HUD: I KNOW, I HAVE A PROBLEM. But, it works out for you guys, right? :) There will be some dialogue directly from the film, but also a lot I'll be adding in because of the characters and my changes to the plot. If you haven't seen the film, that's totally cool - then you can enjoy the twists! :) Enjoy!
"Oi!" Heads rose all around for a moment, quickly ignoring when they weren't the object of attention.
"Where's she at, the Widow?" He called, knocking his sword against the bars he passed. Prisoners shrank away, the ones with sense, at least. Those that lacked, sneered without remorse or self-preservation. Some even further gone, however, persisted against even the guards' most sinister glares.
One such man was intentionally sought out.
"You!" The guard demanded, wrenching open a cell door as he pointed to a huddled man in the corner. "You are the Widow's cellmate - where is she off to?"
The man, a scrap of the title, if one could deem him still even human, giggled loudly to himself as he spoke: "The Widow? The Widow... The Widow is gone, gone again, and down the drain!"
His laughter grew more hysterical as the guard, a large behemoth of a man that hated being lied to, towered over him and grabbed him roughly by the scraps of what was left of his shirt.
"Hardly," he spat, literally, into the manic's face. The guard glanced down by their feet, near a drain used as a crude lavatory. "No person could fit through that."
The man just giggled, laughing louder and more frightfully as the guard shook him. He grunted, annoyed far beyond words with his entire situation; he signaled the guard left outside of the cell.
"Hang him," he said, and that ended the manic laughter. "The Captain wants the Widow, in her stead he shall have you unless you've answer to where she is off to."
"I have told you the truth, kind lord," the man stammered. He clawed weakly at the hold on his collar to no avail, the hand slapped away a moment later.
"There will be a hanging today," the guard answered ominously. "Be it yours or hers."
Elsewhere, the one called Widow scrambled through the wall of mud and muck far below them, only the sounds of lapping water and scurrying of rats her companions.
"Impossible," she muttered, her lips screwed in a frown as the wall slowly gave way. "They say impossible - I say, between a hanging or a lavatory trip, I'd take the latter."
The Widow pulled and dug; her nails came back dirty but she had no time to pay heed. The wall moved between her attempts, and she dared to not think of what she pushed away. Slowly a rectangle appeared, a grate not unlike the first she'd squeezed through. After sliding her fingers along the sides for any sharpness, she began to work her way through.
With careful breathing and finite practice, she was free.
The Widow grinned, wide and bright as she felt fresher water around her. She was free of the drain from beneath the prison and had a moment's breath to push her hair from her face and rinse her hands.
She was alone for the first time since her capture, and it was a glorious feeling. She patted the top of the water, nearly to her breastbone, before starting off in the direction of sound. Above, voices and singing could be heard, nothing too joyous, marking what must be mass for the elite.
There was a wide square tunnel high above her with walls close enough that she could probably climb her way up with relative ease.
"Perhaps, there is an exit..." She ventured before deciding that nearly anything was better than her current predicament. Carefully she climbed, hand over hand and legs shaking from the effort of such a height. There was a grate of criss-crossed bars that she could loop her fingers through to push away; as she began to do just that, an iron-clad foot stomped down on her fingers. She yelped but quickly slowed it, unable to react in time to catch her balance.
She fell down, down, until she splashed back with a groan, the air leaving her in a rush. She was quick enough to recapture her breath before a current pulled her an entirely new direction, away from perceived freedom to tumble through shallow waves that had just enough height to keep her head below water. It was painful, but not quite as much as slamming into iron bars.
The Widow tried not to gasp, to conserve what air she still had, but she did push herself away to a break in the metal. The current continued to pull and guide until her lungs were burning and her eyes stung from dirty water. Finally, finally she could see light, and then she surfaced to take the largest gulps of air she'd ever taken.
She pushed her hair back, now slicked to her skull, and took in her surroundings. There was a bridge directly to her right, a few farmhands that had yet to notice her at the shore beside, but the most satisfying was behind her.
