Repost. 1700. Fallen angel meets legendary Dark Lord. He wants her to love him, she wants a place in heaven and sometimes, heaven is something more than a kingdom in the clouds. Ratings will change in later chapters.

Chapter 1

She was the forbidden angel, forbidden because she was a heretic of her kind. Tomoyo was her name.

Do not be fooled by my words. Indeed she is an angel, the fallen one of her kind. She bore the black wings that symbolize unclean and undeserving of life in heaven.

They threw her to limbo, the world between heaven and hell. She was never meant to live, or so the myth was told. The gods left her to die. Such a heinous crime of infanticide was to be committed, but the blow of their hammer only served to strengthen her spirit when she survived. She had a pure heart, make no mistake. She was able to free herself of grudges and was instead instilled the virtue of fear.

Often times she would rock herself to sleep with a tear-strained face. She tried to be of those on earth. Humans, I think they were called. But they ran her out of town with torches and clubs as if she was some horrible beast, and later she did believe she was one. They stripped her of her wings, broke them off till she was left to bleed alone, and then scorned her to damnation. "Die," they said. "Die!"

She was left in Forest Black, where she stayed to hide her face. She was only one and ten, you know. Not even old enough to be considered responsible for herself.

She felt like dying then, as she bled on the moss covered rocks. The harsh wind licked her porcelain skin as her body went numb with intolerable remorse. Balling her body tightly, she tried to shield herself from the rain as it beat hard against her. Her body was so bruised and weak that the cold got the better of her. Coughing fits racked her lungs till they grew terribly sore and sputtered blood.

Her body was weak, became those of a broken doll.

The gods pitied her. Mortals cursed her.

Unloved. The forbidden angel was terribly unloved.

"He's coming! The Dark lord is coming! Run if you value your lives!" a man shouted a hysterical man, as hooves and rampaging horses sounded from the ground.

Another traveler, Tomoyo thought sleepily, not completely registering his words. It was always a traveler since it were only travelers who passed by her forest.

She peered down from her tree house she required herself to build so she had something that resembled somewhat of a home. But never a home.

Stallions, horses, and mares alike ran across the forest, dodging trees and bushes, leaping gracefully. To Tomoyo, it resembled something of a dance.

She watched soldiers charge, and only when she opened her ears to the first piercing cry that struck the four winds did she really understand the height of the situation.

It was a war.
In her forest.

"Dear lord," she rasped looking at men charging from left and right. "This cannot be," she whispered in a frightened manner. This cannot be, this cannot be…

She whipped her head away from the blood sputtered on the desecrated ground. The whispers of Satan's minions jeering them on were vaguely heard.

Tentatively, she opened an eye. Down below, a boorish, almost-toothless man with a misshapen jaw leered at her and stabbed his blade to the tree. Oh my god.

Tomoyo shuffled her hands back till her spine pressed on for dear life against the wall. Then she took a glance again and saw the man crawling his way up. Oh my god, oh my god. She felt her heart thumping to a thousand beats and her insides grow fiercely cold. What was she to do?

She could fly. Yes, she could fly! But her wings were not fully healed. And gods did it hurt to push them from beneath her skin. Tomoyo tried to though. She lifted the rag she wore and tried to breathe and push. She felt her world tighten around her as she gave a cough and spat blood, then pushed again. "Help me, my lords." she choked pleadingly, as tears fell down her eyes from the excruciating pain, "give me strength."

A grimy hand impulsive took hold of the plank of wood that made up her floor. She could hear the distinct sound of dark, sadist laughter.

After the thousands of beatings, she felt her heart suddenly stop in fear and blood pound in her ears. "Stay away from me," she warned in a hysterical voice, "Stay away! Don't come near me! Please don't!"

The man's scarred lip curled to a sadistic smile that showed his one gold tooth. "Élo poppet," he sneered forcefully grabbing her ankle and yanking her to him.

She begged him to stop.

She whispered it, then she screamed it.

"Arik!" bellowed a commanding voice, as scarred-lip turned his head sharply away from Tomoyo and snarled viciously. "Get your arse down here and take in the prisoners."

Scarred-lip turned back to Tomoyo, still with his lip curled horribly. "'fraid we'll have the finish this anoth'r time, eh poppet," he growled, taking her wrists and roping them roughly. Then he forcefully placed a hard kiss on her relenting lips. "Ye c'n count on that."

