The Time We've Lost

Chapter One: Coming Home

Disclaimer: The Princess Bride is not mine. It belongs to S. Morgenstern, or William Goldman, or someone else who isn't me.


By the by, I have deleted the default / introduction chapter, because I don't like it. That means that the only 'possible blatant Mary Sue' warning you will get is this one right here. So there.


It was almost dusk by the time the four of them arrived in Arabella. They were all tired and hungry; indeed, a bleary-eyed Fezzik, who rarely tired, had carried Buttercup for the last hour, and she was almost asleep. Westley, too was looking considerably less lively than he had that morning. Inigo, who was leading the troop, was the only one who still seemed wide awake. In fact, by the time they reached the bend in the road that lead into the little town, it seemed that he was half running, half skipping, such was his excitement. He didn't pause until he had reached the sign announcing their arrival into the village of his childhood. At this moment, he stopped abruptly, glancing quickly about, reminiscing. Then, he closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply the fresh mountain air.

"I am here, Domingo," he said. "I have avenged your death, and now, after all these years, I have finally come home."

It was at that point that the other three caught up with him. He saw their fatigue, which was now very apparent, and felt a twinge of guilt. He had known that the journey would be rough, but they had insisted on coming along with him. Really, he was glad that they had come, especially Fezzik. They had made rhymes during the journey, just like old times. It had helped to calm his nerves, for although he was excited, he was unsure what to expect, and it unnerved him ever so slightly.

"I like it, Inigo. It looks very nice," said Fezzik, quietly.

"That description, I'd say, is very precise."

Fezzik smiled. He was glad that Inigo had let him come along. His best friend in the whole world, Inigo always knew how to make things right. Suddenly, it didn't matter how long he had been walking, or how long it had been since he had last eaten. He wasn't alone, but rather had been allowed to come on a grand adventure with the three people he liked best. He set Buttercup, who was beginning to wake up a bit, down beside Westley, and went to stand beside Inigo. The two lovers came up behind them, Buttercup still gazing about dazedly.

"So, Inigo," said Westley, breaking the silence after a few moments, "have you given any thought as to where we can stay tonight?"

Inigo gave a slight nod, and began, slowly and silently, to walk again. He led them down the main road for a time, until they reached a small brook. At this point, he turned right, heading upstream down a narrower path. As they walked, the others looked about, noticing the lovely towering trees, and the intricate shadows they cast on the path as the sun began to sink in the sky. They also, now and again, glanced at the clear, sparkling stream that continued to run parallel to their steps. Inigo, however, stared straight ahead, as if straining to see something beyond the trees, something just out of sight. From time to time, he paused slightly, taking a deep breath before continuing on again. Despite the number of times he stopped to compose himself, however, he was visibly trembling by the time they reached their destination: a small cottage by a wider portion of the stream, complete with a thatched roof, a fence, and a small garden with a stone bench and a shed. Inigo leaned on the fence for a moment, in one last vain attempt to steady himself, before making his way to the front door. It was really getting dark now, so much that the others, who followed hesitantly behind him, failed to notice the few stray tears that had suddenly escaped his eyes and were making their way down his cheeks. With one final calming breath, Inigo brushed them away as best he could, collected himself, and knocked at the door. The four of them heard the faint sound of someone humming some indistinguishable tune inside the house, which was growing slightly louder as though the person were coming nearer. Before seeing Inigo's reaction to this noise, none of them had thought it possible for a person to both visibly relax and become more nervous at the same time.

The person on the other side of the door had not yet answered their knock. Indeed, judging from the sudden volume consistency, it seemed as though they were finishing the song before replying. Buttercup sent Westley a puzzled look, but he held up a finger, shushing her as he listened. Finally, when the song seemed to be finished, a female voice called, "Who's there?"

The voice itself struck Westley as slightly strange. There was a definite Spanish accent, but there was also a trace of accent from somewhere else, and this seemed slightly odd to him.

All that Inigo said in response to the woman's question was "It's me." Just, 'It's me.' Not 'Inigo Montoya.' Not any indication of who 'me' was. "It's me," was all he seemed to be able to muster.

And yet, the voice must have understood what 'me' he was talking about, for she said it for him.

"Inigo Montoya. I never expected to see you here again."

"The six fingered man is dead."

"Oh. Congratulations." The voice grew suddenly tight and distant.

"May I come in?"

"I don't know."

"I understand that we have not seen each other for quite some time. I also realize that perhaps you are not as happy to see me as I am to see you. I hope, however, that you will realize that I had to leave before, and that it had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the murder of my beloved father. In addition, Ramona Anatolia, I hope you will note that it is now getting quite dark out here, and we have come a long way and are very tired and very hungry. I am hoping, you see, that, in light of this, you will take pity on us and extend some of you renowned hospitality to myself and my three friends, who have brought it upon themselves to accompany me on my journey here to see you again."

There was a pause as she seemed to contemplate what Inigo had said. Then, slowly and hesitantly, the cottage door opened, and, standing indecisively in the doorway, was the their first glimpse of Ramona.



Well? Did you like it? Hate it? Please Review.

I'll try and post Chapter Two soon, because I know you didn't really get to meet Ramona in this chapter.

Anyway, once again, please submit a review to let me know what you think or what your ideas for future chapters are. I welcome any help because, as I said, I am new to this type of story.

Thanks!


Quee.