Behind her was the towering form of the prison she'd successfully escaped. It was on the edge of Aquila, a beautiful thriving city with no lack of lined pockets, but was truly the eye-sore, were her opinion to be asked. The remainder of the city was built of beautiful white stone and dark wood from the very forest beyond where she floated. The prison had looked the same, once, before age and blood stained its walls a crude rust. In comparison, it were as if one stood in heaven yet could still see the dredges of hell.
Speaking of: "Lord, good afternoon," the Widow muttered, swimming swiftly to the cover beneath the bridge. Her absence had surely been discovered by then, and nightfall was still hours away. "It is Natalia."
The gates above the bridge opened to the sound of hooves, many and thunderous, echoing around her. The Widow shrank further into the dank water.
"Lord," she continued. "I thank you for your kindness; I promise, I am a good person, Lord. I shall not squander this gift by landing myself again behind those walls."
Natalia pressed herself against the brick of the bridge and waited out the calvary above her. She knew they would follow the path, as those with horses could, but as those in her predicament wouldn't. She carefully climbed along the bank, keeping the path they'd taken behind her. Natalia wouldn't dare be quite so obvious; the only reason they'd even caught her was because her disguise had slipped. The vest she usually wore to conceal her bodice had been damaged during a scuffle, and before she could hide away for any repairs, those idiots that call themselves the Lord's Guard discovered her.
That was four nightfalls ago.
She still wore her vest, damaged as it was, but she believed that could aid in her favour. Along the bank were homes and lean-tos for cattle and livestock, fires for warmth, children helping with chores; Natalia drew her drenched tunic closer and advanced on two children shucking corn by a fire.
"Hello, girls," she said with a smile, knowing she looked like absolute hell. The oldest of them looked up and gasped; she grabbed her sister and held her close.
"Wot d'you want?" She asked, her chin tossed up defiantly even as her voice wavered.
"Warmth," Natalia answered with a gesture to the fire. "Clothing, perhaps food? In exchange for coin?"
Natalia dropped her hand to pat at her belt which jingled; during her brief stay, she'd discovered exactly how foolish all guards seemed to be. The girl's eyes widened at the noise before she surged to her feet.
"Stay here," she said to Natalia and her younger sister. Once she was off, yelling for her father, Natalia set to work. She pulled down the smallest tunic and cloak she could see on their clothesline, then breeches, and finally a pair of well-worn shoes. All the while, the little girl didn't move from her stump, cornsilk and husks surrounding her. Natalia paused, the clothing she'd gathered under one arm.
They stared at each other, neither making a move. The little girl blinked and held out three ears of corn in her small hands. Natalia took a step forward and accepted the offer. In turn, she pressed more than enough coin into the girl's hand to cover what she took and more.
"See, Lord?" She murmured, jogging into the woods behind their farmhouse before the other child returned. It was always a crude joke she played upon herself, to believe there was a being that cared for her unwaveringly, but somehow kept her sane. "I am a good person."
Natalia found an abandoned shack and cleaned herself up. She tore ribbons off of her ruined and stained prison tunic to bandage the small scrapes that had occurred from her escape and to pull back her now dried hair. Without needle and thread her ruined vest was just that; she hung it to dry as she stoked a fire to cook her corn.
She found a tarnished silver bowl that she boiled water from a nearby creek in. With the warm water, she felt cleaner than she had since being dragged through mud to wallow within the walls of Aquila Prison. With all cuts cleaned and tied off, she rested for the first time since she could remember. It lasted for as long as it took the corn to boil before she set about for her planning.
Her mother had been a traveler, an immigrant; her father a member of the guard of another kingdom. They met gloriously, and then she was born. Her father died in service to his god, and her mother soon after of a broken heart. She had been beautiful, with dark red hair and bright green eyes and skin as fair as snow. Natalia looked the mirror image of her, or so she had been told from the troupe her mother had traveled with. She spent half of her years with them, learning their ways and gaining their knowledge of the lands.
Natalia knew she was as obvious as the day was long, could be picked out of a crowd with ease. Her things had been disposed of in the prison, but she had enough cloth left to dye with the ashes and bark she found that she could tuck her hair under. The vest could be repaired later. She had enough coin to purchase what she needed, and whatever else could be taken.
