Warning: mature content ahead, some people may find some content disturbing.
You've been warned. You're welcome.
-artemiskat

Chapter Twenty-Four
Cat's Fury

It rained once more, this far away. The din of battle faded as they ran into a wooded area, far from the meadow with the hill, far from any view of the Frostback Mountains. The screams remained nothing but noise in the distance. The dragon – Hakkon Wintersbreath – a memory. Had it all really happened?

His hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, unrelenting as he dragged her away from it all. She'd been too stricken with disbelief, fear even she was ashamed to admit now, that Catriel had let the boy pull her away. He pounded through the mud, his mind set on wherever they were going.

"Wait…" Catriel said. He kept running. It wasn't right, she kept thinking, that they were running away. They should have stayed with the others. They should be fighting the dragon. Maybe, they should even be dead, passing into the Beyond. "Wait," she called out again.

The boy was ignorant of her pleas. "We have to get away," he muttered numerous times under his heaving breath.

The rain was heavy, further drenching her, further sending her into shivers. It pelted into her face, along with the mud from the boy's feet. She felt her fury rising. "Where are you going?" she demanded loudly.

"To my village," the boy replied.

That wasn't right. They should turn back. They should rejoin the others. She couldn't let them die for her. "Stop!" she shouted. She dug her feet into the wet and muddy ground, like a ship anchoring amidst waves in the sea, and the boy had a difficult time of moving forward. He tried to keep going for a moment, dragging Catriel a little, until finally, he gave up. He turned to her in annoyance.

"The dragon," he began before he was cut off.

"Is that way!" Catriel pointed behind them. "You are taking us in the opposite direction."

The boy narrowed his eyes, a look of fury overcoming his muddy face. "I am doing what I was told, to take you away from said dragon."

"Well, I should probably tell you now that I hardly ever do what I am told." Catriel folded her arms over her chest and smirked at the stranger before her. "Do you always do what you are told? Are you such a coward?"

The boy thumped his chest with one fist, nostrils flaring in anger before his eyes alighted with mischief. "Is that a challenge, girl?"

Catriel stepped closer to the young man. "They need us, no matter what they say, boy."

He had only a hunting bow and a half-empty quiver, which he brushed his fingers against once before nodding his agreement. "You're right. I should never have left my father's side." He broke into a run, back towards the direction they had come from, back towards the cold, the slaughter of a dragon. And Catriel followed happily.

Though she was glad that she had succeeded in goading the boy to turn back, something did not feel right to Catriel. She had a curious feeling in the pit of her stomach, a feeling which travelled up her spine to raise the hair at the back of her neck. It was not the dragon which she feared, nor the possibility that she was running headlong to her death, but something else. She stopped and searched through the trees.

The boy sensed her hesitation and looked back. "Are you coming?"

"I'll be right behind you," she lied. The boy continued on his way. She pulled out her sword and listened, to the rain as it hit against her blade, to the wind as it tore through the wooded area she stood in, and to the clicking of the spurs on his boots as he emerged from behind the trees.

"Little bird," the chevalier laughed, "I finally have you all to myself."

She stifled a gasp. She willed herself to stillness, to standing straight and proud as the chevalier circled her, like a wolf on the prowl. She raised her sword, and turned slowly around with him, her eyes meeting his. "And I, too, finally have you all to myself, Thierry."

The chevalier tossed his head back and laughed.

It was all Catriel could do to not fling herself at the man in a wild fury of attack. But she would bide her time, calculating the precise moment to attack, when the chevalier was least expecting it. She didn't have much in her favour that would allow her to easily defeat this man. He was larger than her, stronger, and covered in heavy plate mail. She had to use what cunning she possessed to do any harm to the Orlesian.

Catriel looked him straight in the eye. "Did you know ser knight, that I made a promise to the gods?"

"A heathen is prone to do such things, when all hope is lost." Ser Thierry withdrew his sword with a cruel sneer. "Your mother did such a thing as I mounted her and took her like the bitch she was."

Something in Catriel threatened to break. She swallowed her fury, her hands unconsciously tightening onto the hilt of her sword. But she would not believe Ser Thierry. He didn't, couldn't possibly know who her mother was. He was lying. She remained steadfast, ignoring his barb.

"I promised the gods that I would kill one thousand shems with this blade. You were supposed to be the first sacrifice until things changed. But lucky for you, the gods have destined us to meet once more, and now you will be the first sacrifice. I will see my blade run red with your blood."

