By: Bee & Myr
Rating: NC17
Pairing:VigOrli
Summary: A white horse dealer is reunited with a young white man he saved as a child.
Beta: Piper and Helena
WARNING:
Chapter 1
Walking along the river's edge, Viggo and his father kept careful watch for both friend and foe. Both Indian and White.
They were free to roam wherever they chose, but were cautious nonetheless, some did not agree with what they did to survive. Many Whites felt it wrong to trade fairly with the Indians; they were, after all, heathens, not even considered humans by some.
And some Indians, regardless of how fair the two treated them, did not trust them because their skin was too light in colour.
Viggo Mortensen, the senior, did not care; he treated all people he dealt with fairly, regardless of their skin, religion, or anything else that might make them different. And he taught this to his son as well. These ideals were important to him, as they had been important to his wife. He still mourned her passing every day and tried to emulate her beliefs by teaching his son those that she had held dear. When he had married Nielsine, they had wanted a large family since each were from small ones, having only a sibling each. However, fate did not grace them with children; pregnancies yes, children no. When they learned they were expecting yet again, they were guardedly optimistic, too many disappointments over the years had taught them that.
After a long, exhausting, and difficult labour, Nielsine was delivered of her only son.
Sever complications set in and a few days after the birth, she died, leaving a distraught husband to grieve her passing, and a newborn son who would never know her soft touch.
Both were well liked by most of the tribes they traded with, never having trouble, and always being welcome.
At the trading posts in the forts, while being treated pretty well, they were still regarded with suspicion. They did deal with the 'red-devils', after all.
As the years progressed, Viggo the younger, as all children tend to do, began to grow up. Maturing and having learned from his father the basics of survival in the wild, he started to control more and more of the interactions between them, father and son, and the Indians.
He had a healthy respect for all things in nature, be they people, animals or plants. Learning the healing properties of plants was a fundamental lesson, necessary when living so far from civilisation and doctors.
Either by design or just natural progression, the two Mortensen men began to spend their winter months with the Dakota people.
As Viggo aged and began showing signs of becoming a man, he was invited by the tribal leaders to join in the test all boys endure.
During the winter of Viggo, the young's thirteenth year, he endured a test designed by his father and tribal Shaman, as his rite of passage into manhood.
While arduous, his father was positive the son would have no difficulty tracking the path left for him to follow, nor surviving three days and nights on his own.
Once the young man returned to camp, he was welcomed and given praise for successfully completing his trail.
As a gift from his father, he was given his first horse, owned by him and him alone.
As a gift from the Shaman, he was given a tribal name, Tasunke. Viggo was honoured, as very few Whites were ever gifted with a name in the tribe, not even his own father. The gesture was a symbol of friendship and acceptance.
Living to an old age in the wilds was rare, and Viggo the senior did not beat those odds. Having just reached the age of nineteen, Tasunke's father succumbed to a sever winter illness that left him weak. As spring approached, he became more frail and lifeless. The Medicine man of the Dakota tribe tried to help with all known remedies, but to no avail. The tribe and its spiritual leader said prayers. Tasunke's father continued to deteriorate, until one morning he did not open his eyes.
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Mrs. Bloom screamed, as she heard the noise of many horses. Confused, she searched for her child whom she had just put on the ground minutes ago. Finally, locating the child, she grabbed her little five and a half months old baby and put him in a large saddle pouch on the horse she was about to take with her to tend the crops behind the barn. She wrapped a cloth over his head to hide him, and her heart shattered when she had to hit the horse to make it leave the settlement.
Soon villains, only wanting to maim and rob, surrounded the courtyard. Slowly, she looked up as she saw the gun pointed at her. And then everything turned white.
The horse carrying the baby continued to trot peacefully further and further away from the crime scene. The child slept, oblivious to the reducing noise. Soon the horse wandered slowly about in the wilderness munching here and there until it came to a stream. There, the animal looked up with alert, nosy eyes as it heard a tiny wail.
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Tasunke was alone now, utterly alone. Even though he and his father never really had much to talk about, they still had the silent company of each other. And now he was alone.
