I apologize for the shortness of this chapter and slowness of the plot. Still, I hope you enjoy!
"I told you to leave that horse well enough alone. Now go." Silas ordered firmly, Mordred sneering in distaste.
"No, no, boy. Me and my men 'ere...we...we take no orders 'round here! Show dragon hunters some respect lest you want a sword through your belly!" Mordred spoke, Silas raising a brown.
"Dragon Hunters? You are drunk, man, the lot of you. I do not want to fight. Just leave that horse and be on your way." Silas spoke, pushing several drunkards away from the old stallion.
Mordred's upper lip twisted into a snarl, "I think this boy needs a lesson in manners. What say you, boys? Shall we?"
The mercenary smirked upon hearing the response of drunken cheers, the men unsheathing their swords.
"Now, now. You men are so drunk you can hardly walk. Unsheath your swords and be on your way." Silas ordered, not allowing himself to be intimidated by such buffoons.
"I do not think you heard me. I said sheath your weapons and leave." The young man hissed slightly, several men pausing before doing as ordered.
"What are you doing? Letting this chaff disrespect us?" Mordred asked, enraged as he unsheathed his own sword, stumbling as the man approached.
Silas released a deep sigh, gripping his weapon's handle if steel would clash with steel, however, the door to the Inn opened, and Anaya stepped out into the night air.
"Stop this foolishness this instant! No one is disrespecting anyone, now please leave my poor horse alone and put your sword away!" The woman ordered, voice firm and hard.
The mercenary stared upon the woman, as if debating whether the young noble was serious or not before loud guffaws escaped from his throat, as well as from several of his men.
"I told you to stay inside." The knight stated, irritation lacing his voice as Anaya looked upon her childhood friend, shrugging as she held an object behind her back.
"And I told you that I will help you."
Mordred scoffed, "And wha' do you have here? A sewer rat or a harlot, judging by your belly?" The man asked, pointing a sword towards Anaya's stomach, to which Silas pushed the woman to a safer distance.
"Excuse me? I am not a whore!" Anaya replied, face flushing with anger as the men laughed even harder, the woman now ripe with embarrassment.
"Oh, really? You look like one!"
"That is enough! Go home, now!" Silas ordered, Mordred turning towards the younger man, shaking his head.
"Hey, hey! I do not take orders from a peasant such as yourself. Hmmmm…." The man paused, looking between the pair, "I think you need better tastes, boy. Girl is dull and bland."
"Do not insult a woman in front of me! Now leave before you regret this!" The knight hissed, anger building as several men approached with swords, forcing the man to turn to him with own weapon gleaming, unsheathed, "For the love of God, do not do this, man!"
Mordred grinned, pointing the tip of his blade towards Anaya, the woman backing up in fear of the weapon touching her stomach. Chuckling, the man lowered his blade, almost carelessly before approaching the young woman.
"Well, well….let's see what we go-ughgg!" Mordred was abruptly cut off as a loud pang filled the night air, Anaya having revealed the object to be a metal skillet. The clang and thud of the man falling to the ground caused the other mercenaries to pause, looking upon their fallen leader.
Silas paused, shifting his attention towards his companion, her hand still clutching the skillet as he breathed a bit heavily, slowly letting her arm fall to her side. Slowly, the men lowered their weapons and securely sheathed them, dragging their ring leader away like whipped dogs.
As the ruffians retreated, the young knight still stared upon the woman, as if unsure what to make of the turn of events. Anaya looked towards her weapon before turning towards her friend, a sheepish smile slowly emerging upon her face.
"I told you I can help. Is Brago well?" Anaya questioned, concerned for her noble beast.
"I am sure he is fine, Anaya." Silas replied, yet the woman moved toward her animal, petting the old stallion to calm him down. Brago's wide eyes looked upon the exiled Duchess, snorting gently as he tugged at his rope.
"There, there. You are safe now, Brago. You are safe." Anaya cooed gently, soothing the horse as she stroked his mane. The chill wind caused her breath to be visible as Silas placed an arm around her.
"Are you alright?"
"I am not cold." Anaya replied, though shivered a bit before kissing Brago's snout, the man leading her inside the warmth of the Inn.
"I did not speak of the cold, Anaya." Silas replied, the woman briefly breaking his grip to return the skillet to the publican, the owner the ex Duchess both smiling at each other in thanks. Anaya then joined Silas at the bottom of the steps, the man waiting for her.
"If you did not speak of the cold, then what did you speak of?" Anaya asked, looking at the man with curiosity as they moved up the stairs, the pair slowly approaching the knight's rented room.
"The words, Anaya." Silas replied, opening the door for her to walk through, "Are you alright?"
"Of course I am." The woman replied, smiling in thanks as she moved passed the doorway, the man closing it.
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, Silas. I said I am sure." Anaya replied, moving towards the spare bed as she sat down.
The man sighed, sitting down upon his own bed as he lowered his gaze towards the floorboards, "I do not want you doing something so foolish like that ever again."
The woman perked up, head tilting slightly as strands of hair gently fell over her shoulder, "I was not doing something foolish."
"Anaya, you are with child. What you did was extremely foolish-regardless of your good intentions. Please, never do that again."
"I can unfortunately give no such promise. I have a debt to repay to you, and I intend to care for you as you have cared for me."
"After the child, you mean."
"Well….yes, of course." Anaya replied, a hand removing the creases from the bed's cover.
Silas paused, a sudden awkwardness filling the air, "I do not think you are dull. Or bland."
"Pardon?" The exiled duchess asked, perplexed.
"What that man said. I do not think you are drab." Silas replied, the woman looking upon him, a hand subconsciously placed upon her stomach.
"I know….thank you." She smiled softly, "Now, why do you not go to bed? The day's events have been rough on us."
Anaya watched as the man settled down upon his bed, the woman getting situated as well, her back hurting a bit.
Silas sighed, looking at the soft glow of the moon through the windowpane, the hearing a soft voice cutting through the darkness.
"Frère Jacques…..frère Jacques"
The man listened, knowing that the women within his chambers was singing for him, for when they were children she had always sung him that simple nursery rhyme. Her soft voice carried the song to him, causing the man's heavy eyelids to slowly close as he struggled to remain awake.
"Dormez-vous?...Dormez-vous?"
His heavy eyes shot open, still fighting to remain awake, yet his body relaxed and his breathing slowed. The fallen Duchess appeared to have a voice that gave hope within the darkness of the night, and provide comfort and safety within dark times.
"Sonnez les matines…..Sonnez les matines?"
Silas' eyes eventually closed, her voice echoing within his dreams.
"Ding….dang….dong…...Ding….dang….dong."
Thank you for reading and supporting! As for Dishonored, I upped the rated to Mature, and it will stay that way. But the good news is it's almost finished! Thank you all for putting up with me and reading! :)