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A winter's tale	By : darkangel985 Category: S through Z > Sleepy Hollow Views: 18378 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Sleepy Hollow, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
The translations to my
German can once again be found at the very end of the chapter. I hope
that I haven't used too much German, but if I did feel free to point
that out to me. Thanks to Vampirezdarkgurl, Morningstar and Bout time
for reviewing.

Morningstar: You'll
probably be unhappy with me for the next few chapters, but Ichabod
needs to learn a little more about his past for the story to
progress.

Chapter 5 – Call of the past

Dim light slowly crept
back into his senses and Ichabod opened his eyes. Night had already
fallen, but the moon shone brightly, promising more freezing cold. He
was sitting on the snow-covered ground at the very edge of the
Western woods and yet he didn't feel the cold at all.

Looking down he noticed
the heavy riding cloak wrapped around his body and sudden shivers
raced down the Constable's spine as unconsciousness
threatened once again. No, he wouldn't succumb to it this time.

Ichabod was equally
frightened and curious, wondering why the Horseman had bothered to
carry him out of the woods and even left him his cloak to keep him
warm. There was a small voice at the back of his mind that insisted
he knew, that kept showing him images of warm bodies tangled
together, lost in passion. The shivers that now raced through his
body were anything but fear so he quickly forced these thoughts away.

Getting up off the
ground he took the riding cloak that had been loosely wrapped around
his shoulders off, immediately shivering from the cold. He knew that
he should leave it behind, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do
so.

It had felt good to be
wrapped up in it, the musky smell of horses and something darker,
earthier clinging to the cloth. Ichabod hadn't even noticed what he
had been doing, but he had brought the cloak to his nose, smelling
the soft fabric.

Shaking his head he put
it on once again, ignoring the voices in his head that insisted that
he enjoyed to be surrounded by the smell of the Hessian, that told
him to go back to the Tree of the dead and fulfill
what was meant to be. When had his rationality gotten that lost?
Ichabod didn't know, but he resisted the insistent
pull, turning towards Sleepy Hollow and marching there with
determined strides that were just a little too fast.

What disturbed him most
wasn't that he was running because he feared the woods and the
Horseman, but rather from what his lack of fear told about him. He
wouldn't, couldn't think about it, this madness that had gripped him
since he had given the Hessian his skull.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Katrina had obviously gone to sleep already since the mansion was
dark and silent. Ichabod unconsciously
sighed in relief as he sneaked towards his own bedroom door, glad
that he wouldn't have to face his future fiancée's
curious gaze and her prying questions.

His walk from the Western woods to the mansion had left the
Constable cold and tired, so instead of following his usual nightly
washing routine Ichabod simply pulled off his shoes before sinking
down onto his bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the
soft pillow.

He had completely forgotten that he was still wrapped in the
Horseman's cloak, unconsciously snuggling
deeper into the warmth and the scent of hay and horses. With every
breath the scent invaded his nostrils, worming it's way into his
subconscious and his dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ichabod once again found himself in the body of a young boy, the
experience familiar enough that it neither
surprised nor scared him. Whatever would happen in his dream he had
no control about it, nothing but a spectator trapped in the body that
looked like his own and yet wasn't.

This time Ichabod found himself walking next to a tall, bulky man
whose hand he was tightly clutching in his fist. The boy's father.
How he knew this was a mystery to the Constable, but he had gotten
used to these dreams. At least while he found himself in the form of
a child the sinful images that invaded the rest of his sleep stayed
away.

The smell of horses and hay filled the air and Ichabod could feel
excitement coursing through his young body,
almost bouncing on every step he took. Today would be his first
riding lesson and he found himself caught between looking forward to
it and being scared of the horses, that always looked so tall and
unmanageable to him.

They finally arrived at the stable and Ichabod spotted a familiar
boy, that stood next to a large, bearded, unfriendly-looking man.
Ichabod probably wouldn't have recognized the boy at all if not for
his piercing, ice-blue eyes. The Hessian.

Before he had time to ponder this some more his body turned
towards his father, the man's deep voice resounding in the large
stable. “Georg, you will be trained together with Friedrich
Reitsch. Do not embarrass me, son.”

The man sounded too much like his own father had for Ichabod to be
completely comfortable, but he still found himself nodding his head,
even though he didn't want to. Completely giving up on resisting the
body he was in Ichabod opted for taking in everything of his
surroundings and the people around him, hoping that it would get him
a better understanding of his dreams. Before he had known that they
were somehow connected to the Hessian he had dismissed them as
unimportant, but now he vowed to pay a little more attention.