Ser Thierry rumbled with laughter. "Your mother had such a feisty spirit too, until I broke it."

"You lie," Catriel said through gritted teeth.

"You lie to yourself, girl. It doesn't matter to me whether or not you believe me. I took immense pleasure in cutting her, in beating her into submission. Her brown hair turned a shade of red so that she resembled a whore in a brothel. Her grey eyes, once proud, held nothing but fear – before they were permanently shut that is."

"You bastard." Her thoughts raced in a swirl of emotion. He could easily guess her mother's hair color just by looking at Catriel – but the eyes; Catriel's own eyes were grayish blue. He could have said blue and Catriel would have laughed. He could have said blue, but he said grey, and instead of laughing she felt a tightness in her chest.

He is lying. He is a liar. His words are false…

His expression changed into something dark, something lascivious. "You will be more beautiful than your mother was."

She suppressed a shudder. The bastard would only talk of her mother in the past tense. What did it mean? Surely not that she was dead. He was only toying with her, goading her fury to come out and play.

She is not dead…

"I'll give Eirlys one thing – she never once told me your name."

That was it. Her fury could hold no longer. He'd pushed and pushed and now she was over the edge, a point of no return.

"Raaah!" She swung her sword wildly against the chevalier. The thought of her mother, bloodied, tortured at the hands of this man, like Guion had been, drove her forward in a blind fury. There was no thought for her own safety, only a consuming need to see this man dead. "Elgar'nan's fury be mine!"

Ser Thierry defended against her easily, all the while laughing, mocking her with his teeth stuck out in a cruel sneer. "Pray to your heathen gods, but only the Maker can save you now, and he won't for you are a savage who would piss on his name."

She drove forward, her sword swinging wildly, madly. She knew she should step back, take a breath, and assess the situation with a calm eye, but she couldn't stop herself. She couldn't stop the fury coursing within her no more than she could stop the blood of life pulsing through her veins. It took over her – maybe even Elgar'nan himself took over her, guiding her blade toward the chevalier, who danced around her, a taunting laugh at every stroke he parried from her.

As she fought herself into a languid torrent of attack, her fury waned, and panic began to take over. She felt it in her heart's unsteady pounding, in the grasping for a clear, unshuddering breath. Her mother had escaped Jader. She had not fallen into the hands of the Orlesians. She had not fallen into the hands of Ser Thierry. He had lied. He had said all those things to goad her into a stupid attack. A thing she had fallen for. She was just a stupid girl after all.

Ser Thierry calmly knocked away her sword, seeing his work beginning to take effect on Catriel. He shoved her backwards onto the ground. Catriel landed with a hard thump into the mud. The knight hovered over her with his sword. He pointed the tip of his sword at her cheeks, pressing lightly, caressing her even.

"So young," he said hoarsely. Catriel did not like the change in his voice, in the rough way he breathed. She did not like the look in his eyes. She pulled herself backwards with her hands. He simply followed, continuing to hold the sword at her face, tracing imaginary lines on her cheeks. "I would make you a woman. I would give you the blood tattoos your people mark themselves with – and more."

Catriel batted away the chevalier's sword before he could do anything of the sort. She twisted around, turning her back on the chevalier and attempted to crawl away into a run, all the while reaching out vainly for her sword. But he grabbed her wet tunic and pulled her roughly against him. She could feel his hot breath at the back of her neck as he encircled her waist with one arm and pressed the sharp edge of his blade against her throat with the other.

"You're a wild one," he gasped, his breath quickening. "But I will tame you, the same way I did your mother."

Her stomach turned as his hand, gauntleted and cold, moved upward and squeezed her small bud of a breast. She squirmed and he increased the pressure of the blade against her neck, and she stopped. She felt weak with panic, she wanted to retch. His vile hand moved lower, pulled her leggings down. She felt the rain and the wind on her bared skin.

"I hate you," she murmured.

There was a moment of pause, a moment where he pulled away from her. She could have escaped. She could have reached for her sword. But she did none of those things. Her mind was frozen, her limbs numb, and swiftly enough, the moment was gone.

"You will love this," he whispered breathlessly into her ear, his tongue dragging over its pointy tip. She shuddered in disgust and as if her mind had been awakened from its slumber, she tried one more time to get away. The time for escape had long passed, however. The sword's edge drew blood at the side of her neck in response to her sudden movement. "Your mother certainly enjoyed it."

