Traveling to the Village

Posted on Wed Sep 9th, 2026 @ 11:12am by Kennedy Kelly & Narrator & Alaric Thane & Josiah Martin & Marisol Cabral & Lucas Mercer & Skjoldr Jórundsson (Hrimstrand)

9,007 words; about a 45 minute read

Mission: Episode 8: Shadows Over Avalon
Location: Avalon
Timeline: March 28, 1992

The X-Men returned from their watches with several important discoveries about the dangers surrounding the cave and the forest. The first was the grim fate of the missing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Every clue pointed to them having been dragged into the cave and devoured by a creature known as Vorathra, the Queen Mother, an enormous predator with a brood of hungry offspring lurking in the darkness below. Joey had detected the unmistakable scent of silk and chitin. The kobolds Kennedy and Skjoldr encountered had spoken fearfully of a great crawling monster, while Jennifer and Hayden had discovered firsthand the horrifying fate that awaited the Queen Mother's victims in a corpse drained of every fluid until nothing remained but a twisted, desiccated husk. Taken together, the evidence painted a clear picture of a colossal spider and her offspring that ruled the cave, and even the creatures of Avalon were careful not to disturb her domain.

The rest of their scouting had revealed something equally unsettling. Avalon was alive with unseen eyes and unheard voices, all keenly aware of the newcomers' arrival. Some of the beings they encountered had been little more than curious observers, such as the playful forest sprites that Madi and Cain had met or Meggan who had conversed with Alaric. Others, however, were far more threatening. The Hollow Mother lingered somewhere within the woods, and the kobolds had proven that not every intelligent creature in Avalon welcomed strangers. Whatever forces governed this enchanted realm already knew the X-Men were there, and it seemed only a matter of time before word reached Morgan Le Fay herself.

Unfortunately, their first night had produced more questions than answers. They still didn't know where the missing children had been taken, why they had been brought to Avalon, or what role Morgan Le Fay truly played within the realm. One thing, however, had become abundantly clear: the cave held no answers, only certain death at the fangs of the Queen Mother and her brood. The ancient castle had also been described as a place to avoid at all costs. That left only the two remaining landmarks they had discovered upon arriving in Avalon; the waterfall and the village.

The team agreed to divide their efforts. One group would investigate the waterfall while the other traveled to the village, with both parties returning to the clearing outside the cave to rendezvous. Each journey was expected to take several days, so they settled on returning after four days. If six days passed without the other team's arrival, those who had returned would begin searching for their missing comrades.

Because the waterfall lay much farther away, the X-Men capable of flight or rapid travel were assigned to that expedition, while the rest made the journey on foot toward the village. Although one group possessed a significant advantage in mobility, both routes were expected to require roughly the same amount of time, allowing them to reunite on schedule with whatever information they uncovered.

---

The team bound for the village made an unexpected discovery shortly after leaving the cave. Hidden beneath the forest canopy was an old road, its course carved through the relentless foliage by countless wagon wheels and horses' hooves. Though overgrown in places, the well-worn path offered far easier travel than forcing their way through Avalon’s grasping underbrush. But the road was not without its risks.

At first, it appeared almost deserted, allowing the team to advance with cautious confidence. Their combined tracking skills kept them alert to approaching travelers, and they alternated between scouting ahead and moving together at a steady, measured pace. The road protected them from many of the dangers lurking in the forest itself, but it also meant sharing the route with whatever else called Avalon home.

After a day and a half of travel, the wilderness gradually began to give way to unmistakable signs of civilization. Woodsmoke drifted through the trees, mingling with the distant sounds of livestock, wagon wheels, and voices carried on the breeze. The village was close now. Close enough that the next decision might prove just as important as any battle they had yet to fight. Before stepping into the open, the team would have to decide how they intended to approach Avalon’s inhabitants and whether those inhabitants would greet them as guests, or as intruders.

"Okay, I think we need to avoid looking like soldiers as much as possible," Alaric said. "We're here to gather information, not start a fight. Whatever we learn could make all the difference, but I'd rather not reveal any more about ourselves than we have to."

He paused for a moment, looking at the road disappearing into the village ahead. "It would also help if we agreed on a reason for being here. Something that's true...just not the whole truth. If everyone tells the same story, we'll be less likely to trip over ourselves."

"Might be just a little hard, considering," Lucas ran a finger around his collar. He was still getting used to the uniform, though he wore it proudly, hadn't made a single complaint about it. He was in the old blue and yellow, the X large on his chest and belt, tight jacket and pants, sturdy boots, with his hands bare as he hadn't quite figure out how to project light past the fabrics and leather. For now he wasn't all lit up.

"But I'm down for having a game plan before we make our first play." His first time out with them on a mission, he was going to relate things back to what he knew. "Keep it simple maybe? We're looking for some lost kids and mean no harm?"

Joey had been quieter than usual on the trip through the forest. Before they'd left the cave he'd quietly gathered any belongings and artefacts of the missing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents that could be packed and carried. Anything that could identify them or matter to someone waiting back home. Wrapped carefully and stored away in his pack. He had no idea what the organisation's procedures were, assuming they even extended to "eaten by arachnid fae creatures in a parallel dimension" but it had felt like the right thing to do, along with a prayer for their souls. He might not trust any government agency, much less S.H.I.E.L.D. as far as he could Logan, but that didn't mean they'd deserved what happened to them.

