Spying Dustfinger out of the corner of her eye, Roxane dropped into a deep curtsy, like a princess to a king. Dustfinger applauded and laughed, though privately he admired the grace of her form; there was no doubt in his mind that Roxane moved more elegantly than any princess in the Laughing Prince's court.

"Excellent show, m'lady!" exclaimed Dustfinger as Roxane lifted her head with smile. "Though I don't believe I recognized the melody."

"The Ballad of the Bluejay? You're certainly out of touch," teased Roxane as the two girls hurried back over. The eldest gave a joyous squeal as soon as she spotted Dustfinger, leaping into his arms. He affectionately rubbed her hair, as red as his own. "It's the most popular song in town these days. Everyone wants to hear about the Bluejay and his band of robbers."

"The Bluejay?" The youngsters tugged at his clothes eagerly and he scooped them both up into his arms, hugging them close. While Brianna was the spitting image of her father, Rosanna had Roxane's dark tresses and the same mischievous gleam in her eye – but they were both definitely his girls. "Who's he?"

The girls were simply stunned. He'd never heard of the Bluejay? Unbelievable! Brianna and Rosanna explained in small, eager voices the legend of the Bluejay – a mysterious, masked man who stole from the rich and gave to the poor and was the greatest adversary of the Adderhead himself.

"This Bluejay sounds like quite the character," Dustfinger mused when they finished. "Certainly not someone I'd want to meet in a dark alley."

"I don't know about that; tall, dark, handsome, and courageous enough to brave the Adder's men. Not to mention quite the charmer." Roxane gave Dustfinger a playful mocking glance. "Unlike certain cowardly fire-eaters I know."

"I charmed the skirts off you, didn't I?" Dustfinger protested. "Besides, how do you know he's handsome? Maybe he wears that mask to hide his ugly face!"

Roxane laughed, though his daughters didn't seem quite so amused by the idea. After suffering through a proper scolding (the kind that can only be delivered by two little girls) about the Jay's appearance, Dustfinger sent them off to the fruit stalls for a treat. As they scampered away, Roxane leaned in close to give the softest of kisses, right on the lips. Dustfinger smiled into the touch. As she pulled away to follow Rosanna and Brianna, Dustfinger stopped her with a single question.

"The Bluejay," he asked, "is he real?"

Roxane cast him an amused glance. Dustfinger wasn't typically the type to be caught up in such tales. "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "But there has been talk of the Adder's silver caravans being raided and several of Capricorn's men going missing." She smiled mysteriously. "Don't go down any dark alleyways."

A few seconds later, she slipped into the crowd. "Perform well tonight!" she called over her shoulder before she was swallowed by the throng of shoppers, performers, and the rest, leaving Dustfinger alone in the square.

The Bluejay…

What a strange story.

*~*

Dustfinger performed in the square at night, so his fire would burn that much brighter against the darkened sky. Curious as to what kind of reaction he'd receive, he made several bright blue birds fly from his fingertips at the end of his show – the crowd went wild. Well, he knew what his closer would be for now on.

When the streets cleared out, Dustfinger left the city and made his way into the Wayless Woods. He didn't like sleeping inside the city gates – there were too many people, too many vermin – preferring instead to stretch out beneath the canopies of trees and fall asleep listening to the fairies flirt with him in his ear.

He passed the travelling players' camp, the caves, and the inn until he was in the deepest parts of the forest where the thump of hoof beats and the creak of cart wheels from the road could scarcely be heard; there was only the wind through the trees and the splash of the river. Dustfinger lay out beneath a large tree with a dozen fairy nests in it and closed his eyes to the faintest touches of pixie-kisses against his cheeks.

Just as he was about to slip into that place between asleep and awake (he was going to have good dreams, he could already tell), he was jerked forcibly into full consciousness by a shout that echoed sharply through the leaves. He sat up, scattering the blue fairies in a flourish of iridescent wings, and listened hard. The shout was followed by a second, then a third, and a fourth, until the whole woods were full of shouting, feet pounding through the underbrush, and the snaps of broken branches.

