"Highlander"

Chap. 04: I.

Highlander.

That wretched man… he had dared to…

- He's delirious. – said a distant voice, far away hidden in the waves of his ill mind – Bring me more ethyl alcohol, quickly! The infection is spreading by his blood.

- Wouldn't be better to just cut off his arm and cauterize the wound? – a second voice dared to ask – He will bleed to death if the hemorrhage doesn't stop!

- Fool! Would you want a maimed King sitting on the Throne?!

- I prefer a maimed King instead of another undetermined time of civil war with greedy nobles disputing the Throne between them!

- Then be quiet and prepare a cataplasm of garlic, cranberries, and Echinacea. – the first voice instructed sternly – Cooperate and do as I say and not only you will save your King's life, but also his arm. Without an arm, a man cannot defend his people. A maimed King is like a land without water: present but useless.

The highlander… cutting swiftly his way between his men like a knife cuts through butter… unstoppable as an avalanche, brutal, bloodlust filling his eyes…

- Hold on, Arthur. – that first voice… ancient, but wise and filled with worry – Your part in History hasn't reached its end yet.

The first one who had risen to his defense had been Lionel… loyal, idealist, kind-hearted Lionel…

- Here you go, Master Merlin!

- Good. Now apply it.

White hot pain coursed all along his arm reaching his head and muscles along his chest he never suspected he had. Gritting his teeth, he could swear that, being not his stomach empty, he would have thrown up in that very instant.

Just as he, looking at the corpse of his old friend lying on the floor in an awkward position and drenched in dark blood, had wanted to vomit when he realized he had allowed a loyal man to throw himself to death. A man who, unlike him, had a family.

A man whose wife had never betrayed him and, despite still being young and beautiful, had never taken a second husband.

- We're losing him!

- No, if I can do something about it.

Then darkness surrounded the semi-conscious King. The last of his bloodline.

Were his eyes deceiving him?

Did he just… witnessed a rock, a godsdamned rock of all, literally spitting out one of his metal men?

The dude in question, huge and with a pair of chains riveted with deadly spikes in its ends for arms, first directed an ugly look towards the offending rock, then a sheepish one towards Ruber, all of him coated in thick, greenish saliva.

Ruber facepalmed himself. The fools had just allowed the troublemaking girl to escape.

This was going to be a strenuous journey not just by crossing the perilous Forbidden Forest from side to side but having to chase the little shit too.

Feeling his right, then his left eye twitch a little when the cursed lake's surface in front of which they were standing burped as soon as he kicked a stone to test it and saw how that same stone was quickly swallowed, Ruber repressed a sudden grunt of frustration.

Why the damned flying creature had to fucking drop the stupid sword? Why the annoying wench had to ride towards the Forbidden Forest instead of riding towards a more sensible destination like, dunno, maybe Camelot, to put a logical example?

The Red Knight was starting to lose his composure, and at a fast pace.

Feeling completely drained, the druid allowed his old bones to rest a few minutes before checking for the hundredth time Arthur's condition.

He wasn't faring well. His arm wasn't evolving well.

All forecasts suggested that he could lose it.

Merlin knew this and a sudden surge of frustration coursed all along his stern features.

Arthur's spirit was restless since the Queen's betrayal. Long ago, when the King had expressed his desire to marry Guinevere, Merlin had opposed the idea; by that time with a sole look he had had enough to be aware of the sensuous nature of the young girl, who had been more than ten years younger than Arthur himself. What did he expect? To love him just because of his good heart and his position?

No, Guinevere had preferred a handsome face with a charming personality instead of a King. She had been young and utterly stupid, not knowing what her betrayal had invoked. Lust had surpassed honor, guilt had won over goodness and madness had conquered reason.

And now this: the King without a sword, the land without a King.

Sinking his head between his hands, the old wizard sighed.

Now, under all the ministrations he had procured to Arthur and all the power that had cost him to retain his limb attached to his body, Merlin had only to wait.

How much, he didn't know.

Feeling more and more anxious at every second that passed looking at the same neverending path full of colored, suspicious flora that wanted to sink its teeth at the minimum slip of guard, the already deranged psyche of the Red Knight, product of the more than twenty-four hours without getting any sleep, developed an entirely new dimension of delusion when he drew his sword and started to systematically stab the ground and the nearby trees, paranoid that they wanted to swallow him any time now.

- You wretched mythological moron! – he exclaimed at the third time he suspected they already passed by the same spot they were in – Where did you drop the sword? – he inquired impatiently, pulling one of the bat-like griffin's ears.

Hissing in pain, not really appreciating in the least the permanent foul mood of his Master, who already was almost crossing the thin line between of what was acceptable and what wasn't in regard to the treatment he was dispensing to the powerful being, the griffin smelled the air and then proceed to examine the ground they were in.