After the first night, he'd also ditched his X-Men uniform for considerably more practical clothing. Well worn but sturdy denim, long-sleeved velveteen shirt, and boots well accustomed to long miles, albeit in considerably drier locales. Probably not exactly inconspicuous in fairy-tale land, but it probably made him look less like a primary coloured declaration of hostile intent.

He nodded at Alaric and smirked at Lucas. "Avoidin' looking like soldiers is probably smart. Would probably work better if everyone had packed somethin' besides the official form-fitting murder wardrobe," he observed with a bit of amusement. Alaric could probably pass well enough, despite the utter ridiculousness of a leather jacket and waistcoat in the middle of a forest.

He shrugged and took his pack off. "I've got a spare shirt that should fit you well enough, Lucas. You might be able to wear my jeans if you don't mind looking like a Wrangler model. Unfortunately, there are limits to what the LORD and sensible packing can provide," he said with a brief look at Skjoldr. "Some limits being broader across the shoulders than others. I could rig up a blanket poncho for you, but ain't nothin I own fittin' over your biceps."

He paused again. "As for cover stories, that ain't really my lane. Best lie I can usually manage is lookin' someone in the eye and hopin' they assume I'm a few bricks shy of a load," he said. "But we could try lying by omission. It's perfectly truthful to say we're travellers from far, far away. We're pilgrims with an alarming commitment to physical fitness. We should just probably leave out the extradimensional portals, boarding schools, demon princes, the weapons, and the bit about some of us exploding people or levellin' villages if talks go poorly," he finished with a small look at Kennedy and Alaric. "Meanin' no offence."

“Well, we’re looking for kids, but I don’t see how we can make that sound innocent,” Madi said from the ground where she was digging through her pack for different clothes. She had already shed her jacket, leaving her in a tank top, black leggings, and hiking boots. “We’re looking for a friend’s siblings, who have run away from home?” She pulled out a rustic looking tunic with light embroidery around the collar and decided it would do for now.

Skjoldr looked down at himself after Joey’s assessment, then across at the blanket.

“You would need two,” he said. “Perhaps three if I’m meant to move my arms.”

There was the faintest pull at one corner of his mouth.

Kennedy had packed something for him despite his insisting that Hrímjárn was perfectly suitable for travel. At the time, he had thought the heavy brown cloak unnecessary. Now, with smoke and rooftops ahead and half the group dressed like a brightly coloured war-band, he was less certain.

“She told me I would need this,” he admitted, drawing the folded cloak from his pack. “I thought she was worrying over nothing.”

He fastened it across his shoulders and let the coarse wool fall over the armour. It did not hide his size, or the weight in the way he moved, but it covered the runed plates well enough. Hreggbrot remained at his belt beneath the cloth, close to hand without being the first thing the villagers saw.

Varo stood beside the road, far less easily disguised.

Skjoldr glanced at the great white bear.

“You will not pass for a dog.”

“Good.”

“That may cause questions.”

“They may ask.”

Skjoldr left that problem where it was and looked towards the village.

“We tell them we are travellers from far north,” he said. “That part is true. We heard children were taken from their homes and came looking for them. We followed the road because we need food, shelter and news.”

His eyes moved across the group.

“No talk of portals. No talk of powers. We are companions helping a family recover what was stolen.”

He adjusted the cloak where it caught against one shoulder.

“If they ask why so many armed people are needed to find children, we tell them the woods gave us the answer.”

"You don't need to play all your cards at once," Kennedy replied, her gaze drifting toward the village. It looked peaceful enough without any obvious urgency or alarm which was a reassuring sign. If they could arrive as nothing more than weary travelers, so much the better.

"We're just travelers looking for a hot meal and a place to spend the night. That's all they need to know." She nodded toward the cluster of buildings. "Ask someone to point us to the tavern or the inn. People who make their living feeding and housing strangers are usually a lot friendlier than whoever happens to be walking down the street."

Kennedy glanced back at the others and noticed how open and honest they wanted to be right from the start. "And not everyone needs to know our business the moment we arrive. Say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and things can unravel fast."

It was the kind of lesson Kennedy had learned long before joining the X-Men. Growing up surrounded by politicians had taught her that first impressions were difficult to undo, and careless words had a way of spreading far beyond the people who first heard them. "So we walk into the center of town, keep our heads down, don't give anyone a reason to be nervous, and find a merchant. They can point us toward the tavern. A village sitting at the end of the road through that forest is used to seeing travelers. Let's give them exactly what they're expecting to see."

Alaric nodded at Kennedy's recommendation. "Heads down, short and sweet, and don't speak to everyone we meet." He paused, then sighed heavily. "That was...entirely unintentional." A faint look of resignation crossed his face. "I suppose, as much as it pains me, I'm the entertainer or storyteller if the need arises. My clothes are probably the hardest to explain."

What would Mother say, he thought, as his mind went back to Lorna. Alaric, you can face demons, but a room full of villagers asking for a song is where you draw the line?

He glanced toward the village, studying the rooftops rising above the trees. "The more ordinary and quiet we appear, the less anyone has a reason to remember us. If we're lucky, we'll be just another group of travelers passing through."