She felt her body convulsively shudder at the feel of his clammy palms spread unchastely against her skin. Revulsion, she thought. Utter revulsion. From the pit of her stomach, she wanted to vomit.

Rope burn scathed and marred her skin when he gruffly grabbed both wrists and wrung them tightly together, even leaving finger imprints on her that turned red—that would later turn an ugly purple, she knew. Then tossing her over his heavily muscled shoulders, Arik made his way down the tree.

"Stop strugglin', ye damned girl!" he commanded in a crude, surly voice. But that only led her to do otherwise, and writhe more. She would sooner die than give the man the satisfaction. She had her pride.

"I ses' stop strugglin'!" But she paid no attention, instead, pounding her fisted hands on his body as furiously as she could.

"Fine! Have it your way, girly," he snarled, pushing her off his shoulder half way down the tree. "Stupid girl."

Tomoyo bit her lip hard to contain the ferocious hurting that came when her back hit the ground squarely. She drew blood on her lips.

She arched her back and writhed to the side. Searing pain hit her body like flashes of lightning. Spots of different colors exploded before her eyes as she bit her lip to contain a scream. Blood slipped from her mouth and tears slipped from her eyes as she tried to swallow the undeniable hurt that pounded her body in repeated waves of motion. She was going to bruise all over, of that she was sure.

Her chest tore open and her head was chopped right off and tossed to the side, hitting the bark of the tree then lolling limply to the side.

…

No, that was not true, but the feeling wasn't very far from it.

Tomoyo curled her body on the blood covered ground and sheltered her face. She tried to hold her body, tried to comfort herself, but could not. She moved her hands furiously against the rope, even when she knew it would not help at all. Several tears found their way to her dirty cheeks. Agonizingly, she asked God why he did not help her, why he never helped her. And why he did not love her.

"Damned it, Arik!" swore a man heavily clothed in armor, "They're prisoners, not throw pillows!"

It was the man who, though unaware of it, saved her very womanhood from scarred-lip Arik. He took off his steel-made head protection and knelt by Tomoyo. He observed her ethereal features with watchful, amber eyes. Tipping her head side to side, he noted the wetness of her face then glanced at Arik's sadistic grin.

"You best not get Arik, yonder there, riled up," he advised in a patient manner. "All lot of good it'll do you." He took hold of Tomoyo's chin with pressure that did not suit well with her. It felt degrading, how the stranger was studying her.

"Stay still," he exasperated, as she flitted her head from side to side to avoid his hand. "I'm only trying to see the damage."

Turning her cheek to her shoulder, she tried to rub the tears away, but he only held her chin more roughly.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, trying best to hold bravery in her fear-stricken heart, but thoroughly failing. "Please don't."

The stranger's brows furrowed in a speculative look, then motioned a young boy, "Boy. Boy!" Tomoyo spared a curious glance and saw the boy purposely turn his back on the man. "Damnit Syaoran!"

It was only then the chocolate-haired turned, only to reveal to Tomoyo he was no boy at all, but a man. "Yes bossman?"

Perhaps it was his height that made him very boy-like, Tomoyo meaningfully thought, sizing him up as he, with evident smugness, casually sauntered towards them. While others in her situation would have regarded the boy as nothing, in him she was a way out. He did look rather small…

"General, Syaoran. General Touya," the man said through gritted teeth. "Bloody jackanapes."

"Take this girl to the Dark Lord," Touya commanded with an air of authority purposefully, shoving her firmly to the boy's steady arms. He heard a gasp from the girl.

He looked at Arik who showed interest at their conversation, and confidingly added, "No one else."

"His grace is roaming the perimeter, General."

"Is that so?" the man said, scratching lightly the underside of his chin. He looked quite thoughtful just then.

"Yes. Now may I go, or do you need me to stay for a while? Lord knows how long it takes for you to sink information."

While they rambled on, Tomoyo tried to slip her arm away from this Syaoran-guy's grasp. Ever so gently easing it out. The dark lord was here. She heard most of the legends tales. If any of it was true, he would have no mercy. The dark lord would slay them all.

"Learn your manners BOY."

If she could just—loosen his grasp. She looked right and left, trying to determine the course of action to take and how exactly she was to take it.