The next morning saw her leave her shack before the dew fully set. Natalia took to the woods, listening for any sounds of her pursuers. She kept to the shadows and took advantage of negligent farmhands for food and the occasional shelter. By three days' travel, Natalia felt comfortable enough to venture into a small town in search of thread and needle.
After only a few minutes' search, she found a traveler's shack and made her purchase, careful to keep her face angled so no person would see her without her permission. She touched a leather cap, made surprisingly well for such a small village. She paid for it as well before seeking an inn, bartering for a room with a window should she need to leave in haste.
Natalia settled in with a sigh before removing her cloak and tunic, then the vest. She wrapped the cloak back around her chest before setting to her task. The shoulders of the cloth were ruined beyond her skill to repair, making her lips twist in a scowl. With a sigh, she removed her dagger from her shoe and cut them away, carefully sewing the leather back together.
Before her sat more of a lady's corset than a boy's vest, but Natalia decided it would do just fine. She could still pull the tight material over her head and shoulders without much effort, and as long as she wrapped a cloth around her chest first, the pressure would give her back the body of a young man rather than a woman. With the aid of her cloak and tunic, she could hide the rest of her figure with ease.
Natalia dressed herself, pausing to carefully retie and pull her hair under the cap, and set out into the village again to reward herself with better boots and another knife. She didn't dare return to the same business, instead finding a trader that she could better barter with. She traded the farmhand's shoes she had as well as the silver dish she'd kept from her first night in the shack; with the addition of five coins, she had a new pair of leather boots and a bright knife. She offered another coin for a satchel, but the man was kind enough to toss it in the deal for her.
"You remind me o' my son," he said gruffly, but there was a smile in his dark eyes. Something in his tongue said he was a far traveler, and Natalia felt warm at his compliment.
"My thanks, sir, to you and your son," she answered, pitching her voice lower. A smile touched his eyes and he waved her off. She nodded and turned away. As she wandered the stalls of more traders, she felt her disguise was back in full swing. She didn't advert her eyes as she had before, with only her cloak and a tardy kerchief to hide herself; she acted as if she belonged, and soon those around her allowed her to blend.
She ventured to an outdoor pub with dozens of tables occupied by joyous men, some singing and carrying on, others quiet and solemn as they nursed their pints. She gathered she could sit amongst them; without being spoken to, she doubted they would bother her.
Natalia slid up to the barkeep dragging a rag through a puddle of spilt ale. He looked at her and quirked an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"
Natalia nodded. "Aye, a week's worth salted meat, cheese, and bread, and a pint of your finest."
Both eyebrows shot to the man's hairline. "Show me some coin, first, lad."
Natalia nodded again and dropped a hand to her belt, patting the leather pouch there. The sound of all her pickpocketing jingled with the motion. "If you hurry," she hedged, her voice lowered. "There could be more in it for you."
The man gave a sharp nod, his eyes shining in a way that only a greedy man's would. He quickly poured Natalia's ale and slid it over the worn wood of the bar. She nodded her thanks as he disappeared into the storerooms behind him. Natalia eyed the tables again, seeing the men who knew each other and those who didn't, her gaze resting only for a moment on a small table of four, each wearing a cloak and hood over their heads. A glint of sun on metal made her advert her gaze.
The damage was done, however.
She cursed the man taking so long for her provisions when a heavy gloved hand dropped on her shoulder. Natalia, for all her years of running and living in the shadows, did not flinch; instead, she brought her mug to her mouth and took a long sip.
"You seem to be lost, lad," a gruff voice announced. "Surely you're too young for drinking amongst men."
"Perhaps, with the drink in your eyes, it has become too difficult for you to tell," she answered darkly, drawing another sip as she paused. "And, do not call me Shirley."
During the man's moment of confusion, Natalia tossed her half full mug into his eyes. He released her shoulder long enough for her to vault over the bar as the barkeep returned with her order. She flung coin at him and snatched her food from his hands, shoving it into the satchel hidden beneath her cloak. The man showered in her drink hissed and demanded the barkeep 'hold that girl!' to which the man became increasingly confused, enough so that Natalia charged away from him to the nearest exit.