His gaze shifted back to the group. "Let's finish what we need and move out. The stage awaits."

“Hell of a time to find out if I can act,” muttered Madi, slinging her pack onto her back once again. Now if they needed someone to play a trumpet, she was your gal. She’d never done a lick of acting before, though. Maybe she’d just have to stay quiet and try to look mute. “I’m ready,” she added.

"Thanks, Joey," Lucas finished pulling on the shirt over his uniform top. It was a little tight across his shoulders, but worked well enough. His legs were still clad in blue, with a couple of yellow straps, and yellow boots, but he wasn't quite as flashy as before. Of course should he need to use his powers, flashy was a given.

"Okay, we just take a look around first, and don't say too much." Left up to him, Lucas would have just walked right in all smiles and handshakes, asking the villagers what they knew openly.

"Oh my gosh, if you guys start making up aliases and tragic backstories, I'm going to pretend I don't know any of you. Just play it cool." Kennedy punctuated the remark with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Not everything needed to be so dramatic. They didn't walk up to strangers in Salem Center and unload their life stories, so she couldn't understand why this village should be any different.

"Come on, let's go." There was a quiet authority in her voice, one Kennedy hadn't been given, but she carried as naturally as breathing. Pulling the hood of her uniform over her blonde hair, she set off toward the village without waiting to see if anyone followed but she was confident they would.

At first, the village seemed unremarkable. Long stretches of fenced farmland surrounded scattered cottages, smoke curling lazily from stone chimneys as livestock grazed in nearby fields. But with every step, the homes grew closer together until the farmland gave way to narrow streets and tightly packed buildings.

As they approached, the villagers noticed them immediately. Conversations paused and doors cracked open just enough for wary eyes to peek through before quietly shutting again. Those already outside froze where they stood, staring at the newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension while others hurried indoors as if the sight of the X-Men alone promised trouble. It wasn't a reaction the team found unfamiliar. Mutants generated the same uneasy looks in cities and small towns back home. Plus the X-Men had a way of drawing attention, whether they wanted it or not.

Then another detail emerged, there were no children.

Not a single laughing voice echoed through the streets. No games, no chasing footsteps, no curious youngsters peeking from behind wagons. As they continued deeper into the village, the absence became impossible to ignore. There weren't any teenagers, either. In fact, there were scarcely any young adults at all. Among a population of weathered faces and aging hands, the X-Men's youth made them the true oddities.

As the group continued to walk, they found they didn't need to ask for directions in order to find the village square. The broad streets naturally converged on its center, opening into a sprawling plaza dominated by an ancient, knotted oak whose sprawling branches cast shade over a deep stone well. A broad wooden stage stood nearby, while merchants' carts and neatly kept storefronts framed the square.

The moment the young mutants stepped into the open, the plaza fell silent and every conversation died mid-sentence. Merchants abandoned their wares while villagers stopped where they stood, all eyes fixed on the strangers as an uneasy hush settled over the population. It felt as though the entire village had been holding its breath and now it was waiting to see what would happen next.

Alaric's eyes darted around the square almost automatically, searching for movement among the crowd. The village children should have been the first to approach out of curiosity. Or at least peering from behind skirts or darting between market stalls despite their parents' warnings. But there was not a single child anywhere. That realization settled over him like a stone.

No one reached for a weapon or made any move to attack either. The silence wasn't hostile... it was anxious. They were waiting, as though the entire village were holding its breath.

Alaric made his way toward the nearest merchant, who happened to be the village baker. Of all the stalls surrounding the square, it seemed the busiest, with a small crowd gathered around its weathered wooden table. As the oddly dressed newcomer approached, the villagers stepped aside without a word. There were round loaves of dark rye bread, honey cakes, fresh butter wrapped in cloth and wedges of hard cheese to name a few. It was an ordinary display of everyday necessities, yet the silence surrounding it made the scene feel anything but ordinary.

"Good afternoon. My friends and I been on the road for several days. Could you tell us where we might find an inn? Or a tavern?"

The Baker gave Alaric a long, measured look before his gaze drifted across the rest of the X-Men one by one. He took in their youth, their strange clothes, even the confident way they carried themselves, everything about them proclaimed they were foreigners.

Outsiders were almost unheard of in Avalon. For centuries, the kingdom had remained secluded from the wider world thanks to their Queen. But the last few months had brought unsettling changes, and with them came uncertainty, and fear. These days, unfamiliar faces inspired little more than suspicion.

"I'd wager you've been on the road for a few days," The Baker grunted through his thick, bushy gray mustache. It wasn't so much a question as an acknowledgment that he knew they didn't belong.

"If it's a bed and a hot meal you're after, you'll want The Hearth & Hound." He lifted a broad, flour-dusted finger and pointed towards the lane over his shoulder. "Can't miss it."

His hand lingered in the air for a moment before falling back to his side. He studied them once more, the lines around his eyes tightening, as though weighing whether he ought to ask what was truly on his mind. "You don't have any of those men in black with you... do ya?"

Skjoldr had remained a pace behind the others, the heavy cloak doing what it could to hide the Hrímjárn beneath it. At the baker’s last question, his attention sharpened.

“Men in black?” He glanced briefly towards Alaric, then back to the older man.

“We’ve seen no one like that on the road.” True enough.

