In this chapter, you are required to pump your fist in the air and yell, "Go, Alistair!"

Very good. Carry on. ^_^

Chapter Ten

Maeve awoke with a strange sense of foreboding. In times past when she had such moments, she just knew something was going to happen. It had been the same when Robert had died and when she lost their babe. She usually went with her feelings on it and stayed home, but she had too much to do today. There was the delivery to the butcher, she had to bring bread to Hilda's home, and Mr. Smith was ill and she'd promised some soup and bread for him and his children.

Loading up her cart, she tugged it along the street behind her. The sky was an unusual color today—the clouds remaining red-tinged even well past sunrise. Her husband had had an old rhyme, "Red sky at morning, sailor take warning, red sky at night, sailor's delight" and she was reminded of that this morning. The sky, combined with the vague sense of unease, made her shiver.

Normally, she would spend some time visiting with her customers, but not this morning. After making her deliveries, she headed for the market to set up her wares in the stall and prepare for her day to begin.

The feeling continued to grow as the day passed and she had to struggle not to be short with her customers. As the time came to close up for the evening, she waited for Alistair or Jakon to show up. It was almost always Alistair these days, and while he lacked the intimidation factor of Jakon's immense size, he was by no means a small man himself. With a blade at his side, and the backing of his placement in the city guard, he was sufficient protection from Brin and his cronies that she felt completely safe.

Tonight neither of them showed up. Maeve chewed her bottom lip raw as worry began to gnaw at her inside. Always by now one or the other had shown up to walk her home. That was how it had been with Robert. One morning he had said goodbye and he never came home.

She waited as long as she dared, the evening growing darker as the sun set, then grasped the cart handles and began to pull it home. Perhaps the Maker would be kind and she could get home without any issues. Brin hadn't been around the past week or so, and she began to hope perhaps he had met with the bad end he had coming to him.

Laughter ahead made her heart sink into her shoes. She just couldn't get a break, not today.

"Well, well, look who we have here, and without her escort," Brin's tone was mocking.

"Go away, Brin."

Remembering her last encounter with him, she moved away from the front of her cart. If he came at her this time she would run. She didn't expect to outrun them all the way back to her house, but she could perhaps make it to a guard or someone's home where she would be safer.

"Go away," his voice rose to a falsetto as he stepped closer to her. "I've been kept at arm's length too long, Maeve. I think it's time you realized who's in charge around here."

Laughter born of malice, not mirth, erupted from his men and Maeve tried not to let herself get surrounded. Grabbing up one of her pies, she threw it at Lanner who fell back, trying to clear his eyes. Grabbing one of the baguettes, she raced through the hole she made in their ranks, the sounds of footsteps on cobblestones speeding her heels.

The flight ended all too quickly. Maeve was strong and young, but she was no match for men in their prime. She was tackled to the ground and she twisted in Brin's grasp, grasping the baguette like a club hitting him with it, screaming at the top of her lungs.

He grabbed her pitiful weapon, his expression more exasperated than pained, and tossed it to one side. Reduced to shoving at him with her hands, she tried to squirm out from under him.

"I've dreamed about you, Maeve. I just want you to be nice to me."

Breathing heavily and using gravity and his own strength to pin her beneath him, he lowered his lips. She twisted away just enough that they landed on her throat instead of her mouth.

"I don't want you, Brin. I've never wanted you."

His brows knit together, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"But you would spread your legs for some filthy drunk? There's no Jakon here now, Maeve, and no drunk to save you. Be nice to me and I promise to keep you for myself, the others won't get a turn."

There were grumblings from the men around him, but Brin ignored them as his hands ran over her curves, her breasts, almost as if he thought he was being gentle. Maybe in his mind he was, but Maeve felt nothing but revulsion.

"You would rape me here in the streets? Someone will hear you." She tried to ignore the fact that no one had come to her screams.

"People know who runs these streets, they won't interfere. I'd prefer more privacy, but I'm determined to have you, Maeve, any way I have to."

"Jakon…Alistair, they'll wonder where I am…."

"They're too busy at the docks tonight. Seems there was some trouble down there," Brin laughed softly, a touch of menace to the tone.

Maker's breath! She had to buy some time to think.