Unfortunately, there were two guards in the red and silver uniform of Aquila waiting there for her. She turned course, diving beneath a nearby table.
"Catch her!" The guard hollered, and it was then that Natalia recognized the voice of Captain of the Lord's Guard, Nicholas, aptly named 'Fury'. Natalia imagined that she would learn the meaning of the nickname sooner rather than later.
A sword slammed through the planks above her, inches from her right shoulder. She squirmed around to avoid the blade and exited from the other side. Her knees hit the soft grass just as she dove to avoid another swipe of a blade. A quick headcount tallied her against about ten guards, including Fury and the other three that had been at his table. The rest of the patrons had scattered, birthing enough chaos for Natalia to work with, for now. Natalia cursed and swung herself up onto the terrace above the tables, scrambling across the rungs with ease.
Guards swung up and tried to join her, but when they came within reach Natalia shoved them away. They grunted and huffed as they fell; one managed to grasp Natalia's ankle as he went down. The Widow hissed and grabbed the terrace before she fell with him, kicking wildly until she managed to land a blow to his nose.
As she scrambled back for purchase, another guard swung at her with his sword, making her gasp.
"Alive, you fools! Catch her alive!" Fury bellowed. Natalia mentally thanked him, even while the sword dug into her cloak. She gasped again, grasping at the fabric straining against her throat until she worked the knot free and the was able to scramble to safety.
Natalia stood and pulled her new knife from her boot, breaking into as much of a run as she could across uneven boards and tree limbs. She was rapidly running out of terrace, and the guards jabbing the blades of their swords through the breaks between wood weren't heeding their commander's orders. Time was running out, and when she reached the edge of the track, Natalia knew the decision was out of her hands.
Just as she began to leap from the terrace, a guard jammed his sword before her foot, causing her to trip and tumble to the ground. Someone grabbed her before she could stand, holding her arms down to her side tightly. Natalia struggled, elbowing her captor swiftly before spinning and swiping her arms up in an attempt to slip away. The action brought her dagger up as well, still clenched in her hand. The blade moved elegantly against the face of the guard holding her, and she realized too late who it was.
Fury hissed and released her, his gloved hand moving to cover the left side of his face. The sun made the sweat on his dark skin glisten, but Natalia's sharp eyes caught the blossoming of red. She took several steps back with an apology on her lips.
"Oh, uh," Natalia stammered, holding both of her hands up. Fury's blood dripped down her wrist. "Sorry?"
Fury scowled at her. "Grab her!" Natalia turned to run, only to have her hands grabbed and twisted until she dropped her knife. Her arms were pinned behind her roughly, making her grimace. Fury towered over her, one hand still against his face. Natalia swallowed.
"Kill her," Fury growled. Natalia swallowed again, doing nothing more than allowing herself to be pulled back and braced against a beam. Another man unsheathed his sword, twisting the hilt in his hand. She glared at him, her chin held high. With a man on each arm, her chances to escape were slim. If she waited until the last second and ducked, she may be able to slip away in the confusion. If she waited too long, however, they would have her head. She could use the weight of the men holding her against them and free herself to escape across the terrace; the storerooms weren't a distance that she couldn't successfully jump.
Natalia decided that waiting would be her best bet. The guard drew back and braced for a practice swing. Natalia didn't flinch when the blade stopped a scarce inch from her throat. Waiting. The blade swung again, making her eyes twitch. Just. Waiting.
Naturally, Natalia didn't have as much of a choice as she thought.
The guard braced and swung for the final time; Natalia closed her eyes and breathed quickly, puffing her breath to count. When she reached three, she knew it was time to duck. A loud whistle pierced the air followed by a clang against the wrist of the man holding his sword aloft. He yelped, and Natalia turned to see an arrow buried in the small opening between the plates of the wrist brace. Her eyes widened as he dropped the sword beside her, the men's grasp on her loosening in shock.
"It is the Black Knight," one of them breathed. Natalia squinted, not seeing anything resembling a black knight. She shifted, slowly flexing her wrists, and then spotted it.