Having left the village a few months back, after abiding by his father's wishes of an Indian Burial Ritual, he wandered wherever his feet took him. Nearing the burned out remains of a homestead, Tasunke shook his head in despair.
/Why can we not just live together peacefully? Why do we have to kill each other?/
Continuing with his travels, he noticed hoof prints, from a shod horse, so it was not wild. However, the tracks left by the animal did not indicate a rider.
The horse finally had a few moments of peace when the baby fell a sleep from sheer exhaustion. As a human came close, it began walking away from him, as it didn't really need more noise.
Following the trail left by the horse was a practice in patience; the horse meandered wherever it wanted. Finally, Tasunke spotted the animal standing, by a clump of grass it was eating from. Not wanting to spook the animal, he slowly tried to increase the animal. Apparently, the horse had other ideas in mind as it moved away from him. Speaking soft nonsense words, Tasunke again approached, having noticed the saddlebag draped heavily over one side. Curious about its contents, he again moved closer, this time being successful. Just as he reached the horse, the saddlebag began to wriggle and cry. Tasunke jumped back in surprise.
The horse decided it liked the human's soft calls and its ears wriggled interestedly. Jerking nervously, the animal still returned and looked at the large human. The noise hurt its ears. Perhaps the human knew how to fix it?
The little baby was so close to giving up hope. He was by now convinced no one would come to his rescue, and he believed that he would be alone forever.
Suddenly, he kept absolutely still. Something had changed but he wasn't sure yet if it was for the better. His stomach growled, and he began crying again. Nothing had satisfied his belly. He was lost once more.
Seeing the panicked look appear in the horse's eye at the squalling noise, Tasunke lunged and was just able to grab the dangling reins. Taking a few precious moments to calm, then hobble the horse, Tasunke made his way to the angry sounding saddlebag. Unlacing the flap, he cautiously lifted it and peered in. A baby. A crying, red in the face, angry baby.
Reaching in, he gently lifted the squirming bundle and brought it to eye level. Holding it at arms length, he studied it from head to toe. A sudden breeze brought the most noxious odour to his nose. Turning his head away, he tried not to gag.
The baby boy once more kept quiet. He was lifted from the snug confines and into the open. He didn't feel any more safe now only different. He preferred the tight environment of the saddlebag and hoped soon to return to it. Or even better, that the lovely sweet milk he was used to would magically appear if he cried some more. And so he did.
He then sensed he was moved and shortly after he lay on the ground and cool air hit his skin.
This was fine. He'd been uncomfortably moist for a while and this new situation he knew and liked. He simply loved being pampered, and even though the convenient person didn't seem used to it, he didn't mind. Because after diapering, he was usually fed. He smiled and cooed and did his very best to charm the person.
As a reward, he saw something white flash and responded immediately knowing he would be rewarded. The smile on the convenient person usually meant his charms were having the wanted effect.
The baby frowned a little. Why did it have to take so long? He was so hungry.
Gaining control of his stomach, Tasunke pulled the blanket off the horse and placed it on the ground. Next, he gently laid the baby on it, deciding the first order of business was to get rid of the stench, and quickly.
Removing the soiled diaper, he threw it as far from him as he could, noticing that the child was male. Looking closer, he could not help but smile at the wiggling naked child. The boy smiled back, showing two little white teeth and a pink tongue that peeked out underneath them.
Leaving the child on the ground, he stood up and reached into the saddlebag once more, pulling out the covering that had hidden the baby. Inside the bag were a couple of fresh diapers. His mother had apparently prepared the baby for the horse trip.
Kneeling down next to the squirming boy again, he attempted to fashion a new diaper. While not the best, it looked like it might work.
The baby continued to whimper in distress. /Now what?/ Tasunke was at a loss as to what to do next. Realization was slow in coming, but when it did, it slammed into him, hard. Food, the baby must be hungry.
Picking up the squirming child, he gently pressed him to his chest in an effort to comfort. Standing up, he walked over to his horse and opened his pack.
Inside were the limited offerings from the Dakota people, some of the remainder of last year's harvest. Fruits, berries, and maze. Not a feast, but bountiful in its offering.
