A/N: I really liked this movie, and I think it got short shrift, though I understand certain criticisms of it, especially having to do with the demon at the end of it; I also thought it was too short: It's barely a hair over 90 minutes. I'm also really tired of Nic Cage bashers; I don't care why he made the movie, and I certainly don't think he was miscast; I think he's perfect in it. He's really touched me in this, and the Sorcerer's Apprentice, especially, and I love his look in both movies. I also like unconventional stories, and stories where women don't get the worst of the deal; I like hurt men better than hurt women.
I especially love the friendship between the two knights, and Behmen's interactions with the witch. Felson talks plenty about getting laid, so I thought it was Behmen's turn to get some, however unusual. I would've loved to have seen something like what I wrote in the movie, and it also would've lengthened it somewhat.

Disclaimer: I don't own Season Of The Witch.

Detour

Behmen couldn't focus his mind on anything else; he had to kill the witch. Debelzaq's frantic, impassioned words weren't even heard, and he was no match for the crazed knight, shoved to the side, and the ground, watching in horror as the girl grabbed the front of the crossbow, pushing it back violently. It thrust back at Behmen's face, gashing his cheekbone, and then she snatched it out of his hands, turned it around, and fired the arrow before dropping the crossbow altogether.

"Behmen!" Debelzaq cried out as the knight staggered slightly before dropping on his back like a stone, the arrow sticking out of his chest, barely a few inches below his heart. Felson was there instantly, letting out a frustrated screech as he picked up the crossbow and hurled it at a nearby tree, completely destroying it. The witch cowered, but nobody was looking at her, Kay, Felson and Debelzaq all kneeling at the fallen knight's side.

"It's fatal," he knew, his trembling hands resting around the arrow's shaft. "Not for a while, though."

"Maybe hours, or maybe days," Felson agreed, and he also thought what his longtime friend was thinking, though neither of them said it: Mere minutes, if we pull out the arrow. It might be one thing if Behmen requested it, but there was no way Felson was going to give anyone else a chance to, especially that witch.

"I do not blame her," Behmen informed the gathering with conviction. He was suddenly talking to Kay, now, the wanna-be-knight grasping his hand. "Do not ever let anyone steal your sanity, or you will find yourself in my predicament." He'd lost his head for a few minutes, and now he would lose his life. Of course he was calm, now.

"Are you comfortable . . . considering?" Kay finally responded

"It is not important, now," but the three were instantly off to find him comfort.

"Forgive me," the witch begged, he looking up at her, barely four feet away now, her eyes innocent again.

"Forgive me," he said softly back, his blue eyes closing, the girl smiling sweetly before turning inside herself:

I want him.

What?

I'll never fight you again if you just let me have him as a lover, just once.

I've been throwing men at you for months, you ingrate!

That is rape. I'm asking for love.

It is the first time you've asked for one.

It is the first, and it will be the last. That is why it is love.

"Behmen, are you dead or sleeping?" his friend chided him, and his eyes opened.

"A bit of both, I would fathom." He'd been starting to shiver before, but now he was warm, and the pain in his chest was no longer radiating everywhere; it was down to a dull ache. The cold ground was no longer under him; he was laying on some kind of makeshift padded stretcher, his fingers brushing the thin wood frame. His head was resting on something resembling a pillow, and a few blankets were piled on him, but carefully, so as not to disturb the arrow. "It feels like I'm already in heaven," he said gratefully to the gathering as they started a fire.

"Do you want us to move the witch away from you?" Felson wondered, but he shook his head:

"No; we've made amends." And six eyebrows went up. "Did you find the covering?" he asked, referring to the cloth that had flown off when they had fled the wolves. "She's unnecessarily exposed."

"Actually, yes," Felson replied, looking strangely at his fellow knight. He removed the folded cloth from the front of the wagon, shaking the leaves and dirt off before draping it back over the portable cell, adjusting it so that only the front was open.

"Thank you," the witch called out, looking from Felson to Behmen.

"You're welcome," the two knights answered at once, before they started chuckling, which was probably the last thing the gravely wounded one should do, and he ended up gasping as the arrow moved. Felson was at his side in an instant, opening the flask and giving him a quick but generous swig, gently holding his head up.

"I knew I'd finally get you to buy one day," the blond shuddered as he was laid back down, perspiration prickling at him.