Nearly fifty yards away stood a proud black horse, a man swathed in a black cloak upon its back. His left arm was covered in silver plating, shining brightly in the sun, and aiming a crossbow. Natalia glanced from him to the man beside her, holding on to the shaft of the arrow still embedded in his wrist, before looking back at the rapidly approaching man. Above her, a hawk cawed.
Fury approached the man as he grew closer. "Thought you were dead."
The man, now better within Natalia's view, smirked. He wore nothing more than black, a matching tunic and trousers, the only colour the silver of his arm and the red lining of his cloak. "Could say the same for you, old man."
Fury's omnipotent scowl grew. "I don't doubt that."
The Black Knight tilted his head, his chin raised defiantly. "Looks like someone tried to beat me to it." Fury hardly flinched.
"Take him alive, men!" He announced; Natalia wrenched one hand free from her captors and snatched her knife from her other boot before stabbing it into the hand of the other man. He yelled, but before Natalia could escape, the man the Black Knight had originally shot grabbed her by her throat. The Black Knight dismounted in a flash and pointed the tip of his armed crossbow directly at Fury's head.
"Stop your men," he said darkly, the light of his smirk entirely gone. "Release the girl or I shall shoot your other eye out."
Fury's nostrils flared, the vein along his neck pulsing. He jerked his head and the man holding Natalia shoved her forward. She coughed and stumbled, her hand going to her throat. The Black Knight tilted his chin at her, prompting her to cross the few feet between them. Once she was within reach, he passed over his crossbow and grabbed the sword strapped to his saddle. Natalia took the weapon gently, its weight foreign in her hands. She stole a glance at the man beside her.
He looked vaguely familiar, but Natalia couldn't place him. They called him the Black Knight in reverence, but his shoulder length hair didn't match the grooming requirements of knighthood, nor did the hair partially grown along his chin and jaw. His eyes were the colour of his sword, almost silver, but there was a hollowness there that unnerved Natalia. He held his sword in his left hand, his dominant hand, from what little Natalia could gather from his stance. Perhaps he was a knight in another life; she only saw knights wearing the type of armour he had his left arm encased in.
"It appears in your old age you've learned reason, Fury," the Black Knight taunted, twirling his sword around in his palm. The metal glistened in the sun. "It shall make our departure simple."
Fury smirked and took a heaving breath. "Or naïve in yours."
The guard closest to Fury was shoved forward by the Captain, his eyes widening in shock. The Black Knight attempted to pull back, but there wasn't enough space between them. The poor sod landed square on the Knight's sword, the sound of metal sliding through flesh piercing the silence. Fury's smirk grew.
"Falsworth?" Natalia heard the Knight breath. His anguish and shock surged through the air, even as the guard named Falsworth dropped to his knees and the sword bearer with him.
"Aye, S-Sir," he breathed, grasping the Knight by his right shoulder. "I apologize, James. Send my regards...to the Captain."
James' silence as his friend died by his hand was enough - Fury's voice boomed in the stillness.
"Seize them!"
All the guards rushed the Black Knight and, by context, Natalia. She hid behind the mammoth of a horse beside her and watched as James pushed Falsworth behind him, away from the several men storming them. His sword still embedded in his friend, James found with only his hands. He blocked swords and fists with his left arm and dealt blows with his right.
The hawk Natalia heard from above swooped down and attacked Fury as the man advanced on James' blind side. James turned to see Fury blindly land a fist on the bird, enough to make the thing screech. James growled and shoved away a would-be attacker before spinning and punching Fury directly where Natalia had wounded him before. The Captain crumbled in a heap.
The rest of the guard saw their Captain fall and stopped themselves, scrambling to gather him before hurrying away. The Black Knight huffed, his chest heaving; he stepped over to his dead friend and gently touched his still face. With a deep breath, Natalia watched him wrench his sword from the corpse, her own breath stuck in her throat by what she'd witnessed.
One man single-handedly took down a unit of the Lord's Guard, among which was the Captain himself, without so much as breaking a sweat. The man with the metal arm, with eyes to match, the man called the Black Knight - the man standing mere feet away from her.
As the hawk landed elegantly on his right shoulder, Natalia knew what she had to do.
She threw the crossbow to the ground and ran.
A/N: Tell me what you thought! I want to hear your thoughts!