Work Text:
Knowing everything so surely was bound to make one's life boring. The lack of surprises had made Agnes live a comfortable life from the moment her consciousness began to form — many were the times she survived or found solace just by knowing. Her path was traced, and she fell into it with open arms.
The first assessment was true, though. It could make for a pretty boring life, except….
There was a blind spot. A moving, mischievous and human shaped blind spot.
“Agnes, we should visit the town over the river.”
“Why?”
Agnes shouldn't cross the river today. Today, she would stay home and work on a quilt, waiting until a cat appeared on her door. When that happened, it would mean that the baker had closed his shop early, and that he would knock on her door next, and —
“I want to visiting their market, maybe buy some apples for that pie you like —”
Mary Hale's eyes had a glint that assured Agnes it wasn't the whole truth. She squinted, feeling the vibrations of Earth under her feet, hands twitching to gently touch the lay lines tapestry that surrounded her house and…
Her vision didn't clear, as usual.
She couldn't see the future of Mary Hale. Which caused a whole strand of time to which Agnes wasn't privy of, and every time she chose to stay by her friend's side, it was a choice of embracing the uncertain.
“I shan't.” There was a plan for today. A quilt, a cat, the baker, her future. “This is not what happens today.”
Mary rolled her eyes.
“It isn't what happens today if you decide not to come with me.”
“That's not how it works.”
Her friend's smile turned vicious, the glint in her eyes challenging.
“Want me to prove you wrong? Come with me.”
Agnes could say no. She should, even — but Mary’s smile, her extended hand, her voice… they called for Agnes. It was hard to say no to someone she liked so much; Mary made it easy to face the unknown.
In the end, they crossed the river, and Agnes found herself smiling at her friend choosing apples, singing along with her as they walked down the market — and it would be nice enough just as this, but, as Agnes imagined, that wasn't the only reason she had insisted on her company.
Mary pulled her arm, leading her to the theatre.
“I knew there was something else —”
“You did not. Don't complain now, I've heard it's a funny one. You'll like it. “
Agnes wasn't complaining, though. She was smiling.
The theatre was full, many people coming to see Shakespeare. Agnes had heard a little about him from some travellers that visited Tadfield once, but much more on the lay lines. He had many braided in his hair, trickling down to his pen, weaving in the future.
He only didn't have more than two beings she spotted close enough for eaves-dropping.
“You really did a marvellous job that time, Crowley.” The one with fluffy, sheep hair whispered.
“Oh, do shut up. It was all simple temptations. The theatre is all about sin, you know— you got no idea of what happens backstage.”
“Sure, of course. Terrible business.” He sounded too satisfied with himself about it, in Agnes opinion.
She knew exactly who those two were. The same ones who'd greet her descendant, and who'd stand together until the end.
The one with flaming hair smiled too softly for his features; she looked down and saw their hands tied.
Their meeting here was as clandestine as hers, escaping a destiny set in stone. But maybe Agnes’ destiny wasn't so strict, after all. Maybe, even if she couldn't change everything, she could still make her own choices, and a book and a barrel of nails weren't a bad idea — but that was far in the future.
For now, she had a lot of blank days to spend with Mary. The hand that wrapped around hers said as much.