- It all looks so different from down here… - it commented, making an honest effort to contrast the surroundings to any visual reference it could remember about where did it, indeed, had dropped the cursed weapon.

Wanting to butt his solid cranium against the closest hard surface, Ruber suppressed the violent urge to strangle the creature. Ask for something more idiotic than their current situation and you will have a hard time getting worse.

- It's no use. – the red-haired man sighed heavily when he noticed the last lights of that very day were disappearing between the thick foliage that roofed their view from the clear sky – We are going to camp here for the night. You… - he addressed one of his metallic men, feeling a sudden chill crawling along his spine when he noticed the vacant, empty, almost blank stare he received in answer. That was something the Wayward Sisters hadn't commented when they had bestowed that cursed potion to him in exchange for Arthur's head and, thus, more territory to expand their vile ways. He hadn't thought what was truly like to become a spawn made of flesh and steel. Now, he was unsure of what to think about it. The potion's effects were irreversible – Go fetch some wood for a bonfire. And you. - he added, looking at the other man, his gaze as devoid of life as the former one – Try to find something actually edible in this damned forest, and please… if it is a unicorn or something of the like, let it be. I don't want to get more cursed than I already am. – he muttered, more to himself than to the strange golem in front of him.

The metallic men nodded and they began with their respective tasks.

After a really brief supper where he and the griffin had been the only beings who had actually eaten, Ruber found himself sat in front of the dying bonfire staring absently at the orange flames casting dancing shadows at the still forms of the asleep magical creature and his men.

Dark thoughts assaulted him in the surrounding quiet blackness of the forest. The last six years he had grown dependent of Lyonesse's presence by his side to get asleep, even if that same slumber consisted on four or five hours of true rest. He had grown old and disgustingly soft.

He sometimes even felt ashamed of his nightmares and anxiety attacks, because she always would be there soothing him, holding his large frame with her thin arms and always being so damn kind and supportive… he had wished sometimes for her to simply ignore him or even say that she had had enough of his weakness. That way he, one way or another, would have felt bounded to man up and this pathetic routine within his marriage would likely have ended long ago.

But she always said that she was okay dealing with all his shit, that she was there for him and he only needed more time to overcome his trauma.

Wasn't that pathetic? A decade had passed since the source of that so-called "trauma" happened. Wouldn't he just leave it alone?

And she, of all people, was the one dealing with it almost every night.

The first time he had laid eyes on her he had admitted that she was a rare beauty, black hair and black eyes among a land with a huge percentage of the population being blonde or auburn-haired (for gods' sake, there was more people being redheads like himself than being raven haired instead).

But what truly had captured his interest was that very moment when, after raiding that disgrace of a knight's house and entering unceremoniously in her private chambers not even knowing the wretched Gaheris had a betrothed as a guest in his home, she had taken a silver stylet from her dressing table and had start to threaten him that if he laid a hand on her, he will lose his masculine parts.

That had been so damn fetching… but, above everything, intriguing.

He openly admitted he had acted with a part of his anatomy that had clearly not been his brains at all when he almost immediately had stated that she was coming with him, either nice and easy or over his shoulder like a potato sack.

And she had proven a true lady, if a feisty one, when she had had walked in front of him with a dignified pose, saying that she acknowledged her situation and she would play hostage willingly as long as nobody touched her; and that way, she had allowed herself to be abducted with her head high.

He should have suspected where her bloodline came from after such a display and later, when he learned that her aunt was the very Lady Julianna he had been so infatuated with when he was younger, Ruber had wanted to facepalm himself.

Why he had to feel attracted towards such a kind of woman, who would feel nothing but repulsion and hatred towards him? Why he had to be so damn picky and obsessive?

But he found not repulsion, nor hatred as far as Lyonesse was concerned, but a totally understandable and even predictable wariness.

After all, he had been the one who had slain her uncle-in-law and threatened King Arthur's life. She also had heard about him and his gruesome war accomplishments and, instead of being afraid or disgusted, she was more than anything… a bit guarded, but nothing out of what a sensible person would feel in her situation.

All the time she had been kept hostage she had behaved like a civilized, reasonable person never looking at him or his men like they were somehow inferiors to her, never bearing that cursed look he knew so well from Britannian people who thought that Scottish "highlanders" were no more than a bunch of barbaric Vikings (ah, the ignorance…).

She, at least, had been decent enough to not calling them names but simply addressing them as she would do with any other regular individual.

Truly expecting some sort of warrior or knight sent by King Arthur himself to come and rescue her as any other seventeen-year-old girl raised under Arthur's kingdom pretenses would, her dignified demeanor started to shrivel up as many months under the Red Knight's custody had passed and nothing had changed at all.