Especially to the young boy who now stood before him, confidently
extending his hand for him to shake. “Ich bin Friedrich. Und
du?” (1)

It was strange to see the boy that would later become a feared
mercenary, to see the human beyond the monster. Ichabod couldn't help
but wonder what had happened to turn him onto his path of brutality
and slaughter, what had managed to turn this smiling boy into a
cold-blooded killer.

Before he managed to tell Friedrich his name the stable master
already bellowed at them to be quiet, telling one of his helpers to
fetch two horses. While the grumpy man began lecturing them about
riding Ichabod quickly whispered his name to the other boy. “Ich
bin Georg.” (2)

A shy smile spread over the light-eyed boys face right before the
dream faded out and Ichabod found himself in a completely different
setting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~+~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The smell of horses was still heavy in the air, but his body had
changed again, now looking the way he had done in his teens. He was
staring at a book that he somehow knew was merely a facade, an excuse
to explain his presence in the courtyard.

Puzzling at his once again strange knowledge Ichabod tried to
focus on the book, but before he could make
out the words his head was already lifted, bringing his attention to
the group of young men sparring in the yard.

For a moment he almost forgot to breathe as he was captivated by
the beauty and grace of the bodies moving in front of him, their
swords clashing with practiced ease. No matter how much the Constable
wanted to look away his body didn't obey his command, his eyes
irresistibly drawn to the best and most handsome fighter in the
crowd.

The Hessian, but then again he wasn't really. The man that was
capturing his attention so was a younger, human version of the
fearsome rider. His skin was a gleaming bronze rather than the
paleness of death that it had had when Ichabod had last seen him. But
his eyes shone with the same frozen fire, focusing
on the other men he was sparing with, besting each of them easily
with practiced and graceful moves of his
sword.

Rivulets of sweat were running over his bared upper-body and
Ichabod found himself following them with his eyes, shivers running
down his spine as the strange thought that he would like to gather
the sweat with his tongue lodged itself in his mind. Such madness.

He should look away, he shouldn't feel heat race through his body,
centering on his nether regions, he should read his book before he
was caught staring, he really should. And yet he couldn't do it, not
only because his body refused to obey his command, but also because a
small part, a dark part of himself wanted to keep staring.

And before he could finish his internal battle his gaze was
suddenly met with icy-blue, the Hessians full attention focused on
his face. Heat instantly spread over his features as he quickly
looked down at his book, the darkness of a fainting spell threatening
at the edges of his vision.

“Willst du es nicht auch mal versuchen, mein Freund?”
(3)

Ichabod hadn't truly understood the words, but the sword that was
ushered into his hand made the Horseman's meaning quite clear.
Frantic words of protest tumbled from his mouth, but it was all to no
avail as the book was plucked from his fingers and he was pulled up
from the bench.

“Du wirst doch wohl nicht fürchten dich mit mir zu
messen, Georg?” (4)

The words were taunting, causing the other young men that had
watched their exchange to snicker. As if a sudden switch had taken
place in his body Ichabod found himself gripping the sword a little
tighter, his back straightening as he faced his blue-eyed opponent.
His own voice sounded more confident that the Constable had known
himself to be capable of, the foreign words coming with strange ease.

“Nicht wirklich, Friedrich!” (5)

For just a second Ichabod thought that he didn't know the
slightest thing about fighting with a sword, but his body had already
begun to move, parrying and thrusting with a flowing ease that he had
never known to possess. Trapped in his own body he couldn't do
anything other than watch, fascinated as he fought with the Hessian
quite equally.

Such beauty and strength, muscles rippling under bronze skin. The
thought distracted him for a mere moment, but it was too long, his
block coming a second too late.

Sharp pain laced through his upper arm as a cut appeared on his
pale skin, a small trickle of blood flowing down. His sword clattered
to the ground in shocked surprise and before he could fully
comprehend what had happened he already found himself encased in
strong arms, catching him as he fainted from the shock and surprise.

TBC...

(1) “I'm Friedrich. And you?”

(2) “I'm Georg.”

(3) “Don't you want to try, my friend?”

(4) “You aren't scared of trying yourself against me, Georg,
are you?”

(5) “Not really, Friedrich.”
- 4
- 5
- 6
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A winter's tale