Gathering some of each, he lifted his water skin from its hook. Taking his tin cup, he filled it with water, all the time bouncing the baby. This seemed to quiet him somewhat.
Something cool touched his lips, and expectantly the child drank only to soon realize it wasn't sweet milk. However, thirst made him drink a little bit before he went back to crying.
He couldn't understand what went wrong with this convenient person. He did everything that usually got him fed, but nothing made food come his way. He stopped crying and just looked at the person as hiccoughs invaded his breath.
Laying the disgruntled child on the blanket once more, Tasunke retrieved memories of how his family had taken care of children around this age. Having spent many of his winters with the Dakota people, he was not unfamiliar with how mothers fed their infants not yet old enough to chew food for themselves. Confident he could do the same, Tasunke began to chew the food to soften it and create smaller pieces, something the squalling infant could ingest. Hoping to calm the baby, he attempted to give him some water, but after a few sips the child started crying.
Exhaustion began to take its toll on the little one and he stopped, emitting an occasional snuffle or hiccough. Tasunke's heart went out to the orphaned child, softly cradling the dark, curly haired head in his work worn palm; he placed the other hand under the diapered bottom. Lifting the child, he placed him to his chest and held him securely, trying to convey a feeling of security.
Emptying the tin cup of water, he removed the food from his mouth and put it in there. Feeling the small body trembling against his chest, he began to speak to him.
"It's going to be alright, little one. You're safe with me, I promise. Come on little on, relax... that's a boy. I can't keep calling you little one, though. Need to have a name, everyone has a name. I don't know what your folks called you..." Trailing off, he began to run through possibilities for the child. Inspiration struck, "I know, I'll call you Ciqala... that means little one. How does that sound?"
The soft words spoken to him were accompanied by the surprise of edible things placed in his mouth. He ate greedily. This, he also knew. Though he loved sweet milk, he also drooled by the thought of food and this particular morsel was so good he almost dropped it out of his mouth from sheer excitement. More goodies came his way and his eyes were almost bulging at concentrating on looking at the convenient person feeding him. He smiled encouragingly at the person, who smiled back and rubbed his hair fondly. Could life be any better than this? After having eaten what was offered, Ciqala passed out and snored softly in the arms of Tasunke.
"Hungry little thing, aren't you?" Not really expecting an answer, Tasunke was surprised when Ciqala, smiled at him. Staring at the beautiful child, he could not help but smile back. Noting that the original eagerness for food had slowed, he presumed the child was getting full. Unable to resist the temptation, he ran his fingers through the silken curls adorning the child's head.
"You sure are a beautiful baby." A softer smile graced his face when he noticed the drooping eyelids. Lifting the child once more to his shoulder, he began to rub his back in a soothing motion. Shortly after, he was rewarded with a couple of burps and immediately after, gentle snores of slumber. Lowering the child to the blanket, he placed him on his side.
Standing, he surveyed his surroundings, and then glanced into the sky to judge the sun's position. Deciding there were several more hours of light, he began to re-pack his meagre possessions.
/I need to find shelter for the night. It's not just me I need to be looking after, got this sleeping angel to do for./
Remembering the burned out shell of the house, he began to wonder if the barn was still intact. Indecision caused him to pause.
/Do I leave the child here? Or take him with me? Is his family searching for him? Maybe they are back at that ranch .../ Concluding it would be safer for the child, he carefully lifted him. /After all, I did promise I was going to keep him safe./
Lowering the warm and delicate bundle back into the saddlebag, Tasunke secured the flap to hold the baby should he wake, but did not cover Ciqala's face. Grabbing the reins to both horses, he started back towards the ruined house.
Arriving at the farmstead, he quickly brought the horses and child into the limited shelter of the barn; luckily a good quarter of it had escaped the ravages of the fire. Moreover, since the nights were now late-spring warm, weather conditions were not a major concern.
Laying the sweetly sleeping child on a large pile of hay, Tasunke walked the perimeter of the house and barn; closing his eyes at the grizzly sight that greeted him as he turned the last corner, he swallowed and said a quick prayer of passing for the slain woman. Obviously, she was dead. The ground was soaked with her life's essence, and a deep brownish red stain outlined her body.