His tone stayed easy, curious rather than demanding.

“But you have?”

Skjoldr shifted his weight, studying the baker’s face.

“How long ago?”

The Baker had to tilt his head skyward to meet Skjoldr’s gaze, yet despite the man’s imposing height and broad frame, he seemed far too frightened to speak freely in his presence. He slowly shook his head in disapproval, there was something in Avalon that made him scared to tell them more. But his eyes betrayed him and they flicked toward another path leading away from the village center before quickly returning to the group.

“Nay, it is not my place to speak of such things,” he said cautiously. “I can only warn you that strangers such as those have not been welcomed here.”

The Baker’s gaze swept over the group once more, lingering on their motley appearances as though their very presence made him nervous. He lowered his voice before continuing.

“You would be better off keeping your heads down and your eyes forward while you are here. Otherwise…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “You’ll find yourselves answering to the Queen and her knight.”

That certainly needed a follow up! Lucas took a step forward, hoping that Alaric wouldn't mind him speaking up. He offered one his big smiles, which he hoped would the man at ease. "Thanks for your advice. And we definitely don't wanna, like, upset your Queen or her knight by mistake. Could you tell us the best way we can stay on their good side? We don't mean to make any trouble for you or your neighbors."

Joey resisted the urge to close his eyes. He resisted an even stronger urge to apply the nearest wall forcefully to his head. He did not resist mentally channelling his momma's voice in his head as he thought Skjoldr and Lucas were lucky to be pretty, because their brains certainly weren't gonna get them ahead.

So, instead, he stayed exactly where he was and said absolutely nothing. Which, considering his usual relationship with silence, might have been the most impressive act of self-control he'd managed since arriving in Avalon.

The baker was scared. Not suspicious-scared, either, as best he could tell. Joey knew that look well enough. This was the man who wanted to speak a warnin' but was already wonderin' which unfriendly body might hear him doing it. Then Skjoldr had asked directly about the mysterious strangers, and Lucas, bless his human-shaped Labrador heart, followed up by asking how they could stay on the good side of the Queen and her knight.

Lord, please give me the strength not to help.

For once, Joey was pretty sure there wasn't a joke in this world or any other capable of digging them back outta the hole they'd started. So he didn't try.

His gaze drifted away from the baker, deliberately taking an interest in the square instead. The old oak. The well. The storefronts. The gaps between buildings. Anywhere that let him try to look like a bored traveller rather than another stranger fishin' for treason. And still, there were no children. And that bothered him more every second.

Rather than add another question to the pile, Joey let his awareness sink outward, gently this time. Not the clumsy shove he'd used beneath Coney Island when half the local rat population had shown up. Just a quiet invitation directed towards the small lives that ought to exist around any place with grain, livestock, kitchens, and old wooden buildings.

He didn't need them to come to him. In fact, that would probably be considerably worse. He only wanted to listen. To know the things rats noticed that people didn't. Which buildings offered food. Which places meant danger. Where people disappeared. Where no sensible creature went twice. And hopefully, whatever had the baker scared hadn't gotten around to threatening the rats.

The network of rats around the village had given Joey a rough map of the area, revealing where grain and goods were stored and confirming that there was, in fact, a tavern and inn farther down the road where they could find food and ale. But the most interesting piece of information the rats provided had nothing to do with the village square. It was what lay farther down the road, in the same direction The Baker had briefly glanced toward. There was cold and rot there. A dark, foul place filled with filth and waste, a haven where rodents could breed and thrive undisturbed. A prison stood at the end of that road and that prison was currently occupied.

Meanwhile, The Baker had grown increasingly uneasy as the group of strangers continued to crowd closer with even more questions. He already knew it had been a mistake to tell them as much as he had. Now the other shopkeepers were beginning to watch them, their attention drawn by the increasingly conspicuous conversation, it was far too much attention. His small act of mercy had already placed him at risk, and if this conversation continued, someone was bound to notice and he would be the one punished for it.

“We’re closed.” That was all The Baker offered in response to their questions. His tone was firm, his expression making it clear that the conversation was over and he would provide them with no further assistance. Before anyone could press him again, he stepped backward into his shop and promptly slammed the door in their faces.

“The best way to stay on her good side?” Kennedy repeated, turning to glare at Lucas. “Not doing that, for starters.”

The blonde released a frustrated sigh and glanced around the square. One by one, the remaining merchants and shopkeepers had either disappeared inside their stores or closed up their tables, clearly eager to distance themselves from the strangers and their increasingly uncomfortable questions. It was obvious they were all frightened by the presence of the X-Men and even more so by the talk of their Queen.

The longer the group lingered, the more attention they attracted. If they continued pestering the villagers, they were unlikely to learn anything useful. Worse, word of their arrival would spread through the village before they even had a chance to figure out what was happening.

“Come on, we should go.” Kennedy adjusted the strap of her pack and gave the surrounding storefronts another wary glance. “We’re making people uncomfortable, especially since we aren’t actually buying anything. Salesmen talk more when they’re making money.”

Lucas took a step back at the slammed door, wide eyed and surprised by the reaction. Then he blinked at Kennedy for a few seconds, and then the others. "What did I say?" The utter confusion on his face was plain to see. He replayed things over in his head, and figured he'd been perfectly polite. Was there something in his teeth maybe? Running his tongue along his gumline to check, Lucas tried to figure it out.

