Revenge| Book 6| A novel in the Blue Moon series| An Avengers fan fiction series |

42- Brother and Son

Who wants a Videl chapter? 

*bounces up and down and raises hand over and over*

Sorry for no video again. I am a failure. But this chapter is quite nice. I wrote it either watching The Mortal Instruments (the movie) or listening to its soundtrack. 

Please VOTE and COMMENT!

xxSierraxx

Chapter 42: Brother and Son

They write their letters over the next several days. Though Videl wrote his before Neidra's attack, he is the exception. Everyone else has taken their time. Videl doesn't care to dwell too hard on the words those he loves will read if he dies. He finishes his letter to Thea last, seals it, and tucks it in the drawstring bag he keeps tucked under his belt at all times.

Four days after the raid, Videl trudges through the camp, his black boots crunching on the gravel and loose rocks near the river. Most of the soldiers are either hopeful, or have some remnant of cheer on their faces. After all, their numbers have succeeded in putting back a strategic attack by the most powerful sorceress in Asgard.

Perhaps Videl should feel hopeful or cheerful too. But the fact that his niece lies in a deathlike coma, the fact that he just wrote letters in the viewpoint that he would be dead, and the fact that the world he has sought to protect is a ruin puts a damper on any happiness he could feel. He feels as though a hollow dryness has made its way into his bones, settling into his chest and into his heart.

It's sunset, and Videl has just finished eating dinner with Angelique. They picked a spot half-hidden by the canyon, beside some dense shrubbery. That way, nobody could see when he kissed her, tasting fresh fruit and cinnamon on her lips. After eating, and after reluctantly pulling away from him, Angelique walked back to Fletohein, where Sif and Natasha are working more on her fighting abilities.

As he walks past the soldiers, Videl passes Saldra, eating with Enekpe, Makila, and the three redheaded Dmitri siblings. No doubt they're trying to take a break from the exhausting efforts of planning a war they do not know how to win. Videl feels the same way. Over the last few days, as the ones affected by the Loranian Wind recovered, the meetings regarding strategy and numbers began to drain him. He sat beside Thea during those meetings, and Videl could feel her tenseness too. She squirmed, and when Videl lazily draped his arm around her, she didn't shrug it off like she normally does.

Thea is who Videl is looking for right now. He hasn't seen her all day, and for that matter, he hasn't seen Loki either. He doubts they're together- he knows both of them are writing their letters today. He suspects Loki is in the warm cave inside Fletohein, but Thea could be anywhere. Out of curiosity, he already checked with Jack, who was furiously engaged in a sword fight with Jijah and Amara, but the young Volare hadn't seen her since lunch.

But Videl doesn't need anyone to tell him where Thea is. He is a Velah, and a skilled hunter. Over the years, Thea's scent and presence have become almost as recognizable as his own. Only minutes after Jack shrugged him away, Videl climbs the rickety, rocky path up the eastern side of Fletohein. The way is treacherous, as the ground rises quickly, with no barriers to block a poor climber from tumbling off the cliff. But Videl is as agile as he is skilled, and bounds up the ridge in little time at all.

His senses hadn't failed him: Thea is sitting at the edge of the ravine, her legs hanging off the edge, her back to him, her thick black hair swirling in the breeze. The setting sun from the blocked western part of Fletohein doesn't reach her, and she is bathed in a low glow of light from the east.

Videl sits beside her, likewise hanging his long legs off so they dangle hundreds of feet above the forests and plains. He glances at her. Thea's face is blank, her green eyes gazing to the mountains beyond. In her clenched hand is a pen and piece of paper. The paper is folded, sealed like Videl sealed his letters. A stack of papers sits on her other side, held down from the breeze by a rock.