"All right, fine, Brin, you win. But let's go to my house. I don't want to be tumbled in the middle of the streets."

He grinned, no doubt thinking he'd won.

"All right, Maeve, but I'll be holding on to you the entire way. Don't even think of using this as a stalling tactic or trying to get away. I don't want to hurt you, Maeve, but I will if I have to."

She nodded, feigning acquiescence while her mind worked feverishly at how she was going to get out of this.

Maeve struggled, despite her resolve to stay calm. Each step was bringing her closer to her home and rape, and she had no delusions that Brin's promise of not giving her to his men held any worth. Her steps dragged as she tried to forestall that as long as she could. Brin didn't seem to mind, in fact had probably expected it. He was drawing far too much amusement from the situation for it to be a surprise to him.

He grasped her arm, twisting it behind her, stilling her struggles. Pain forced tears out of the corners of her eyes and she cursed inwardly. Whatever happened, this bastard wasn't going to see her cry.

"So you prefer raping women who don't want you, Brin? Or am I just 'lucky' that way?"

"I prefer a willing partner, Maeve. But it matters little to me—struggle or not, the choice is yours. I'll enjoy myself either way. But I can make it good for you if you let me."

Her home was in sight now and Maeve's legs locked, refusing to willingly carry her any further. Brin merely pulled her arm higher up her back, forcing a pained cry from her, and shoved her forward. And then from behind them came a quiet, deadly voice.

"Let her go."

Brin stopped and swung around, pulling Maeve with him. Seeing only Alistair standing there, he laughed and nodded to his men, who began to approach Alistair. Maeve gasped, tensing with more than just fear for herself. He'd held his own against Jakon, and even turned the tables on the bigger man, but now Alistair faced four men who weren't afraid to kill. They drew their blades as they neared him.

"Watch, Maeve, as your savior goes down under them," Brin whispered in her ear. "I want you to see what happens to those who come between me and what I want."

Swallowing, she closed her eyes. She didn't want to be raped, but she didn't think Brin would kill her when he finished, not if she didn't fight. She could survive it. Having already lived through what she thought were the worst things to happen to her, she knew she wouldn't be able to handle it if Alistair died for her sake.

"Call them off, Brin. I won't fight you. Don't…don't hurt him," she managed to choke out. Damn it, she hated begging, but she wasn't too proud to do it if it saved Alistair's life.

"Too late, Maeve. He dies and I get you anyway. And then it'll be Jakon's turn."

He placed a kiss on the nape of her neck, and then rested his chin on her shoulder, his free arm holding her tight against him in a mockery of a lover's embrace. She watched Alistair's eyes narrow, focusing on his attackers. He hefted his shield and drew his sword, the blade whispering free almost silently, and dropped into a battle stance. If these men thought they were facing a drunken sot, they were in for a rude awakening, but she didn't dare hope he could face off against all four and succeed.

Brin's men were moving to encircle him before he moved, but it wasn't to attack. Alistair spread his arms wide. There was a bright, blinding flash and Hass cried out as he was thrown onto the rough stones of the street, stunned. Then Alistair moved forward, his blade laying open the big man's stomach, intestines oozing through the rent in his cheap leather armor and blood pooling beneath him.

Lanner shouted, his attack announced ahead by his panic, and Alistair brought up his shield to block the blow, his sword swinging low to bite into the man's leg, cutting deep to the bone. Screaming, Lanner fell to the cobblestones, holding his nearly severed leg, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood.

Thod slipped as he came forward then, sliding on the blood of his fellows and went down, the speed of his drop aided by a slam from Alistair's shield, breaking his arm with a sickening crunch when he struck the ground. He lay there crying in pain, unable to hold to his blade.

His courage fleeing him, Agon turned and ran, obviously unwilling to test his luck against Alistair.

Maeve gasped as Alistair moved toward them. She had heard tales of Grey Warden prowess, but had never seen it in action before. It had been one thing to watch him duel Jakon for the position, it was another to see him fighting to kill. She'd seen her share of fights before, but nothing prepared her for what she was witnessing now.

Brin yanked a dagger from inside his jacket and pressed it to Maeve's throat.