"Oooh, it's because-" He cut himself off with an audible click of teeth before he said something to make it worse. Finally he understood. The people were afraid, not just of them, which made some kind of sense seeing as they were strangers. They were afraid of that very queen and knight he'd asked about so casually. "Got it. Imma just... keep my eyes and ears open and mouth shut for a while. But uh, how are we going to pay for a bed or a meal or whatever?"

Alaric watched the entire scene unfold before him. When the baker withdrew and the other merchants followed suit, he looked around at the team and sighed heavily.

"Come on. Get yourselves together and let's go to the Hearth and Hound. Unless word has already reached them about us, we should be able to get some information there." He glanced back toward the baker's closed door. "But take what happened here and learn from it. If the tavern keeper shuts us down and kicks us out, we will have gained nothing from this trip. We came here looking for food and a place to sleep. So let's start behaving like travelers instead of interrogators."

He considered Lucas's question about payment for a moment. "We are who we are," he said mysteriously. "We'll figure out payment."

Alaric adjusted his pack and started toward the lane the baker had indicated. "Let's start traveling."

Joey watched Lucas work his way through what had just happened and felt a faint twinge of guilt for the less charitable parts of his internal commentary. Still wasn't inaccurate, but he could be nicer about it. He slowed to walk next to him as they started down the lane.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Don't worry about it. You weren't bein' stupid... exactly..."

He skipped a beat, realising how that sounded.

"More naive."

He glanced sideways and then his brain caught up. Yeah, that wasn't really any better.

"Just, you know. You kinda assume if you're nice to folk, they'll know you mean right, and it'll work itself out." He shook his head. "Which ain't necessarily a bad thing."

He stopped again.

"Actually kinda nice, long as you remember to not ask terrified villagers about their queen who may or may not be the arch-sorceress foe of King Arthur."

He moved towards Alaric before either of them could think too much about what he'd said. He put a hand on Alaric's shoulder and leaned in so he could talk without being overheard.

"'Ric, those not-quite conversationalist friends of mine have some opinions."

He paused.

"Inn's real, and apparently the food is good. Some kind of meat pie. Not sure we want to question the provenance much. But the road further on..."

He lowered his voice even further and tightened his expression.

"Cold place. Rotten. Lotta waste and, well, we really don't need to get into what the rats call Utopia. Point is, I'm pretty sure it's a prison. And it ain't empty."

Joey glanced back towards the square, where shutters and closed doors had replaced most of the faces they'd seen a few minutes before.

"And considering we just scared half the merchants indoors, reckon maybe we oughta leave these folk be. Get to the inn, act like travellers, and see what we can learn without makin' anybody risk their neck answering us."

Alaric nodded, he knew exactly what friends Joey was referring to. "I don't like the idea of an occupied prison nearby," he said in the same manner and tone. "And relay my thanks to your friends. We may yet have need of their infiltration skills." He had to get this information to the team, but that could wait until they were at the tavern.

"I agree," he said. "Keeping a low profile now that everyone here is on alert is a good idea. Besides, lips can be loosened easy enough with drink or song or a show."

Skjoldr had fallen quiet after the baker shut them out, content to let Alaric and the others do the talking while they moved away from the square.

Varo, apparently, had other plans.

The great bear stopped beside a shallow ditch running along the road and shoved his nose beneath a tangle of weeds and old straw.

“Varo.”

The bear continued digging.

“We are trying to look like ordinary travellers.”

One enormous paw tore up a clump of earth.

Skjoldr stared at him. “You are doing poor work of it.”

“Found something.”

That changed his tone.

Varo pulled his head free and dropped a strip of black material onto the road. Thick cloth, torn raggedly at one end, with a squared metal fastening still attached. Skjoldr crouched and picked it up, turning it between his fingers.

He had seen material like it before.

Achill. The armed men around the stone circle. Their black clothing had been made differently from anything worn here, close-woven and tough, with the same strange little fastenings.

Skjoldr looked back towards the road the baker had glanced down.

The road Joey had just said ended at a prison.

“Well,” he murmured, rising again. “That makes his ‘men in black’ less mysterious.”

Varo sniffed the torn cloth once.

“Their scent goes that way.”

Skjoldr tucked the scrap beneath his cloak rather than leaving it in the road.

“Then we remember the way.”

He glanced towards Kennedy as he caught up with the group, the faintest humour returning to his face.

“And apparently we let the bear dig when he wishes.”

“That explains some of why they’re so worried about us,” Kennedy said, examining the torn scrap of S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. “But their fear goes deeper than simply meeting outsiders. You saw how nervous he became when the Queen was mentioned. Alaric said the girl he met last night spoke about Morgan Le Fay and her hatred of men. I don’t think any of those things are coincidences.”

The team began making their way toward the tavern The Baker had directed them to. It didn’t take long before they found it, a charming two-story building with a steep thatched roof and a set of wooden stables attached to one side. The scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and ale drifted through the air, mingling with the lively sounds of conversation and music spilling from within.

With one final attempt to compose themselves and look like nothing more than weary travelers passing through, the X-Men stepped inside.