Quickly retrieving a shovel from the barn he set about digging a shallow grave, gently placing the cold, limp form into the crevice. Placing his hand atop the dark curls, he smoothed them back from the beautiful face; this was the child's mother. Again repeating an Indian prayer of death passage, he replaced the disturbed earth; he then placed a wooden cross in the Christian manner at her head.
The child was his responsibility now, and he had made a promise, one he would never shirk. Ciqala would be safe. "After all, I did promise I was going to protect you, little one."
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It had been a long time since he had seen his little one, his Ciqala.
After several months of trying to do his best for the child, Tasunke realized, while his heart wanted to do it, he was not equipped to do so.
Making his way back to the Dakota encampment, he asked the elders for their assistance with regard to the infant. Explaining how he had come to have Ciqala with him was easy. The tribal elders, after a long discussion, decided to allow the infant to stay. Giving their permission to one of the childless widows, Gaho, to raise him, Tasunke made it clear he was not giving the child up, just seeking assistance and a better life for him. Having made his choice, he soon realized that letting go was hard.
Gaho was a good mother to the orphan, treating him as if he was her own child. Firm and loving hands helped to mould the growing boy. Simple foundations were laid for him: honour, dignity, trustworthiness, and most important, respect for all living things. And a sense of pride in himself and his people, for that is what they had become: His family.
Tasunke was proud of the child and his accomplishments. Ciqala was bright, loving, and intelligent. Never disrespectful to his mother or the elders in the tribe, he strove to do his best. Returning to the camp each winter to stay for the colder months was difficult, and he had missed last winter due to severity of weather. Riding his horse hard, he was headed to the camp; he would not miss this winter's visit.
Ciqala always waited for Tasunke to return. He adored the horseman because he looked a bit like himself, also being White, and he always brought him a little something more special than to the other kids in camp.
Last winter, where Tasunke didn't come and visit had been strangely dull and sad. He missed seeing his hero. He never said this to Gaho, whom he loved so much, but he sometimes felt closer to Tasunke than his mother. In the winter of his sixth birth season Tasunke came, and Ciqala was out of his mind with joy.
Riding into the tranquil village, Tasunke breathed deeply, and felt a sense of well being envelope him, /It feels like coming home,/ he thought, light at heart.
Dismounting, he slid to the ground silently, as he had been taught when a young boy. Bringing his horse to the shared paddock, Tasunke cared for him, and then turned him lose to roam among the other animals there.
Picking up his saddlebags once more, he headed to his winter shelter. He did not share the home of Gaho; it would not be proper. While they shared responsibility for young Ciqala, they were not family, nor spouses, so sharing the room was out of the question.
On a whole, the tribe cared for its own; they were a community who shared what was there with everyone. Tasunke did, however, provide for Gaho and Ciqala whenever he was there, food or what ever else they might need. He felt a responsibility towards Gaho. She supplied security, shelter, and love to the growing child, something he knew he could not give. Moreover, he appreciated her generosity and selflessness more than words could express.
Looking at Gaho's shelter, he did not see Ciqala, and was disappointed. One of his favourite moments upon arriving in the village was when the energetic five year old threw himself at the older man, squirming around until he had made his way up to Tasunke's shoulders for a proper hug.
Lowering his gaze, he continued towards his destination, saddlebag slung over his left arm, swinging with each step.
Waiting inside Tasunke's shelter, Ciqala sat with butterflies in his stomach. He knew Tasunke would enter any minute and he could hardly wait for his present. However, he also had a special gift for Tasunke in return.
He checked the little leaf wrapped package again. His hand was sweating, and with shining, dilating eyes, he heard soft footsteps outside the tent. His face lit in a huge smile as Tasunke stuck his dear face inside the flap of the tent. Ciqala rose on his knees in excitement.
A smile of pure pleasure graced the otherwise controlled features as Tasunke spied his little one waiting inside for him. This was different, and a most welcome surprise. Watching the child stand, Tasunke realized how much time had passed since he last saw him.
