Chapter Six

Tony called a goodbye back into the bar as they stood at the doorway a final time before they left. The inn responded enthusiastically, a few people looking surprisingly mournful at the leaving of a man they hardly knew. Angelo nodded solemnly to them from behind the bar, polishing an ever present mug. Tony shifted the roll of supplies, raised a hand in final farewell, and let the door swing shut behind them. Tim glanced between the bar and Tony.

"How dost thou do that?"

"Do what?" Tony replied breezily. They crossed the central square and headed toward the general direction of the main gate. The afternoon sun was directly overhead and blazing, driving casual shoppers into nearby pubs and shops to avoid the heat.

"That." Tim said, indicating back to the bar with a jerk of his head. "Make people thou has just met into close friends within a day and a half."

"Jealous?"

"Never."

"'Tis easy, young squire." He met Tim's eyes. "I smile." A bright grin appeared. Tim half rolled his eyes and continued to walk; however he grinned as well. Though exhaustion still was settled deep in his bones, he felt better than he had in a while. The feeling, he knew, couldn't last, but for now he might as well enjoy it and take advantage. Tony had also noticed the change, he had stopped glancing anxiously at Tim when he thought he wasn't looking. "Art thou sure thee would not find waiting 'til tomorrow more comfortable?" Tony asked casually, watching Tim from the corner of his eye.

"Aye, Tony. I am sure the comfort levels between today and tomorrow shan't be too different." Tim answered with a small smile. It was the third time today Tony had asked that. Tim knew that he wanted him to sleep more, he seemed to know how late Tim had gotten back, but each time Tim had shot him down. He didn't want to delay any further. He could catch up on sleep on the road.

They passed through the massive main gates, and arrived at the stables built just outside the city walls. Tony headed inside to pay for the boarding of their horses for the night, and to probably argue with the stable master over the steep increase in rate that the shady looking man would most definitely try and pull on two young travelers. Tim smiled as the muffled sounds of raised voices grew slightly within the small building the stables were built on the side of.

The stable master would soon regret attempting to scam them once he got knee-deep in an fight with Tony Dinozzo, the man who won a majority of his arguments by skillfully out-talking his ill matched opponents, who were often left feeling incredibly annoyed, befuddled, and frustrated beyond belief. Most of the time they didn't even know how the argument had gotten so out of their hands, and many didn't really remember how it had even ended. Just the feeling that they had lost.

Tim entered the paddock and spotted their horses. He began to pack the supplies onto his horse, which greeted him with enthusiastic stamping of feet and shaking of his mane, as Tony emerged from the building and joined him, looking triumphant. Tim smiled to himself and finished strapping his supplies to the back of his horse and into the saddlebags, though the smile faded as he took a breath and prepared what he was going to say. A majority of his mind knew that it was the thing to do, but it didn't make it any easier.

Tony drew up next to him and started placing supplies on his own horse.

"The stable master tried to cheat us on our payment." Tony said with a grin, slight emphasis placed on the word 'tried', and said no more. He was clearly content to leave some things to the mind's eye. Tony finished and they led their horses out of the paddock. Tony mounted his horse, while Tim paused and shifted where he stood, scuffing the dirt with a foot, tightly holding the reins of his horse.

"Tony…" Tim started, but found himself immediately cut off.

"I am coming with thee. Thou art not going alone, and I am not being persuaded to stay here. Do not try and leave me sometime in the night either, Tim. For I shall come anyway." Tony said, unusually stern and serious. Then the edge faded away and he smiled again. "In good conscience, I could never leave thee to a task so clearly out of thine experience and skill level." Tim deflated, all his planned arguments shredded to pieces, though inwardly, he felt relieved at Tony's flat out refusal. To be truthful, he knew he would need Tony's ability to charm a nail out of a piece of wood and to cheer him up on his darkest days.

"Art thou sure?"

"As sure as I will ever be." Tony met his eyes. "Now, mount thy courageous steed, McGee!" Tony commanded with a silly, wide grin. Tim glanced at Tony with an expression that clearly conveyed how insane he thought the man to be, and mounted his horse with ease.

They exchanged a look. Excitement at a new adventure, fear of an unknown but suspected enemy, and the confidence that they at least knew they had each other's backs, flowed between the two.

They galloped off through the afternoon haze, down the main road, and beyond the point of turning back.

-

The fire sparked unwillingly to life, Tony coaxing it every step of the way until it no longer needed a helping hand. Shadows danced across his face. He sat back with a weary sigh.

It was their third day of traveling. The day that the enthusiasm for the journey and the interest in the lands that they were riding through, had usually dimmed. That time, with three days of straight riding under the belt, where the saddle was beginning to get very uncomfortable, even when you were raised upon a horse, and the rolling farmland to the right and the cool forests to the left were becoming rather monotonous.

That point in the journey where optimism and a clear head have begun to wear and become threadbare in some place. The point when one is finally hit with the fact that they are halfway to their destination, and will have to face whatever they are running toward sometime soon. They had decided to set up camp on the outskirts of the forest, close to the road.

Tim continued to poke the bright ashes of the fire with a stick, brow wrinkled and eyes staring intensely at the fire, cogs were clearly turning.

Tony glanced over. "Tim,"

He didn't react.

"Tim," Nothing. Tony tried again. "Good sir!" Still nothing. Tony blew out a breath, reached into his bag, tore the paper off a small package, and placed a hunk of salted meat into the pan that was resting above the fire, suspended by several well placed sticks. It sizzled seductively.