They found themselves in a bustling tavern filled with the sights and sounds of Avalon. The Hearth and the Hound was a cornerstone of Avalon’s trade routes, serving as the last comfortable stop before the road disappeared into the enchanted woods. Merchants and travelers often planned their journeys around a rest here, knowing that once they entered the forest, they would be wise to make their way through before nightfall. Few willingly traveled those paths after dark. Today was no different.

Nearly every table was occupied. Humans sat alongside creatures who looked unmistakably fae, their pointed ears and almond shaped eyes marking them as something other than mortal. A group of short, stout men with enormous beards crowded around one table, their voices booming with laughter. Nearby, three otherworldly women with skin the color of a summer sky sat together, speaking quietly among themselves.

Despite their strange clothing and even stranger appearances, the tavern barely acknowledged the X-Men’s arrival. Here, unusual was ordinary. Whatever differences they might have tried to hide elsewhere seemed almost unremarkable within these walls.

The team found an empty table near the roaring fireplace. Reaching it required them to carefully step over two enormous wolfhounds sprawled across the floor. The massive animals barely lifted their heads as the X-Men passed, seemingly far more interested in sleeping than in the arrival of strangers.

Once they were seated, the team settled into their roles as weary travelers, allowing themselves a moment to observe their surroundings. Then, quietly and beneath the noise of the tavern, they began to form a plan.

Lucas kept his voice low so not to travel far as he leaned over the table, not much above a whisper. See? He could be circumspect! He'd been silent since speaking up before, not because he'd been offended, but because he'd been watching the others intently, and listening too. They had all the experience at this he lacked, and he wanted so badly to learn. He was going to need to carry a dictionary though, he was pretty sure, to keep up.

"Okay, so like, the odds of any of the S.H.I.E.L.D. guys having survived aren't good right? And if there are pieces of them literally scattered all over the place, we're gonna focus on the kids now?" The cave, what Varo had dug up, what Joey's rat friends had found, and if they looked harder Lucas figured they'd find more. Pieces. Of clothing, but also... pieces of people. He shuddered.

"And just how good is our cover anyway? If I were these people, and two groups of strangers arrived within days of each other, acting weird, I'd think they were related. And someone's probably scared enough of this Queen that they'll run to her to say we're here."

“Someone reporting our presence is a given,” Kennedy said as she pushed back her hood. The movement drew a few curious glances from nearby patrons, but they quickly looked away again. “But what they say about us in that report, that’s something we have at least some control over. We’re undeniably different, and we’ve made it pretty obvious that we know about the missing S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and that we care about finding them. But none of that tells them what our intentions are or how much of a threat we might actually be.”

She lowered her voice, her gaze sweeping across the tavern. “That portal was left open. If it was left open on purpose… maybe all of this is a trap. Maybe we just walked right into it.”

The thought seemed to change the atmosphere around them. Avalon had felt strange from the moment they arrived, but now it felt dangerous and sinister in a way that made every shadow seem deeper and every unfamiliar face a potential threat.

“I think it would be foolish to walk in here and tell everyone exactly what we want. Information is power, and if we give too much of it away, someone can use it against us.” Kennedy glanced around the tavern again, her attention catching on something she had noticed throughout the village, there were no children.

“Also, why are there no kids here?” she asked. “Children were taken from their homes, and they seem to be missing here too. That can’t be a coincidence.” Kennedy’s expression hardened as the pieces began to fit together. “I think if we can figure out what happened to the children, we might finally figure out what happened to ours.”

Alaric remained quiet for a moment and let the others settle as they entered the Hearth & Hound. After everything that had happened in the village square, there wasn't very much to point in throwing more questions into the mix. He glanced around the common room, taking in the tables, the hearth, and the patrons who had noticed the newcomers. His attention lingered only briefly before returning to the group.

"I hope this isn't a trap," he said quietly. "But everything, including that, should be taken into consideration. It could also be that the portal was left open because there was still someone on the other side gathering children." He shuddered to think of that, that someone could still be on Earth collecting children.

"If we're going to find out what happened to their children," he continued, "we need someone willing to talk to us. But that doesn't mean we run up to people and engage them. Kennedy's right, we must safeguard our information."

"Another thing," said Alaric, "Joey's friends say that there is a prison not too far from here. I don't like to think that's where any of the children are being held, but again, all possibilities on the table."

"The question of payment has already been brought up as well. And I'm certain they would laugh at us and sit on fire any paper money you have."

Kennedy frowned at the mention of paying for things. Pennies and nickels seemed almost worthless in a place like this, and their paper money would be laughable. She glanced down at the table, thinking through what they had brought with them that might actually hold value here and her hand slowly drifted toward her ears.

Kennedy always wore her diamond studs. They had been a gift for her sixteenth birthday, and ever since then, she had rarely taken them off. They were small enough to be understated but valuable enough that she had never questioned their worth. Apparently, tonight she was going to have to.

“Here,” Kennedy said. She carefully removed the backs from her earrings before slipping the diamond studs free. For a moment, she hesitated, looking down at them in her palm before placing them on the table.

The pair of diamonds caught the firelight, throwing tiny flashes of brilliance across the worn wood. They weren't particularly ostentatious, but they were a respectable size and clearly valuable.

“These should be enough to feed us and get us rooms,” Kennedy explained. “They're set in gold, too.” She pushed the earrings across the table toward Alaric. “See what you can get for them.”