Ruber had known better and he hadn't been so surprised at all, but seeing the girl growing so sad and depressed, clearly isolated from the rest of their camp and keeping all to herself, somehow bothered him. He had tried to behave as civilized as she was, displaying a very unlike of him behavior of almost gentlemanish manners biting his tongue more than often in order to not being so brusque as he was usually, giving her space, privacy and many other small luxuries he was sure she would appreciate being nomads as they were.

She always thanked him… but more than once he had felt compelled to even ask (yes, ask, not order as he would have liked) her to get out of her wagon to catch some fresh air and sunlight. She was becoming so pale that, along with her raven hair and scandalous shadows under her eyes, gave her a ghost-like resemblance.

He knew she was starting to look like him and he really didn't want that so, one day, he decided he had had enough and he had had a little talk to her.

The girl, to his much surprise, wasn't so much against their lifestyle and staying with them wasn't a so ill prospect to her like he had feared, instead what was truly killing her was her self-imposed isolation along with a very introspective notion of not belonging anywhere.

She even felt that she was living at his expenses and that was something that made Ruber slightly… uncomfortable, even a bit guilty. After all, he had been the one who had abducted her not even knowing how to properly deal with her unsuspected politeness and the attraction he felt towards her even before learning who she was related with.

So he had given her an official change of her status as hostage to… "guest" he guessed, and the chance to earn her place among his people.

She had taken that chance eagerly and he had not been disappointed in the least. She had been truly honest in her intentions and that had left him conflicted with himself, confused with the alien sensation of feeling like a total asshole.

He wasn't a good man and he had behaved how he had pleased most of his life, meaning that he knew he had pretty much been a complete dick with a lot of people and he didn't care about it in the slightest.

Why the girl had to be different?

He then had decided to pay no mind at the situation… until the girl had started to talk to him.

First, he had dismissed it as small chattering, very expected from a girl her age, until he found himself… exchanging knowledge, making comparisons between customs and contrasting impressions about books they both had read.

The girl was actually very opinionated and she liked to discuss a wide variety of topics that hinted a most impeccable education.

No wonder she sought to converse with him, for the wives, mothers and daughters of his men were peasant ladies who even didn't know how to read or write, much less to bother themselves with complicated ideas that weren't among their priorities.

So that way one day he had found himself thinking that what a waste she would have been being married to that air-head of Gaheris and, instead, she should marry someone who could truly appreciate her sharp nature.

Someone like him.

It wasn't something he had thought at that moment when, driven by lust, he had abducted her… but now it made perfect sense.

Ruber had never wanted to marry any "noble" lady of the High Lands mostly because they were likely blood-related to him one way or another and he had had enough of inbreeding issues within his family.

And no Britannian noblewoman would have wanted him as a husband.

And he didn't want a meek peasant girl who just would obey him and who basically was bound to be the bearer of his children and little more.

No, he wanted… something else.

And that "something else" could be perfectly the raven-haired girl whose presentation card had been a threat to chop off his balls if he dared to play funny.

She was pretty to a fault, she was kind, she had brains, she was feisty… and she had more guts than any fancy knight of Camelot he had ever known.

She was perfect.

So he had proposed.

And she had said "yes".

At first, he was shocked, because he wouldn't believe she was agreeing so easily. But she did.

And everything had been smooth and easy… until they went to bed for the first time.

Sex was well enough, he supposed, a truly nice change from the few prostitutes he had been with all these years… even if he had to restrain himself in order to not behave like an animal with her.

Yeah, everything had been really nice… until he had fallen asleep.

And the due nightmares he always experienced had started to poison his unconscious mind.

That had been not only pathetic but infuriatingly… humiliating.

Because she, even sore from their previous activities and clearly startled of his sudden behavior, had asked really nice, really sweet, what was wrong with him.

And he had started to talk. About everything, about his mother and his sister, about the bloody details that had surrounded their deaths.

And much more he didn't know it weighted his soul so much.

He spoke about his father, about the dangerous lunacy within his family, about how his brother had wanted him dead and how much loneliness he had felt those years until Arthur had come with his offer.

He had explained how the people in the Court had treated him, how he had felt, how he hated that "highlander" epithet that everyone called him like if was some kind of insult.

At some point, he had started to sound delusional, and he painfully knew that, until his new bride, instead of feeling utterly horrified of so much darkness and shit surrounding him, had hushed him softly and she had embraced him tightly in silence until he had felt her tears against his skin.

Thunderstruck, he had asked why she was crying.

- I cry for you. – had been her answer – Because I see you yourself don't have tears for all the pain and misery you had been forced to endure.

- You know I am not a good man. – he had said after a while, his eyes lost in the darkness inside the tent they were in – Why should you pity me?

- Because you, as well as any man, have a soul, have you not? Besides… - she had added - … I was once sad and lost and you helped me. I will do everything in my power to do the same for you.

That very moment he had had started to love her.