"Manners? I fear, dear General, it is you who does not have the slightest inkling on what exactly manners are!"

Up close, the boy wasn't that small, now that she thought about it. A bit taller than her actually. But both men were rather bulky because of the steel-armor.

"Oh, I damned well wager that you fear of being mistake for a gentleman."

Certainly she would be able to outrun them, she strategized. Perhaps.

"I will have you know I fear nothing. Which is hardly at all that I can say for – FUCK!"

Tomoyo had driven her foot down onto Syaoran's as hard as she could and yanked her arm back. It was quick and smooth, just as she had hoped. Dashing south, she could only pray her theory was not wronged by the gods.

For once, she thought, be on my side.

"Son of a bitch!"

Touya tried to run after her. Tried, even, to grab her by the torn drabbles of her shirt. But he didn't. Couldn't. "Shits," he cursed, kicking the ground, then taking hold of his own head. The woman was damned smart! He gave her that.

He turned, looking at Syaoran like the wrath of Hell. "This is your fault," he growled, persisting to make it a big deal since it was indeed Syaoran who slipped up. And even then, the boy had not budged from his spot, evidently still tending to his foot.

"My foot," Syaoran cried, "She fucking massacred it!"

"Don't be an arse, Syaoran. She was not even wearing footwear. It couldn't be that painful."

"Fuck you."

Touya did not reply to this. Instead, he looked at the direction of Tomoyo's footsteps, and sighed. They were pathetic. They really were.

"She'll be back, bossman."

"How the hell do you know?"

Syaoran shook his head and feigned disappointment on his face. "Sometimes I wonder why they ever made you general," he tsked.

She crossed the forest as fast as she could, hearing her heart thumping wildly in her ears. Soon, dizziness and lightheadedness took over. It was only then she slowed down.

Tomoyo put a hand above the flesh of her left breast and felt for her heart. She tried to ease it, she knew she it was not at all good to overstress herself, she knew the consequences, but it couldn't be helped.

Today was not a good day, she wearily thought as she felt her throat close slightly and began to cough. Breathe, she demanded of herself, breathe.

When her heart slowed to normal pace, she relaxed, looking back at the camp she triumphantly escaped from. She allowed herself to be overwhelmed with the sense of accomplishment. After all, it certainly wasn't everyday one escapes with success from a fleet of soldiers.

"No, it's not."

Tomoyo whipped her face around only to find a man, riding on a sleek, black horse in all its majesty, towering over her, looking at her with calm eyes.

And holding a sword to her throat.

Eriol tipped his sword to her chin, forcing it to look him in the eyes. "A girl?" the man said. His voice was a deep rumble in his chest, oddly interesting considering her circumstances. He examined her once over and saw nothing more than a girl in tattered scraps of cloth. "A servant girl," he amended with bits of amusement in his voice and lips that she made her very much suspicious. Once he decided she was harmless, he sheathed his sword and slid of his stallion. The moment he did so, she shuffled her hands back and prepared to dash.

Eriol Hiirigizawa foresaw this and grabbed her tattered collar before she could get any further—And saw something most curious on her back. He bent his head to take a close look at her, but she only struggled some more. He shifted his hold on her shoulders and turned her to face him. The distance between them was enough for him to smell the faint aroma of lemons. "Stop moving, sweetling," he soothingly whispered, "I only want to look at you."

Tomoyo stared up through the thick fringe of her lashes. She look up—and then up some more. She would have thought him to only seem tall before since she was lain on the ground and he on his stallion. But even if her legs refused to stay straight, thus she was not at her full height, he was all the same, very much tall.

He was easily six foot two, lean and superbly fit. He held a passive line above his shapely jaw. Dark brows arched, the same hue as that of his unruly, black hair. His skin was not burnished by the wind although his cheeks flushed from the sun. His slightly unshaven face was very handsome, Tomoyo allowed him that. But there was an aggressive virility in his bold gaze and an uncompromising authority in the set of his jaw that was not at all to Tomoyo's liking, save for the blueness of his eyes that reminded her of shards of ice.

Indeed he might have passed for a god.

A very arrogant god, she averred, looking at the set of his lips. Fortunately he had long gone without shaving, and there was stubble by the base of his firm jaw. He smelled of woodsmoke, sea air, and pine. Human, all right, all too human, too real, and much too close.