Joey's attention caught on Kennedy's hand before she could get the earrings any further toward Alaric. Her pause was small, but it was enough. And if that was gold, he'd bet those were real diamonds too. "Nope," he said, reaching across the table and pushing the earrings back to her gently. "Put those back in. Let's at least try to work our way up to something that ain't worth more than the building itself."

His hand went to his throat. His hand caught the crucifix between two fingers, but he moved on to the turquoise and jade beads worked around it on the cord. "Reckon we should try these first," he said, undoing the knot behind his neck to start sliding the stones off. "Beads don't mean much. Worse case is momma tells me my restringin' job looks like dog shit."

He glanced down briefly. "After that, I've got a decent knife we can try—carbon steel, good edge, solid fold. Don't particularly wanna give away survival gear in murder-fairy forest, but it's a knife from a store. They make more. Let's work up to sacrificin' jewellery after we find out whether dinner costs more'n three chickens."

Alaric took both the earrings and the jade and turquoise beads in different hands. He nodded to Kennedy and Joey as he put the gold and diamonds in a pocket and held on to the beads. If he started with them, then maybe he could save Kennedy her earrings.

He walked up to the bar, not leaning or looking too comfortable. He was already an oddity, no need to add to the image. "Looking for lodging and food," he said to the barkeep. "And maybe some drink."

A man with a long beard and bushy eyebrows nodded in acknowledgment of Alaric’s request, his hands too busy drying tankards to do much more. “Aye, we have four rooms available upstairs if yer needing a place to stay. It’s eight silver pieces a night per room, so thirty-six total,” the man said, in a tone that suggested he’d had to explain such basic arithmetic more than once. “As far as food and drink goes, most folk here open a tab for the night.” The man behind the bar looked Alaric over, then glanced toward the table he had come from. They didn’t look like anyone he had seen here before. “Of course, I’d expect a deposit for the rooms and the tab.”

Alaric nodded as the man explained the cost. Despite the fact that the matter of payment was somewhat less settled than he'd implied to Lucas, Alaric kept a straight face. "Okay, four rooms at thirty-six pieces of silver for the night, then," he said, repeating the man's numbers to be sure. "And a tab."

He glanced briefly back toward the others before returning his attention to the barkeep. "And a deposit." He was not expecting that, but they did look like an odd troupe. Maybe he didn't want to risk something happening to his place of business.

"What do you accept besides silver? Coin isn't the only thing travelers carry." Technically, it wasn't a lie. Alaric opened his hand over the counter and let the jade and turquoise beads roll onto its surface. They made a series of soft taps as they came to rest in front of the barkeep. "What kind of a start will that get us?"

The bartender furrowed his brow as he examined the beads placed before him. He didn’t seem to recognize the semi-precious stones, nor did he appear to have any idea how to appraise them. Picking one up, he held it between his teeth and gave it an experimental bite.

“Aye, they’re pretty little bits and bobs,” he said, turning the bead over in his fingers. “But I’m not rightly sure what I’m supposed to do with them. Maybe the missus would fancy them? I’ll trade you a few cups of ale for the lot, but that’s not nearly enough to cover food and shelter.”

“They don’t have gold or silver where you’re from?” the bartender asked, his disbelief unmistakable. “If you haven’t got the proper coin, people around here need to at least recognize what it is you’re offering in trade.”

Alaric nodded slowly. The beads might've had value where they came from, or in the right hands, a use beyond simple decoration. But that meant very little if no one in Avalon recognized them as anything more than pretty stones.

"Fair enough," he said. "Then maybe the missus will enjoy the jade and turquoise beads. Who knows, they might even bring her a little luck." He nodded toward the beads and waved his hand at them dismissively as he parted with them.

Alaric let the burly man keep them and moved on to his next option. His hand went to his pocket, where he had placed Kennedy's earrings. He carefully drew one out and placed it on the counter between them. Alaric knew that gold and diamonds had value beyond what a merchant might pay for them. So he started with just one.

He leaned forward. "Gold," he said, "and a diamond. I'd imagine that should go considerably farther than thirty-six pieces of silver. Hell, it might even buy a few rounds for your patrons."

“Aye, now that’s more like it,” the bartender said, examining the pale gems closely. “The dwarves are known for bringing up diamonds and rubies from the deep and crafting things as fine as these.”

The delicate earrings looked almost impossibly small in his thick-fingered hands as he turned them beneath the light, studying the way the stones caught and reflected it.

“These’ll go a long way,” he said at last. “You can have the rooms upstairs for as long as you need, along with food and drink.” A grin spread beneath his beard. “And if ye want to pay for the patrons’ ale for the night... well, ye’d probably become the most popular folk in the whole tavern.”

Becoming the most popular people in the room did have its advantages. "Then let's do that," he said to the barkeep. "Ale for your patrons tonight. If we're going to be remembered, we might as well be remembered as generous travelers."

Maybe being the friendly outsiders who buy everyone a drink would lower inhibitions and loosen lips.

“Aye, that’s a fine choice to make, lad,” the bartender agreed. Then again, he was the one profiting from Alaric’s generosity. He slipped the earrings into his pocket before stepping away from the young man. Then he planted both hands on the bar and drew in a deep breath.