"I'll buy all the rest, my friend." Felson had tears in his eyes, but Behmen smiled, although he was nodding in acknowledgement.

"You just want to get me drunk."

"How drunk?" the older man grinned back, willingly taking the bait.

"Dead drunk." This time, Behmen let the other man laugh for him. Debelzaq and Kay only half-heartedly managed to join in, but even the witch got out a quick cackle.

"The blood's coagulated," Kay piped up now, ever earnest, referring to the cheek gash. "May I clean you?"

"Well, you don't get an offer like that everyday," Felson said in aside to his now beaming friend:

"You're killing me, Felson."

"I'm doing my best." He got up as Kay approached, still waiting for his answer. Behmen leaned up slightly on his elbow, testing his wound, serious again. The witch could not take her eyes off of him, and Debelzaq took it all in.

"I am sorry for not replying . . . Gallows humor, you understand. Condemned men use it frequently, before they face the inevitable."

"Please don't feel the need to apologize, or explain . . . I envy your friendship."

"Never envy . . . I may make myself live longer just not to leave him alone. I would be devastated without him; I'm sure he feels the same. We have probably relied on each other too much."

"At least we haven't laid together," Felson called out, Behmen smiling again, shaking his head slightly.

"Well, we have, but not like that."

"There's still some time left, if you have that as your last request." A pause, while he let the other man consider the offer. "I'm sure I could accommodate you." Debelzaq blanched; Kay just looked confused. Behmen had to lay back down:

"If I had known dying was this much fun, I'd've done it long ago." He nodded at Kay, feeling bad, but not apologizing again. "You may proceed, Kay."

"Thank you, Behmen."

He's so beautiful.

"The witch is lusting after Behmen," Debelzaq informed Felson in disgust as they sat around the fire while Kay cleaned the dying man's face.

"Can you blame her?" the knight asked cheekily. "I'd be lusting, too, if men actually appealed to me." Fine, the priest winced, deciding to change the subject:

"Does he know how close we are?"

"I've been trying to cheer him, not dig his grave."

"What do you mean?"

"He'll either insist on going, or order us to leave him." Felson let that sink in. "Either option is not acceptable, because either option will kill him faster."

"Why can't he accompany us?" the priest wondered. "I understand abandoning him would be barbaric, but we should be able to rig something."

"He must lie flat, and he must not jostle. There's nothing stable enough to hold the stretcher. We can't drag it behind the horses." They eyed the wagon at the same time, and shook their heads at each other, giving up. They can't risk letting her out, and they can't risk putting him in there with her.

"Very well, then," Debelzaq sighed. "We will wait, and I'm sure the boy and I will pray."

"Pray for what?" Felson asked defensively. "Pray for Behmen to die sooner?"

"I implied no such thing—"

"Like hell you didn't."

They weren't far enough away, and Behmen's hearing had always been excellent:

"How close are we, Kay?" he asked out of nowhere, and the boy looked at the witch apprehensively: She was sneering at him. Felson saw him point in the direction of the abbey, and forgot all about Debelzaq as Behmen slowly turned his head to follow the boy's finger. It would be dark in an hour, but the black tower of the monastery stood out even against the overcast sky. The witch reeled back as the man's face lost all color: It was like she had shot him all over again. His breathing shuddered, his eyes rolled back; he was beyond stunned.

"Behmen!" but he shook his head slightly, Felson crashing to his knees beside him, shoving Kay out of the way. The pain was everywhere, now; he couldn't escape it. His mission had failed completely. They would have been there by now, if not for his raging lunacy.

"Finish me," he whispered to Felson, who was grabbing his hands and straddling him to hold him down.

"No."

"I beg you, Felson . . . Finish me. I don't care how." The older man got an idea, raising his head.

"You don't care how, my friend?" Behmen nodded, but he shouldn't have.

The three men tied him to the stretcher from his neck down, making sure that he couldn't move, and he was too spent to protest.

"Now what?" he wondered in a rasp, his eyes teary, Felson sitting on the ground next to him. The man smiled, pulling out the flask in an ominous manner.

"Now we drown you in alcohol, and joke about death." Behmen finally managed a smile for the first time in hours, accepting a swig.

"Which means you do not know," was the conclusion.

"You're still the leader of this mission."

"Then we leave in the morning. I've wasted enough of our time."

"How will you travel?"

"In the cage with the witch, of course. There is no other way if I have any chance of actually making it to the abbey."