"No closer or I'll kill her," he warned.

Alistair paused, his conflicting emotions warring on his face.

"Fool," Brin whispered. "I'd have returned her to you, perhaps a little wiser and a bit more worthy."

"Let her go," Alistair's voice was strong and even.

"Drop your blade and kick it over to me, and then walk away and I will. Eventually," said Brin.

Maeve could feel the sting of the blade with each pulse in her throat. There was no way she could speak, but she pleaded with her eyes to Alistair not to leave her. His eyes met hers, and he seemed to be trying to tell her something without speaking.

The clatter of the steel on the ground and her hope died in her breast.

When it bumped her foot, she felt Brin lean over, the dagger going from her throat to her side. Her chance came that moment he was off balance and she shoved at him, knocking him over and bolting.

She half expected Alistair to follow her, but then turned when he didn't and she heard the sounds of a scuffle behind her. Shoving her fist to her mouth to stifle her screams, she stood there horrified.

Brin had the sword, but Alistair wasn't backing down. He used his shield like a weapon, putting it between him and his prey and slamming it into Brin. There was something dark and dangerous in his eyes as he pressed his advance. Brin dropped the sword to the ground and fell.

"Maker's breath! Enough, I yield!"

With a snarl, Alistair glared at him and tensed, and Maeve wondered if he wouldn't just kill Brin right there. He picked up his sword.

"Leave. Take what men you have left and leave. If I see you again, I will kill you," he said.

Maeve watched as Brin slowly rose to his feet from his hands and knees. His arm swung at Alistair and she thought for a moment he was going to punch him. Instead he flung sand and grit toward Alistair's face. Momentarily blinded, Alistair staggered backward.

A couple of blind swings held Brin at bay, but she saw Brin move over to pick up Hass's sword from his dead hand. Alistair went very still as if he was trying to hear his opponent.

"Behind you!" she cried.

He swung around, his blade sliding smoothly into Brin's chest. Brin opened his mouth in a wordless cry and blood flowed down his chin and chest as he sunk to his knees. He looked at Maeve, the light leaving his eyes before he dropped to the cobblestones, dead.

His vision cleared, Alistair pulled his sword free and glanced at Thod, who quailed under his furious gaze. He picked himself up and fled the way Agon had gone, and Maeve doubted either of them would ever be seen again. Not after that. Alistair's checked Lanner and Hass to make sure they were dead, and then wiped his sword on Brin's sleeve. Sheathing his sword, he approached Maeve, who broke free from her shock and flung herself into his arms, sobbing in relief.

"Oh, Maker, Maeve, did those animals hurt you?" he gasped, holding her tightly to him. She shook her head against the cold metal of his armor. She couldn't stop trembling and Alistair held her even tighter.

"If…if you had been hurt, I…. I promised you."

He turned them away from the bodies and toward her house. "Don't look," he murmured, keeping her face pressed against him. "Come on, let's get you home."

Relief mingled with something deeper as he held her in the protective circle of his arms, squeezing her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe. She doubted she would be able to breathe even if he weren't holding her. She certainly wouldn't be on her feet now if not for his support.

Once at her door, she tried to fumble the lock open, but her hands were shaking too badly. Alistair gently brushed them out of the way and opened the door for them, closing and locking it once they were both inside. Wordlessly, he sat her in a chair and fetched a blanket. She wrapped it around her as he built the fire, filled the kettle and put tea in a mug.

While the water heated, he removed his sword and shield and laid them on the table. When he started undoing the buckles on his armor, she got up to help. "No, Maeve, you rest," he protested.

"Let me help. Please, I need to help."

Alistair gave her a long look and then nodded, letting her work the buckles and straps. She'd done this often enough for Robert and the familiar routine soothed her. By the time the water was ready, he was down to his gambeson and leather breeches. He led her back to the chair and left momentarily before returning to push the mug into her hands.

As she sipped the tea, Alistair busied himself. He built a fire in the other fireplace, lit every lamp she had and drew all the curtains shut. In no time, her home glowed with light and felt cozy and safe.

When her tea was done, Alistair crouched before her, stroking her cheek softly. "Better?" he asked and she nodded. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He opened his arms and she went into them gladly.