“Hey now, listen up!” His booming voice was loud enough to silence even the rowdiest of drunkards. Conversation died almost instantly, and the entire tavern turned toward him. Even the sleeping wolfhounds lifted their heads, ears twitching as they listened.

“This crew has decided to buy ye food and drink for the night!” the bartender announced, gesturing toward the X-Men’s table. “So the tab is on them!”

For a heartbeat, the tavern remained utterly silent. It was a long, pregnant pause that left just enough time for the team to wonder if they had made a terrible mistake.

Then someone near the bar let out a triumphant cheer and within seconds, the entire tavern erupted. Tankards raised into the air, boots stamped against the wooden floor, and laughter rolled through the room as the patrons cheered their unexpected benefactors. The oppressive tension that had lingered over the tavern moments earlier vanished beneath a wave of celebration. Somewhere near the hearth, a minstrel pulled a lute from beneath his chair and struck up a lively tune, and soon the entire inn seemed to move to the rhythm of the music.

Without needing to be summoned, a heavyset woman with a warm smile and generous curves appeared at the X-Men’s table carrying an armful of steaming bowls. She deposited hearty portions of venison stew in front of each of them, followed by thick slices of fresh bread and enormous wooden tankards filled to the brim with frothy ale.

Joey watched the bartender accept the deal and carefully kept his expression blank. Apparently, they had gone from pretty rocks worth a few beers straight to room, board, and an open bar. Somewhere in Arizona, his father just gotten a headache without knowing the reason. But it was done now. He reached for the food. "I doubt the drinkin' age applies across dimensions, but make sure not to get drunk. Loose lips are the devil's best friend. And for the love of God, Thor, or whatever deities are prayed to here, don't say nothin' about queens."

“At least everyone is in a good mood now,” Kennedy observed, lifting her tankard and taking a slow, cautious sip of the beer before she glanced around at the suddenly jubilant tavern. “We should take advantage of that.”

Skjoldr lifted the tankard, smelled it once out of habit, then took a long drink. The ale was dark and rough around the edges, heavy with malt and bitter enough to linger afterwards. Nothing sparkling, nothing strangely sweet, nothing pretending to be something other than ale.

He lowered the tankard with a quiet look of satisfaction. Since coming to the modern world, people had put enough peculiar drinks in front of him that finding something familiar felt almost like a small piece of home.

“This is better.”

Beside him, Kennedy raised her own tankard and took a much more careful taste. Skjoldr noticed the way she barely committed to the sip, watching the ale as though it might reveal some hidden offence if she gave it long enough.

A smile tugged at his mouth.

“You can drink more than that. It won’t hurt you.”

He took another mouthful himself, entirely at ease with it, before glancing sideways at her again.

“I thought you were meant to be the brave one.”

There was no real challenge in it, only the warmth of someone enjoying the rare opportunity to find Kennedy out of her element instead of himself.

His eyes flicked towards her tankard.

“Though if you don’t want it, I’ll save you from it.”

Alaric walked back to the table amidst the happiness and sat down. He took a sip of his ale as well. "Lowered inhibitions and loose lips...we should be able to gain some valuable information now. And fill out stomachs."

He looked over the group. "Joey is right, though, we're not the ones who need to get drunk. We're the ones that need to keep our wits about us. Because we are definitely going to take advantage of this." He looked at Kennedy and nodded.

Kennedy looked between Alaric and Skjoldr, feeling as though she had an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, each encouraging her toward an entirely different course of action. She glanced down at the beer in her hand and took another long sip. She was hungry, and surprisingly, the ale was filling enough to take the edge off.

“You’re a bad influence,” she muttered with a smirk at Skjoldr before reaching for a piece of bread.

The tavern carried on around them, its jovial atmosphere growing steadily louder as the evening progressed. By the time the team had finished their meal, the mood had become downright celebratory.

Across the room, human merchants sat alongside fae travelers, apparently engaged in friendly negotiations. At another table, a group of short, heavily bearded men were making enthusiastic use of the free drinks, their laughter growing louder with every empty mug. Off to the side, a group of blue skinned women kept mostly to themselves, speaking quietly among one another and paying little attention to the festivities around them.

Kennedy let her gaze wander across the room, trying to appear casual despite the fact that she was very deliberately cataloging everyone present. “So, should we split up and talk to people?” she asked, taking another sip from her mug. She lowered it slowly, her eyes continuing to scan the tavern. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and someone will know something.”

"Yes," Alaric said simply. "I bet we won't even need to pry sometimes. They may just talk it all out. Except for those blue-skinned women...they don't seem to be imbibing as much as the others. I think I'll meander over there."

Joey scanned the room for another moment. The quiet women would have been his first choice, but Alaric going in that direction made him reconsider. He was sure they could probably play off each other, but the way they had isolated themselves made him think it better to let the mage go alone.

The short men, on the other hand, he quickly decided, looked like a Skjoldr-shaped situation. Joey had no plans on drinking and suffered no delusions of being able to keep up with the amount of imbibing they were doing.

That left him with the merchants.

They looked safe, and, he noticed, also looked like people who actually travelled.

As the drinks continued to be poured, the team broke off into pairs and began speaking with the travelers and villagers of Avalon, intent on discovering where the missing children had gone and why this land seemed to fear its queen.

 

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