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"And so you wish to see this prisoner. Easily done." The king snapped his fingers, and forward stepped an apprentice scribe. "Prepare the appropriate documents for Sir Gunther to visit a prisoner in the makeshift dungeon outside of the castle." The dungeons were reserved for those who have committed dastardly deeds, things that would send them to the deepest recesses of the Christian Hell, and prevent their spirit from entering the Celtic Other World, not for common thieves trying to earn some extra gold. Within moments, the same scribe appeared with the necessary document in hand. The King waved Gunther off, not really caring about the result.
Gunther began to make his way to the temporary dungeon, but on the way was almost toppled by a girl crying that ran into his back. "If you cannot cook ze soufflé, you cannot cook!" Gunther heard Madam Morrel yell after the crying girl, obviously yet another 'sub par' kitchen hand.
"Is there a woman on the planet who cooks like you?!" Gunther threw at the chef.
"Leave your compliments for your wife, chevalier. I do not need them!" she returned, spitting in the dirt before she turned around to finish the 'delicious meal' she had been cooking before the 'terrible girl' 'ruined' it. It happened every day, and they were all used to it by now. Gunther kept on walking, almost chuckling until he remembered his task.
He arrived at the crudely built mound of sticks that looked ready to collapse at any moment, and had several times that year. Gunther handed the slip of paper to the foot soldier assigned to guard the dungeon. "Good luck finding the one you want. There are over one hundred men in here." Gunther shrugged at the soldier and entered. He realized that it might be difficult, but after a few moments, the thieves realized he was not to be stolen from, and it was best to just avoid him.
"Come to visit me, eh? Sneak me out of 'ere?"
"I am here to ask you a question, then move you to a cell in the castle dungeon."
"'Ear that, boys? I get me self me own room!" the dungeon exploded with laughter.
"Where did you get that bone knife?"
"A what now? I can not hear you with yer high-and-mighty 'proper' language. Speak gutter, and maybe I'll understand you better!" several of the thieves were rolling on the floor, holding their sides as the small albino made a fool of the knight.
Gunther gave a satirical laugh, looking at the larger group and turning his back to the albino. He then quickly turned around, grabbed the thief by his collar, and pushed him against the rickety wall. "Do not make me ask again. I am not accustomed to doing so, and I just might lose my head." Gunther said quietly, and with every word the small man paled more.
"It was, ah, in a village to the south! Yeah, called, ah, Cestor. Good old Cestor! A man be the name of, ah, Padraig. Big Irishman, can't miss 'im. Shadiest man I ever dealt with!" The man was obviously lying.
"Are you sure, because if I find that there is no Padraig of Cestor, then I will find myself in your cell, without anyone nearby, and we'll see if my hand doesn't slip."
"Did I say Cestor? I meant Smithtown! To the north! Man of the name Greagoir!"
"Do I need to go into detail as to how my hand will slip?"
"Pal of Skegness, on the coast! Don't tell him I told ye, or he'll kill me!"
"Come on, scum, you're going to the castle." Gunther said, satisfied that the Halfling told the truth, as he had heard of the last village to be named. He started to drag the albino out, receiving a salute from the guards as he passed. He made his way to the dungeon where the turnkey waited and dropped him in his cell. "You'll be pleased to know that you are in the cell next to the infamous Geordie, master carver of human bone. He doesn't like people who squeal. Geordie! This man has been very useful! He has told us the location of a bone worker!" Gunther left the Albino squirming in his cell, trying to get away from the wall he shared with the man who had cut of his own arm to carve it, on his way to deliver his first update to the King.
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"You may take one knight, and the Smith. I believe his wife is capable of handling the forge in his absence."
"Very well, sire," Gunther said, bowing and leaving at the obvious dismissal. He went to tell Smithy, and then proceeded to tell Jane that he required her for a quest. From there he told Fiona that he would have to leave, which was about the time when she started crying. Why do I put up with a wife who fears her husband doing his duty to his sovereign? Gunther wondered, never voicing it aloud. By the next day all was ready, and the three set off to capture a different kind of thief than that at the market. A thief of souls.
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Fiona watched as her husband galloped on his horse. Anyone could see that she loved her husband dearly, and she tried to show him by cooking, cleaning, weaving, knitting, doing everything to make up for the loss of all the things that he had had throughout his childhood and now lived without. She had loved him since her childhood, when he had dove into a pool to save her from drowning when he was but a lad. He did not know it was her, but she could never forget.
When Fiona met Gunther again as an adult, he immediately looked at her with loving eyes. At the time, she cursed her untamable red hair, thinking that he would prefer it tamed, cursed her flat chest, thinking he would prefer someone more full. But she realized that he would not have married her if she looked any different. She had heard him murmur her name in his sleep, she had seen the way that his loving eyes turned to hatred when he realized that she was not his beloved, and never would be, she knew. Oh yes, she knew. She knew that her husband did not love her, for he loved the woman who appeared so similar to Fiona in looks, but was completely different in character. A woman who was as fierce as Fiona was meek, as strong as Fiona was weak, as fiery as Fiona was calm, with a sense of justice as devout as Fiona's was nonexistent. A woman who rode beside him, not side-saddle with skirts, but straddling the horse with a sword in hand. Her husband was in love with Jane, and Fiona could do nothing about it.