On a closer appraisal, Eriol thought her more woman than what he first thought was girl. Cheeks that have been red with exertion were rapidly paling, reveal alabaster smooth skin. Her features were delicately drawn, a straight, slender nose, sitting above a full mouth and a gently rounded chin. But it was those eyes, huge and slightly uptilted eyes the precise shade of amethyst, beneath the thick fringe of her lashes, that stuck him bewitched for the shortest moment.

A serf, he would have guessed, as he glanced over her roped wrists. A serf escaped an army of trained soldiers. A very clever serf, he inwardly concluded, then letting his eyes linger on the fullness of her tempting lips, he quietly added, "and a terribly pretty one as well."

"Come then," he commanded, grabbing the ropes on her wrists and dragged her back to camp, trying to ignore his sinful thoughts. "I believe camp is this way."

Tomoyo tried to resist the pull, even as she began to feel the rope burn again. "No, please," she whimpered, her voice scarcely above a whisper as she tripped over her feet that scraped against the gravel. She didn't want to go back. Lord, no she didn't. "please."

She threw herself down and desperately clutched onto Eriol's breeches. "You don't understand," she choked in a voice that was raw and hoarse with fear. "He's there… The Dark Lord's there."

He stopped and very briefly glanced a look her way, then resumed walking—and then stopped. Silence came about for a few minutes, while Eriol pondered briefly what to say. "What if I told you," he said, looking unmoved by her declaration of fear but rather curious instead, "I am the Dark Lord?"

"I swear I don't lie," she pleaded with an unmistakable panic, "I heard it from the guards. He's there."

The fear vanished from quiver of her lips, replaced by fierce insult when she saw only a quirk on his lip and playful amusement in his blue eyes.

"I beg you not to make fun," she impudently huffed, not hiding the irritation in her voice, but hiding those that were in her eyes, through a bent head, "You with for me to fear you—is that it? Is that why you are proclaiming such nonsense? The dark lord kills babes and drinks their blood to quench his thirst for innocents. Is that what you do?" Her tone was one of mockery intended to wipe the calm amusement on his face.

His head tilted to one side. Grasping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he gently forced her to look at him; then was unable to stop the curl of his lips. "You don't believe me."

"No," she said through gritted teeth, jerking her head away from his hand and lifting her chin defiantly. "As a matter a fact, I don't. I make it a point not to believe in liars."

"Liars?"

Tomoyo stood up, dusting her clothes uncaringly. "Next time, may I suggest a wooden leg and a scarred eye? Perhaps then you would have deemed a slightly passable 'Dark Lord,'" she smoothly suggested with a hint of malice behind her voice when she saw Eriol still looking at her with oddness.

"Pirate, you mean," he corrected almost automatically. Evidently the girl did not know the difference.

Indignant, she walked briskly ahead towards camp, still with her hands roped tightly and the belittling look in her eyes. "You sir, are no more 'Dark Lord' than I."

From a great distance, Touya could see three figures, two of them human, and the third, four-legged. He then inhaled, and cast Syaoran a sideway glance, unable to help the crooked slant of his lips. He could almost see the smugness visibly surround the boy. No doubt, he was very self-satisfied right now.

"Say it," Syaoran heard Touya say, and was incapable of holding back a smirk, "I know you want to."

"I don't know what you mean, General," he said with a light shrug meant to annoy.

"The hell you don't."

Eriol gathered Tomoyo in his arms and lifted her to Touya's, not pausing even when the woman gasped and writhed with her hands. "Damned it! Unhand me, you scoundrel! ---" Tomoyo demanded, but was immediately cut off by Eriol.

"Take her to my tent," he said, and saw her eyes widen a great deal. "And bring a basin of water," he added meaningfully.

"Yes, m'lord."

"Lord…?" Tomoyo's eyes widened a great deal. What if I told you I am the Dark Lord, she could hear his words whispered as she felt her body be taken away-- but her eyes remained on Eriol as long as it could. It was him, she frighteningly thought. He was telling the truth. Manslayer.

Exhaling heavily, Eriol watched the girl be carried off, knowing full well he would be dealing with her fright later on, just like so many others. She stared at him with eyes wide with unabashed fright as the color of her cheeks drained away. He was a monster, that much, he knew others have heard. And a monster, he would always be apparently.