Tim did nothing except continue mechanically poking the fire. "I think the fire does not need any more encouragement, you tosspot." Tony said airily, but Tim didn't even rise to the insult. Tony sighed in irritation, reached into his bag again, and pulled out a peach. He pretended to shine it on his shirt, mockingly inspected it and then threw it at Tim.

Self-preservation kicked in at the sight of the unknown object, threat status unknown, flying toward him at high speeds. Tim's thoughts ground to an immediate halt, and his arms flew up to protect himself. The peach glanced off his up thrown hands and flew off into the early evening, smacking wetly off a close by tree on its way. Tony watched with interest.

"What the-what in God's teeth, Tony?"

"'Twas a peach, a very ripe peach as well. Calm down and have some food." Tony gestured to the meat, now cooked to perfection, with a knife. He scooped the meat off the pan and into a wooden plate. He sliced it in two, and gave the other half to Tim, along with a few cut potatoes and some other vegetables. Tim accepted it, irritation already ebbing at the sight of the food. They began to eat. "What was thou thinking about?" Tony asked after a moment. Tim paused mid-bite, lowered his plate into his lap, and thoughtfully rested his chin on his joined hands.

"Dost thou remember those stories?" Tim asked in a disconnected voice. Tony looked up; a bite halfway to his mouth slowed to a complete stop. "The stories, it had to be, what, five, six years ago? I was fifteen, you were about twenty. The ones about the beast that lurked northwest of Magnum Bonum?"

"Aye." The bite of food hovered, forgotten, somewhere between Tony's mouth and his plate. He was frowning. "They were never proven though. They died out a few years later, after the attacks stopped." The food was finally lowered to the plate and the plate set down upon the grass. He laid back and propped himself up on his elbows. His stance masqueraded under a relaxed air, but had an underlying current of a tightly coiled spring.

"Did they? Or did the…the beast just become better at hiding them?" There was a long pause, Tim staring intently at Tony for a reaction. Tony stared back, and without any change in emotion, responded.

"Perhaps the beast just decided to pay for sheep and merchants. Stop the silly charade of 'slaughtering' them." Tony did exaggerated air quotes along with the word, slaughtering, as if the idea was distasteful only on the grounds of how much work it actually was. "Saves quite a bit of time and effort as well." He added thoughtfully. "Though where would a beast obtain money? Side job? Apprenticeship and an allowance?" A small, almost empty smile had crept onto his face. It was nearly worse than anger, the quiet apprehension and uncertainty, and the fruitless attempts to glaze it over with humor.

"I am somber, Tony." Tim frowned, looking anxious.

"I have drawn that conclusion. 'Twould be much more amusing if thee was drunk." Tony said idly, playing absentmindedly with Ziva's dagger, which he had picked from Tim's belt when he wasn't looking. Tim snatched it away with a short-lived glare that slid off his face as quickly as it had come.

"Prithee, Tony." Tim said quietly. Tony sighed, and sat up again. He rubbed his eyes.

"What would thou like me to convey to thee?" Tony asked in a soft voice. Tim looked uncertain. Tony drew his hand off his face. "Go on. Say to me what thou wishes to hear, because I know not of what I should tell thee, Tim." Tim said nothing, only watched Tony more closely, looking less nonplussed now, just tired. "I believed the stories. I still do. And if the stories turn out no falsehood…then this task will be much harder than I had originally expected."

Silence descended, wrapping around them, sucking the life away. And then-

"Fighting a fairy tale. 'Tis not a thing knights do every day." Tony said suddenly. "One would be extremely lucky to achieve the…honor, of tackling such a task even once every ten years."

Tim looked at him critically for a moment but the corners of his mouth twitched. "The opportunity of a lifetime." He added with a small smile.

"Aye." Tony agreed simply with a nod. He reached across and patted Tim's shoulder. "Thou art verily a lucky man." Tim shrugged off his hand with a grin he couldn't repress for the life of him. Both men smiled weakly at each other for a moment. Though the conversation had gotten a bit lighter, tension hung thick in the air, coating tongues and mouths, leaving the sour taste of the unknown, of apprehension and dread not fully realized yet. Their discussion dropped off.

Night drew onward. Tim read a book, practiced some Latin, and cleaned Ziva's dagger. Tony lovingly cleaned his sword, restrung his bow, and then played a terrible song on the string, accompanied by rather annoying but amusingly dirty lyrics. Neither one mentioned sleeping, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Tony spoke. "We should get some rest. Long day of riding tomorrow." He said slowly. Tim didn't disagree; Tony didn't try to reinforce his thought. Some fuel was added to the fire (Neither Tim nor Tony would admit it, but being blanketed by thick darkness they could not see in, would be, at that moment, incredibly not preferable), and they laid down, parallel to each other, on either side of the fire pit. Though they were less than four feet from each other, they lay captive with their private thoughts, and were completely alone.

Neither slept much that night.

-

A smooth, cavernous eye flicked open. It was a wide pool in the inky darkness, moon reflecting on the surface. Murky, black depths unending and unnerving to all who had ever seen them stared unblinkingly. Well, unnerving up to the point of one's untimely, and never to be discovered, death.

The pupil of the eye, if possible, grew even larger, encompassing the entire iris until it was nothing but a solid, black sphere. Liquid night. The eye flicked left, right, up and then forward

Nothing.

The creature was apparently unsatisfied by the conclusion that didn't meet the curling feeling in its stomach. The eye roamed again and reached the same conclusion as before. There was a groaning rumble that seemed to permeate the earth beneath the creature, growing louder and louder until the eye closed and the head lifted to the stars overhead.

The sound that pierced the nocturnal life was unlike any other in the entire world, and chilled every soul within a thousand miles.

The creature roared to the faceless moon, and then was silent.