It felt a little cliché to fall for your own wife; a little cheesy indeed and he knew it… but he couldn't help it. And now, he was absolutely dependent of her presence to have a proper rest, how ironical…

Grabbing his aching head between both of his hands, he proceeded to lay down in the soft grass fully aware that he wasn't getting any sleep that night.

And he was right.

For their entire journey through the Forbidden Forest in the company of that pestering girl, he had been annoyed.

Her complete disregard of the nature alive (and mostly harmful, mind you) around them, filled with ancient magic capable of the worse curses… or the most gruesome deaths for the report; the incapability of taken care of herself in regard to certain metallic men he had saved her from by mistake after ruining his precious and only one fishing net he had spent weeks making… all of this was literally making him to teeth grinding from time to time.

He had tried to dissuade her, first warning her of the perils of the forest, next dismissing her as incapable telling her he knew the sound of each rock and stone and he embraced what others feared… to, as a last resort, discourage her by leaving her behind, going through the hardest paths, ignoring her grunts of the evident effort she put to keep his pace and sporting deaf ears to her attempts to bring up some conversation.

And the worst part had been that Ayden, his only friend and guide through his lonely existence as a hermit, had taken a liking to her.

Why in the blazes he had agreed, finally defeated and fed up of her stubbornness, to bring her along? She was nothing but Trouble, with the Capital T.

When the night had come, he had violently halted his brusque walking and, without a word, he had started the task to light a bonfire to cook something more decent than his rations of dried meat. He could use some fresh food without that unhealthy amount of salt, his mouth tasted sour after having been hissing between clenched teeth for the unsuspected record of six full hours of neverending stupidity from the girl's part.

He had been eating absently, growing more and more annoyed as the girl couldn't damn shut her mouth, making from time to time inadequate and highly insulting comments that were closely related of "look at this, look at that", "have you seen the bright colors of this plant?" or "wouldn't kill you to take a look at this".

Was she doing it on purpose? He really couldn't tell if she was so unkind-hearted or simply dumb. The latter would be likely the right answer.

Feeling first a flutter of wings close to his face, a second later the tiny weight of Ayden, his falcon friend, over his shoulder, Garrett sighed.

- We shouldn't have brought her along with us. – he muttered to his animal companion while passing him a bite of his roasted rabbit – She doesn't have a clue what she's exactly doing. She would be better off on the road gaining advantage from that Red Knight and his creatures to warn Arthur than tagging along and slowing us.

The silver winged falcon gave a high cry as if disagreeing with him. Ayden sometimes behaved so human-like that Garret felt amazed.

Smiling slightly, Garrett passed another piece of roasted meat to his friend.

- Do you understand him? – suddenly, the voice of the annoying girl reached his ears once more.

Garrett blinked a couple of times and his thin smile disappeared.

- If you are not going to eat more, I suggest you go to sleep. – he stated dryly, not even bothering to answer her question – A long journey awaits us tomorrow.

- But I don't have a… - she started until something soft hit her right on her face – Humph! What is this?

Garrett felt exasperated for the hundredth time in that long day.

- You have the gift of sight and yet you can't tell what a sleeping bag is. – he stated, sarcasm dripping from each word – How quaint.

- I've never had the need to deal with this kind of situation… - she sounded suddenly weak.

But Garrett wasn't in the mood to pay mind to her feelings.

- Go to sleep or not, do as you please. – he grunted – I really don't care if at six in the morning you are still asleep because you need more rest than usual. I will leave without you.

- Then I will keep your sleeping bag forever! – she exclaimed, outrage tinting her voice tone. If he could see her, he would bet that she now looked pretty upset. That served her right.

Without answering, Garrett continued eating, adding some wood to the bonfire from time to time until he finished his supper and he started to pick up things in order to wash his utensils.

- Allow me to help you… - the girl started to say until a sudden move from his hand prevented her to finish her sentence.

- No. – said Garret with a cold edge in his voice that gave the girl some pause – You have helped a lot already by slowing us, getting yourself into trouble and chatting incessantly about the first nonsensical idea that courses through your head. I don't need more of that kind of help.

A sudden, blessed silence was all the answer he needed as he started to clean everything and to accommodate himself in the grass since he didn't have another sleeping bag for himself.

And as he was comfortably drawing into sleep, feeling the remnant heat from the dying bonfire against his face, he heard something muffled not far away from where he was lying.

At first, he couldn't quite picture what was that sound until he identified it as muffled sobs.

On that very moment, his blood froze in his veins and a sudden pang of guilt overcame him.

Maybe, after all, it was fitting that he was a blind man and his eyes didn't recognize any other thing that blackness… because if the girl's muffled sobs were any indicative, his heart in the last years of solitude had grown black indeed.

Author's note: well... I've got caught away in my writing and I ended with this one, long as it is, still without finishing the story. I will write this one along with another two to get finally to the Epilogue. Just... bear with me a little longer, will ya?