"Was she a handful, your grace?" Syaoran inquired, looking from him to Tomoyo, then back to him. "She escaped from a fleet of soldiers," Eriol sighed dryly, "My fleet of soldiers. Let us not fool ourselves into believing otherwise."

"Of course, your grace."

Silence overcame them.

Eriol looked at Syaoran, then clasped his hands behind his back and gazed up. After several silencing moments, he said in a voice low enough, "Find out who she is, will you?"

The brown-haired boy looked at him with furrowed brows.

"She has slashes on her back, Syaoran" Eriol tiredly mentioned. "I want to know why. Abuse, beatings, falls, whatever it may be."

"Of course, your grace."

In the tent, she rocked herself back and forth. He was the Dark Lord. He was the man who slayed men, women, and children. As a child, she remembered how the gods paid no notice whilst she crawled among them and listened attentively to their stories. They said nothing good about him. They made him out to be a fiendish ogre who clubbed his way through villages. But when she looked at him, he did not seem like all those things. Rather handsome, she thought reluctantly. Very handsome, actually. Were it not for the passive line of his lips, she would have contemplated him her guardian angel sent to take her back up to the heavens.

But he wasn't.

She prayed for those above to show some sign of plan to escape, but her mind ran furiously on the tales of the Dark Lord: He slays young babes. He keeps no prisoners lest he torture them to suicide. He laughs while many scream in blood. A heartless, foul, bloodthirsty man of the Devil.

'Tis said he eats the flesh of those he kills… Young Eris, Goddess of Discord said with a cruel twist on her pale lips, perhaps after the war, he collected your father's corpse and ate it as well. Rumors, all rumors, Tomoyo told herself as a child weeping in bed for the da and ma she could no longer recall. She tried several times to conjure the image of her deceased parents, but it only served to bring tender throbbing along her temple and forehead.

Bile heaved up Tomoyo's throat as she no longer prayed for escape, rather a swift death by the Dark Lord's blade. Perhaps then, she would finally lift off to a better place and see if she was the very likeness of her ma and da.

Her heart gave a thundering leap as, all around her, metal clanked against metal and pleads of mercy from men--- from prisoners--- arose to the air. "Mercy Dark Lord—Mercy!" she could hear the terrified scream. Then one by one, the noise was muffled.

Caught up in her thoughts, she did not see Eriol come in and loosen her bonds. But as soon as she felt her hands free of ropes, Tomoyo clumsily surged to her feet. Driven by twin demons of fear and fury, she doubled her fists and swung with all her new found might against the dark, shadowed figure in front of her.

"Monster!" Tomoyo shouted. "Devil!" and she swung again, but this time her fist was caught in a painfully vice grip and held above her head. But she continued to squirm till she landed a mighty kick on his shin. "Bloodthirsty demon! Despoiler of innoc---!"

"What the bloody---!" Eriol Hiirigizawa exclaimed, and caught his assailant by the waist and held her close to him, efficiently trapping her arms. But despite his trappings, she caught Eriol squarely on the groin with a knee with force that nearly doubled him over.

He bit his lip and swore under his breath. Gathering her once more into his arms, he brought her down against the ground and confined her limbs. But even then, she writhed blindly in his arms. "Be still!" he thundered, still sore in places he couldn't mention in the midst of women and hurting in ego.

"Look at me," he ordered in the gentlest of his persuasive tone. She didn't, he craned his head and forced their eyes to meet. "What's bothering you?" On the brink of tears, Tomoyo did the most she could to keep her pride, and lifted her chin to him in trembling defiance. But Eriol lightly tipped her head back down. "Tell me."

The look of concern in the man's dark eyes was all it took for her defenses to crumble down and weep in longing for her da and ma. For the night, she cast herself into the arms of the enemy and found comfort.

Frost sparkled against the grass, lit by the first rays of the morning sun and Eriol found himself opening his reluctant eyes to the ray that strayed to his eyes. In his arms lay Tomoyo curled up with her arms wound tightly around his chest. Her raven tresses curled against her finely sculpted face of smooth porcelain and spread across the ground, very much resembling those of an Egyptian Goddess, but with a face like a seraph. Without the anxiety etched on her forehead, she looked considerably like a child instead of the broken woman she was when she struck him with her fists, and, as he painfully could not forget, her knee.