"So now you know why we were reluctant to tell you."

"I know," he acknowledged softly.

"She might kill you, Behmen."

"I'm already dead, Felson."

"That's not exactly a joke," the older man pointed out.

"I'm not drowning, yet, either," he hinted, and he was given another mouthful in response.

"Can you give a dying, drunk, bound, sleeping man last rites?" Felson wondered very early the next morning, Debelzaq looking at him strangely, especially since he was already doing so. The cover was completely over the wagon, and they were as far from it as was reasonable.

"I can give him a key, also, though I hardly see the point." It was an extra, and he put it in a hidden pocket in Behmen's tunic.

"Just call it a dramatic exit. He'll have some sort of chance if she doesn't just shove the arrow straight through him." Which is exactly what they were expecting her to do.

The witch's eyes were wild as Behmen's stretcher was meticulously slid over the floor of the wagon, and she huddled in the far corner, Felson's eyes, and his sword, trained on her the entire time.

"It's not that we trust you, but we don't have a choice," he stated, Kay and Debelzaq securing it in place with chains so that it wouldn't slide around.

"I understand; I heard the conversation—"

"Of course you did."

"He's drunk asleep," the priest pointed out, now, somewhat disgusted. "We would hope that you wouldn't let him drown in his own vomit—"

"Behmen will do nothing of the sort," Felson snapped now, furious at the pious assumptions. "You don't know what being drunk is and, in any case, he's nowhere near that point. The act of vomiting would kill him."

"I will watch over him," the witch stated firmly, "whether you trust me or not."

Felson closed the gate, locking it in place. Behmen's head tilted slightly to the side, but he didn't wake up.

"We will give you your privacy." It was a bright, though still sunless, day, and the man knew his friend would appreciate the dimness. His eyes darkened: "But you will feel no end of my wrath if I have to investigate his screaming." The witch nodded in acceptance. Debelzaq started to protest as the cloak was dropped, covering all but the bottom six inches of the bars. "Whatever happens, there will be no spectacle," Felson stated with finality, the priest eyeing him as if he lost his mind, before he and Kay manned the front of the wagon.

"We must go easy," Debelzaq stated morosely. "There will be no rush. We have all day." Kay nodded solemnly, Felson leading the way, riding his horse, and escorting Behmen's. His eyes were damp. Behmen would never ride that beautiful white animal again.

There was little movement to the wagon, and there was almost no noise, just nature sounds filtering in under and through the cloak. The pain was dull again, so that wasn't it, either. What finally awakened Behmen were the gentle probing strokes of a woman's delicate hand, a sensation he had not felt in longer than he cared to admit. His eyes stayed closed, because if this was a dream, he wasn't sure he wanted to wake up. He shivered slightly.

"Are you cold?" The voice was lilting, soft, musical, and too familiar. And then he was afraid to open his eyes. He realized that it was the witch that was molesting him. "Are you cold, Behmen?" she asked again, like she was genuinely concerned.

"No," he found himself whispering back. Her hand was firmer, now, and his legs shifted slightly under the ropes that held them fast. His heart sped up in response to his arousal, and the arrow was in serious danger of moving. The witch seemed to sense this, her hand traveling upward and under his tunics. His breath caught painfully as her thumb and forefinger encircled the arrow's shaft, and then her hand rested there, against his bare chest. If she was trying to kill him, she was being awfully gentle about it. She was using two hands, now, the right at his chest, the left at his crotch, like she was concerned focusing on the arrow would dissipate his arousal. And then her hand was brushing purposefully at his chest, like she was removing sand, or dirt, or . . . splinters. And Behmen finally opened his eyes, lifting his head slightly.

He couldn't see the arrow, and he could no longer feel it, either. The witch's chin was resting right below where it had been, and her eyes met his. For the first time, he saw color in them, a bright, dark blue. Her skin was alabaster, her cheeks and lips flushed pink, her hair a long, rich brown, and shiny. She smiled at him with perfect teeth. He didn't see a witch, then, just like he hadn't seen one when he first laid eyes on her back in the Marburg prison. He saw a beautiful girl named Anna. Maybe there was such a thing as a good witch; he really couldn't discredit the witch part, certainly not if she healed him.

"Is this an illusion?" Behmen found himself asking, afraid he'd move again and find the arrow still there.