Regret lashed through Tasunke's heart at the thought of what he might have missed. Ciqala stood before him, tall for his age, and pride in his posture. Bowing his head respectfully in greeting, Tasunke caught a glimpse of the impish grin threatening to take over the young one's face. Taking stock of the boy in front of him, his soft, prettily decorated, dark brown hair now reached to the middle of his back, close in colour to many in the tribe, but for the heavy, riotous curls that adorned his head, softly dancing at his every move. The deep chocolate-brown eyes that gleamed with intelligence and inquisitiveness, and often mischievousness. Tasunke was proud of the child.
"Greetings Ciqala, how have you been?" Kneeling down so he was at eye level with the child, he held out his arms in welcome.
Ciqala squealed in delight and threw himself in Tasunke's arms.
"Oh, I missed you, missed you soooo much!" he shouted. Then he twisted himself free and kissed Tasunke's hand. Then he turned it around and placed the leaf package on the calloused palm.
"It's for you. I found it myself and knew it was for you, Tasunke," he said, fisting his little hands anxiously because in reality, he'd love to open the package himself, but had to stay polite though it was so hard. Longingly, he watched as Tasunke took his time unwrapping his secret little personal gift. Layer upon layer was revealed until the last leaf opened and Tasunke's eyes lifted to greet his in a warm loving smile.
Tasunke was touched; Ciqala had thought of him, as evidenced by the gift that graced his palm.
"This is beautiful! Ciqala, thank you so much for this." Admiring the leather and bead wristband, Tasunke noticed its unusual design. Turquoise was not known in this area, and he was familiar with it because of his frequent visits to the trading posts at the forts he visited.
"You are a resourceful one. This is an amazing gift, and that you would think to give it to me... again little one, thank you." Tasunke noticed Ciqala's nervous state; smiling to himself, he asked the fidgety child, "Would you help me put this on? We need to make sure it is tied tight; I don't plan on ever taking it off. And I don't want to lose it, either." After handing the band back, he held out his wrist and waited while it was placed and then tied on. Reaching out, Tasunke gathered the boy close for a warm and firm hug.
"So, tell me Ciqala, what have you been doing?"
Ciqala liked being hugged, but he was so close to bursting with excitement. Tasunke couldn't have forgotten, could he? Nevertheless, he forced himself to calm down and politely sat down and began telling how his daily routines had changed. He had chores suited that of a proud *six* year old boy. His age description didn't trigger any change in Tasunke's eyes, and the exquisite brilliance of the boy's eyes soon began to fade in realisation that perhaps Tasunke had forgotten his birth season after all?
Tasunke watched in amusement as the manners Ciqala had been taught were strained, knowing the child awaited his gift. He had brought him a gift each time he had visited. If he were unable to come, he would send it with another trader he trusted, one that was allowed to visit the village.
Taking pity on the boy, the light of excitement beginning to dim in his eyes, Tasunke pulled his saddlebag closer to him from where he had dropped it.
"Ciqala, please come here." Knowing his request would be honoured, Tasunke opened the bag and rummaged around inside, finally locating and removing the wrapped, and travel worn package.
"My little one, did you really think I would have forgotten you? I think of you every day, never doubt that." Handing over the gift to the now crouching boy, the trader watched with suppressed mirth as it was taken.
Ciqala handled it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He smiled and laughed too overwhelmed with joy. His trembling fingers took care not to rip the paper. It would be another whole year before he would un-wrap another gift, so he had to relish all details of this special moment.
Finally, the course thread and paper lay aside; stunned, he looked at the shiny tin cup in his hands. Tears swelled up in his huge orbs and he put the gift down on the blanket on the ground to slowly proceed and seek Tasunke's embrace. He had never, ever owned his own cup. None of the children in the village owned a tin cup. This was such a big deal in his little world.
"Thank you, Tasunke...thank you."
The man just smiled and shook his head, "There's something in the cup, little one."
Ciqala shot away from the man and his mouth was agape when he realized that indeed there was something in the cup. He squatted, grabbed the cup, and turned it upside down. Something heavy fell out. Candy.
Watching Ciqala un-wrap the gift with such reverence was a wonderful experience. Every time he brought a gift to him, the boy treated it as his most treasured possession. That act alone let Tasunke know how much he was loved.
Dakota Tales by Bee and Myr