Last night, she sought consolation in her adversary and the notion made him frown. It was not that he wanted for her to see him as an enemy, but between an enemy and a virtuous knight, he would have preferred the former. And strictly as an enemy, he could not deny the many things he felt with her head buried in his chest. There was a particular contentment in having her find solace in his arms. But had the gods spoken to him, they would have judged the concept shame-- would have told him he liked the night for her breasts that pressed tightly to his torso, and not for having comforted her. Perhaps, he thought in a male chauvinistic perception that he found justifiable, staring down at the ample bosom that lay half-exposed from his view and feeling a tension in his loins. He was, after all, only man starving of the delectable pleasures.

"If you are quite finished," said an irritable Tomoyo, awake and looking nothing like a child, rather a fiery temptress with her disheveled hair and amethyst eyes that struck him bewitched. Laying there with her elbows propped up and a shapely calf peeking from beneath his furs, he inwardly groaned as his mind wandered to the concept of forcing her back down and feeling the softness between those damned legs of hers.

Loosing himself back in his thoughts, his gaze roamed her hidden figure till he met her eyes once again and found her staring back him with banked ire. He coughed, clearing his throat uneasily. The damned woman had the eyes of a witch. "Well then," he dwindled awkwardly, "would you like something to eat?" When she did not answer, he smiled mightly. "I'll get us something to eat."

No matter what he did, Eriol could not shake the compromising images that kept flying into his head, with Tomoyo sprawled on his bed covers the way she was. And with the way she was gazing at him, he knew the images could not be helped. Instead, he embraced them, and smiled at her. What he was smiling about, she need not know.

Tomoyo watched him lift himself from beneath the furs and take big strides outside. When he came back moments later with carved bowls of murky yellowish goop, she studied the way he towered over her with the poise of a warrior. He moved swiftly and surely, but he didn't speak like what she imagined the Dark Lord to speak like. He held not the manners of a brute ogre— and had even been almost gentlemanly towards her last night.

"Your food---."

"What's wrong with you?" she blurted out, unable to stop the spill of words from her lips.

Eriol's hand stopped in mid-air and his eyebrows rose. "Usually when I hand a lady food, they tell me thank you," he mused, watching her cover her lips with a dainty hand. "Perhaps the better question to be asked is what is wrong with you."

She pursed her lips and turned her head away, unwilling to submit to his kindness. Not even bothering to reach for her food in his hand, he propped it between her legs and looked at her with smiling eyes. "Aren't you hungry?"

"No."

No sooner had she said the word, a low grumble from the pit of her stomach betrayed her words. Flags of red colored her cheeks in furious embarrassment, as she watched him take satisfaction in that. "Are you sure about that?" he cajoled, taking her food and lifting it to her mouth.

"It doesn't look much now, sweetling," he coaxed, "but it will fill the stomach, of that I'm sure. Now come---."

"I'm fine," she said testily, furrowing her brows deeply then tucking her chin behind her knees. "I want to go home."

Eriol sighed deeply, placing the bowls down. "I know you do," he said with sham solemnity, then took a spoonful of food and gave a wayward smile. "But you can't. Now, if you were better company, perhaps I'd think about it."

A dark cloud poured over Tomoyo's face. Shoving him back hard, she let out a low growl. "Liar."

The moment she did so, Syaoran, who had been waiting by his master's tent, charged in and trapped her hands behind her back. Tomoyo struggled in his arms, but he said nothing, merely keeping a passive face and eyes on the Dark Lord's next orders.

"Let me go!" Tomoyo gritted, writhing blindly in his vice grip. "You're hurting me." Unable to raise her voice any higher than a harsh whisper, feeling the imprints of contempt on her skin as Syaoran's fingers dug bitingly. Eriol looked at him with an understanding that only few of his men could read. Reluctantly, his squire removed his hands from her limbs and left, but not before glaring darkly at her for having assaulted his commander.

Tomoyo rubbed her wrists and found it to have red imprints of the man's hands still left on them. "Your squire bruised my wrist," she said bitterly, shooting Eriol an accusatory glance, who did simply returned to her a smile. "Well, time and time again, you seem to bruise my ego," he objectively pointed out, lifting his eyebrows knowingly. "I'd say you had it coming, little one."