Not too far away, torches bobbed and weaved between the trees. The flickering firelight revealed the faces of angry, bloodied men with the hardened look of soldiers and thugs. They were stomping through the forest as quickly as they could in pursuit of several dark shapes. Dustfinger's heart jumped into his throat and he scrambled to his feet, running away as fast as he could. But the pursued were moving just as fast as he, and their pursuers even faster. Within moments both fell upon him and the battle began.

Even with the torches, it was difficult to see what was going on. Dustfinger had to use his ears to navigate, unable to trust his eyes. In the snatches of light he caught sight of strange things: men wearing animal masks (cats and rats, boars, and more) who fought with the ferociousness of beasts (though it was clear that they were still trying to retreat). The glow flickered off of metal blades and revealed the identity of the beast-men's pursuers. Armbands bearing a serpentine coat-of-arms were tied around their biceps – the Adder's men. The two groups went at each other without hesitance, despite their near-blindness, and bodies began to litter the forest floor.

Swords clashed to his left and right. Dustfinger ducked and swerved through the fighting, desperately searching for a way out of the fray. As soon as he spotted an opening through the chaos, he went for it – unfortunately, a large group of the animal-faced men seemed to have the same idea and Dustfinger prayed that none of them would mistake him for a servant of the Adderhead while they fled. The soldiers followed them, but the trees were growing thicker, making it harder to keep up the chase.

Suddenly, every bit of wind in Dustfinger's chest exited his lungs with a loud whoosh – he had tripped. Finding himself with a mouth full of dirt and sore ankle, he tried to scamper to his feet, but it was far too late. One of the soldiers stood over him, sword poised above his head, ready to strike. Completely frozen in fear, Dustfinger closed his eyes, waiting for the blade to fall…

…But the blow never came.

There was the shriek of metal against metal and a cry of pain; Dustfinger's eyes shot open when he felt a hand grip his shoulder and jerk him to his feet. Within a split second he was half-crouched in the underbrush, backside scraping against the trunk of a tree with a body pressing against his own. He opened his mouth but a hand covered it and a low voice from the darkness hissed: "Shh!"

All he could see were eyes – eyes the bluest blue he'd ever seen in his life. They were the shade of a spring sky, a still lake, the center of the hottest fires all at once without being any of them in particular; a thousand blues and a blue all their own. The color was only enhanced by the dozens of sapphire feathers that framed them. And they were only inches away from his own.

Several minutes passed with Dustfinger pinned between the tree and the blue-eyed man as soldier and masked men alike dashed by their hiding spot, heedless of their position. Both Dustfinger and the man were absolutely silent until the sounds of running and fighting are far away. The hand at his mouth slowly slid away and Dustfinger could do nothing but openly gape at his savior. There was a morbid sort of smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth as he looked around, excitement glinting in his eyes.

"You certainly have bad timing," said the feathered man. "Are you alright?"

His ankle ached and parts of him were numb from shock, but he managed to jerkily nod once. Satisfied, the man sheathed his bloody sword and turned to dash off after his company.

"Wait!" Dustfinger grabbed his rescuer's arm before he could stop himself. The man's hand instantly returned to the hilt of his sword and he glared dangerously. Dustfinger quickly released him. "Who are you?"

The man's animosity melted away instantly and he grinned widely. From his shirt he withdrew a single azure feather, like the kind that composed his mask. He tucked it behind Dustfinger's ear and a moment later was crashing through the woods, leaving a stunned Dustfinger behind.

Dustfinger slowly withdrew the feather from its perch and ran his fingers down its soft edge. Something in his mind clicked and he jumped to his feet. He just barely caught the last glimpses of the Bluejay darting into the night before he disappeared entirely.

"Bluejay," Dustfinger whispered breathlessly.

Not just a story after all.