"You don't have to believe me; that would be too much of a stretch for you," she knew, further up on him now, though the left hand was still teasing him. "But, I will show you." She kissed him then, her right hand up, covering the angry gash on his cheek. And then she brushed her fingers against it, like she had his chest, and the swelling and the ache were gone. He suddenly felt completely new again, and decided to go with the feeling, if just for a little while. He could overthink this later.

"Thank you, Anna." She giggled in delight, grasping his shoulders and turning on her back, and he suddenly wasn't bound anymore, as she wrapped herself around him, pulling him down on top of her. His hands caressed her breasts, he watching her eyes as she undid the three buckles on his cloak. It slid off down his back, and she continued with the buckles on his silver over-tunic, shoving it down off of his shoulders. She liked the blue quilted one, so she just opened that, and the sweater underneath. Her lips were at his chest, and his were at her throat, and then they finally entwined again, before she undid his pants and lifted up her dress: She had nothing on underneath, and her legs wrapped around his back, unnaturally strong as she pulled him into her.

They lay still and spent for a long while afterwards, and then Behmen felt something change.

"Leave me now," she ordered softly, her voice no longer musical. Anna'd been snuggled up against his chest while he held her, but now she abruptly turned away from his arms.

"How can I help you, Anna?" he asked softly, even as he got to his knees carefully, straightening the clothes that were still on him.

"You have helped me; I'll never forget this, but you must leave now." His eyes widened as she began to cry, and he buckled the silver tunic in place before reaching for the cloak.

"Anna—"

"You will die if you don't leave, so just go, Behmen." A hand was up, holding the key to the cell, but it was no longer the girl's hand, and it nearly snared his wrist as he took the key. The wagon seemed to be rocking violently, now, and his voice echoed loudly as he fell to the floor, trembling hands working the padlock:

"Halt!"

All three men turned white at the sound of that voice, and everything came to a complete stop.

"Behmen?" Felson questioned with something akin to hope, the first to recover. "Wait," he ordered Debelzaq and Kay as he backtracked past them, to the other side of the wagon. They didn't argue; in fact, they didn't move a muscle. Behmen had the key in his hands, locking the cell door, even as he heard the witch snarl in frustration. "Behmen?" Felson was so stunned to see his dying friend standing before him that he could only grin like an idiot. The blond's grin was slyer, his arms folded.

"She's definitely a witch, Felson." The older man dismounted his horse, arms out to the sides as he regarded the other man carefully. It was so odd to not see an arrow protruding from his chest, and the cheek gash was gone, as well. The small cuts from the wolf attack were still there, though, but they were nothing much to begin with, and the face was slightly flushed, as well.

"You need to get laid more often, Behmen," he laughed, suddenly engulfing the other man in a bear hug, kissing both cheeks. He was hugged as well, the two men overjoyed, and then the recovered knight was smirking at him with a gleam in those bright blue eyes:

"As long as it's not by you."

"I promise."

"You're damned, Behmen," Debelzaq sputtered suddenly, loudly. "Consorting and laying with a witch!" The priest was furious, but Kay was behind him, looking strangely hopeful. Relieved, even. The knights disengaged from their embrace, and Behmen stood by his horse, removing his sword from its encasement, sheathing it in his belt, before stalking over to Debelzaq, who shrank back, holding his cross and muttering incoherently.

"Are we finishing this mission or not?" Behmen thundered. "Or are you going to fail your church metres from the goal?" The priest went quiet, considering. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, priest, but you must do the same for me."

"But, this . . .you . . . this is impossible!"

"Then we turn back," he shrugged.

"No!"

"You've been through a lot on this mission, Debelzaq, and it's not over, yet." Behmen was trying to be kind. "But, this isn't about me, and what I have or haven't done." He paused. "It's about the witch, so here's the deal: We finish with the witch, first, and then I'll let you worry about me." A final pause, "You can bring me out in chains, if you like, but not until we complete the mission."

"Has she told you what will happen?"

"Nobody knows what will happen, Debelzaq," he shook his head. "Not even the witch."

"I agree to your terms, Behmen," Debelzaq finally nodded. "We haven't come all this way for nothing."

"Welcome back, Behmen," Kay finally piped up, the knight nodding in return, everyone on alert now, as Felson and Behmen mounted their horses, and the boy and Debelzaq mounted the wagon.

"We finish this," Behmen stated with conviction as they finally started up again.