"Stop calling me with your little pet names," she heatedly huffed, standing up to measure to his height. "I have a name."

Eriol watched her in all her fiery temptress beauty, taking the stand of a warrior with feet spread and hands plunked on tender curve of her hips, glaring at him with burning ire in her amethyst eyes, "What is your name then, little o--."

"Tomoyo." The indignation in her tone was one of unmistakable resentment. But as he tasted her name on his tongue, she wished she had said it with a bit more loathing. There were shivers she got in the base of her spine that traveled all over burningly when he repeated her name again. The tremor in his voice, she decided, was very alluring.

"I like that," Eriol said, slowly pulling a lazy smile on his lips. "Tomoyo," he caressingly rolled off his tongue, then again, and again.

"Alright, stop it!" she burst.

For a moment, Eriol fell silent under her fierce gaze that leaped like fire. The woman was so easily provoked—and when she was, it was terribly appealing. A drawled wayward curve reached his mouth thoughtfully. "It suits you, your name."

She could not contain the heated flush of her skin when his dark eyes swept her figure in a lazy manner. And the colored flags that reached her cheeks burned furiously looked tremendously appealing as well. He'd be sure to make her burn a thousand times brighter in the future.

"What good can you do, Tomoyo," he asked as he lifted the flap of his tent, prepared to leave for a hunt.

Tomoyo prepared herself for this question. Already in her head was a half-concocted plan of escape. With a deep breath she promptly said, "Sewing." She nodded her head in conviction. "I'm rather good at sewing."

Eriol whistled for his squire sharply and waved. "Syaoran," he called, "A needle for the lady and whatever cloth we have." Then shot a promising smile to Tomoyo. But when Syaoran came running back with only a needle between his fingers, he claimed to have found no cloth save the pile of worn out clothes of his men.

"Clothes are fine," Tomoyo quietly said, though on the inside she was dancing with much merriment. Struck gold, was what she had done. She could see Eriol tip his head to a side and look unsure. He scratched his chin contemplatively. From a bold leader, he turned to a rather considerate man. "Are you sure? Perhaps you would rather---."

"The clothes are fine," she assuredly said, determined not to think of his kindness, rather the execution of her escape.

Hours later she sat in a tent shared by breeches and tunics that stunk of sweat. Her hand ached slightly of tiredness as she sat back and placed the needle down for a moment. She had been examining a pair of clothes she had adjusted to a size bigger than her when she suddenly heard the hooves of horses against the ground. They were back.

Quickly she pushed beneath mountains of cloth, the breeches she had altered, then gathered another bunch and tried her best to look the epitome of a weary lady sewing a patch onto torn cloth.

As the steps of heavy boots grew near, Tomoyo shifted her face from side to side, then self-consciously tucking hair behind her ear. She blinked her somnolent eyes twice before Eriol entered her tent. "Hello," he said, "I need to see your work, please."

"What, afraid I did more damage than good," she spat, taking those that she had sewn and threw it to his chest. "Yes," Eriol said without a hint of displeasure but with mild amusement. "I am not naïve, sweetling---."

"Tomoyo."

"Tomoyo." He had let her sew to pass time by, but even then was he not as inexperienced to believe she would not try anything. If there was one thing prisoners sought—it was opportunity. And she had a hell lot of it. Eriol pensively watched her continue to sew. She had the opportunity only because he handed it to her in a platter. To have a plan of escape was one thing. To execute it was another. On both, he was terribly curious.

"Well then," he cleared his throat when he had finished inspection, "do you enjoy deer?" He pulled back the tent flap and revealed a bonfire with a pot cooking over it. Men sat around the fire and gurgled laughter spilled to the air. "It was quite a catch. Ran all over the place, that damned deer did---."

"I had a friend who was a deer," she tersely said, her eyes shot fiercely to him accompanied with disgust. "I cared for him and bandaged his left hind leg. Even fed him the scraps of food I had for two weeks. So, do I enjoy eating deer? No."

For a moment, Eriol stood back and watched her angry stares watching him. She was the product of about sixteen years, he would guess. Sixteen years, according to Syaoran, she had been living off the forest. Sixteen years of no family. Sixteen years of no friends besides the animals she lived among. And without a penny to her name, she sat there defiantly like a warrior who was ready for battle. And a battle against him—as the legends say—was a futile one.

Perhaps it was the topic of food, or maybe the prolonged hours she sat around mindlessly sewing and stripping, or even their heated arguments, but in the midst of the battles of who-would-be-the-first-to-fall, Tomoyo's stomach promptly let out a low growl of irrefutable hunger.

Eriol could not help a laughing smile which he quickly hid at the sight of her furious face. Lord, if looks could kill, no doubt he would be a dead man. He coughed a little but could not stop the amusement behind his masked face of seriousness. "So," he said with more conviction then necessary, then burst out to a full-fledged crooked grin, "Are you certain you have no desire for food?"

Heated flares reddened her cheeks. "For food—yes. For deer—no."

"You are a tough woman, Miss Tomoyo," he said tenderly, lazily drinking in her delectable features of pale alabaster skin and pursed lips, combined with a fierce burning glower in the color of royal purple that completely fixated him. "And at the same time, so very soft. I like it."

And though, with crossed arms, she haughtily told him she did not give a damn, his admission wrung from her a brighter blush that swept her body into a light glow of pink. Lovely.

Tomoyo sprawled across the furs beneath Eriol's tent, drain and ready for the night to take her away to her haven of dreams. Minutes after her encounter with Eriol back in the tent, his squire escorted her back here, where evidently she was to stay until further notice from his majesty. Hours had already gone by and still she had not eaten. She wanted desperately for the sandman to slip her into sleep, but the rumble of her stomach became more insistent over the hours.

Day had gone by, and everyday, she denied herself of the food the Dark Lord constantly offered. Time and time again, she reminded herself what he was--- the Dark Lord. But as time passed, she became weak with hunger and thirst. On the fourth day, the pit of her stomach sharply shot pain into her nerves. The acids of her stomach burned terribly.

Eriol entered with a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. "I come bearing gifts," he dramatically said, puffing his chest, "again." But when he saw her curl with her hands clutched to her stomach, alarm in him grew rapidly.

"Tomoyo?" he said with a voice that increased in tone. "Goddamnit, Tomoyo."

Gently, he took her into his arms and placed the bowl by his feet. She muttered nothing, only looking at him with weary eyes and brows that creased together at the center of her fore. Spasmodically, she fisted her abdomen, closing her eyes and curling her body rigidly. A wave of dizziness washed over her till all she saw was spots of colors.

Her skin felt terribly cold against his, as he lay a hand to her forehead and arms. Her body suddenly convulsed with coughing fits that were terribly harsh and left her lightly sputtering blood onto the floor. "Oh gods." Quickly, with one hand, he reached for the bowl filled with hot broth and brought it to her lips, while the other wrapped protectively across her body. "Open your mouth, Tomoyo," he said with urgency, rubbing up and down her arms to bring heat to them. "Open," he demanded, placing his hand against her jaw. But she turned her face to his chest, refusing to be manhandled this way. Had she the strength, she would have set him in his place--- miles away from her.

"Please Tomoyo," he achingly pleaded with a voice that came out very rough. He caressed her jaw lightly, coaxing her lips to part for him. "It's only soup," he tried to persuade, but only failing when she shook her head against his tunic. "It will help." Quickly then, he took some broth into his mouth, then forcefully placing his lips to hers.

Tomoyo thrashed in his arms, but when she was about to scream, hot liquid poured into her mouth. When he let go, she pushed him away and spat it back out. "Don't touch me!" she furiously yelled. But he took her shoulders and shook then wrathfully. "Damnit! Let go of your pride, goddamned you!" he bellowed even louder, "I'm trying to help you!"

"I don't need your help! I need you to let me go!" Tomoyo cried, as she pounded her fists to his chest, swinging at him again and again. But Eriol only trapped her hands into his, till she was left to squirm against his mighty grip. He looked down at her, her head limp against his chest and her fists moving weakly but convulsively. "Why are you doing this to me," she croaked, feeling helpless and confused—and defeated. "I don't need it," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I don't want you to help me," she said with weak conviction. But Eriol said nothing. Instead, he brought the bowl to her lips once more, and then she finally gave in. If he knew one thing, it was pride. And she was terribly proud.