And then he tore into her from behind and she screamed, wishing she had let the sword pierce her neck and kill her. The pain of his entrance created a well of tears in her eyes. Death certainly would have been preferable to this. He grunted at each thrust of his hard shaft. She closed her eyes, unable to do anything but endure. She felt herself ripping apart. She imagined the blood welling out as if cut from a sword. And that was what it felt like as he rammed into her.

He slackened his grip on his sword, letting it fall to the ground as he took his pleasure of Catriel. She thought of reaching for it, before he grabbed a hold of her hair, twisting it around his hand as he moaned, and pulled her head back. He thrust one last time and then shuddered atop her, a sigh escaping onto her neck as he pushed her into the mud. He left her body, leaned back away from her.

Catriel let the tears fall from her eyes, let them mingle with the water, the mud, and the blood beneath her. She pulled her leggings up, though the damage was already done, and brought herself into a sitting position, resting her chin on her knees. She let her hand linger by her boot while she focused on Ser Thierry's sword lying not far in front of her.

"Why?" she asked.

She heard him shuffling behind her, refastening his armour. "This is what you deserve. I told you before I would not let your humiliation of me go unpunished. This is only the beginning. You will come back to Orlais with me and the count has promised I could do whatever I wish with you."

Catriel continued to stare at the sword. "You are an evil man."

Ser Thierry noticed where her gaze rested. "Have I not tamed you enough, little bird?"

"I am no little bird," she replied, her voice lowered. She reached her hand into her boot and waited. Ser Thierry came close to her again. Her panic had dissolved for he'd already done the worst he could do to her. There was nothing but resolve beneath her breast now. Resolve that the chevalier would pay for what he did to her. She could not defeat him through strength, but there were other ways to bring down a snake. "I am Catriel, and I will kill you."

He grabbed her shoulder, hard. He laughed, the same mocking laugh he'd used before. "Ca prenne plus qu'une fois pour apprivoisé une sauvage. Tu es comme ta mère."

The fury returned to her then. In one swift movement, she removed her hand from her boot, bringing with it the obsidian dagger Etosa had given to her, and turning around, she plunged it into the neck of the chevalier. His eyes opened wide in surprise as his hand reached to his neck, blood squirting out, washing down his neck in the unrelenting rain.

Catriel stood up, pulled out the dagger, kicked the man in the chest, and he fell backwards in the mud. She wiped the dark blade on her tunic as Ser Thierry covered his neck in a panic, trying to stop the flow of blood as he writhed on the ground. With his other hand he reached in vain for his sword. Catriel limped over to it, picked it up, and flung it far into the woods. She spotted her own sword, the one Fenarel had given to her long ago now, and plucked it from the ground. The chevalier's eyes held nothing but fear now as she held it in his line of sight. He recognizes it, she thought with some satisfaction, as the sword he lost.

"May the Forgotten Ones feast on your soul for an eternity." Catriel swung at the chevalier's neck, the force of her swing not quite enough to slice completely through. The chevalier screamed, sputtered in suffering. She reveled in the sight, at being covered in his blood. And, because she knew her curse would not strike as much fear in him, she added another one. "May the Maker shun you from entering the Golden City and sitting by his glorious side."

She swung again. She hacked at the chevalier's neck, long after he was dead, long after she'd turned it into a bloody pulp of flesh and blood. She wanted it severed. She wanted it destroyed. It was a thick stump, like the thickest trees, but eventually she knew it would break free.

…

She didn't know how much time had passed. She didn't know how long she had been working on the ghastly deed. It had stopped raining at some point. The air had become calmer, the breeze lighter. A light touch on her shoulder alerted her to another presence. She turned around in a rage, frightened at the touch, disgusted by it.

"It's me," Sam backed away, his hands held up in defense. "I was searching for you everywhere. Farm boy said you were right behind him. What happened?"

Catriel let her bloody sword rest at her side. She inhaled deeply before letting out her breath in a shudder.

His eyes fell on the gruesome mess before them. "Is that…?"

"It was." Catriel nodded. She realized that she had succeeded in severing the chevalier's head from his body. She should have felt better because of that, but she didn't. She felt Sam's eyes linger on her. She turned away, ashamed. Not for what she had done, but for what she had let happen to her.

No one shall ever know what he did to me…

"Are you…" he reached for her; she twisted away, avoiding his gaze, his touch. "…all right?"

You're too late, she wanted to say. You were supposed to protect me. But she said nothing.

"Where are the others?" she asked instead, though she gave no window for him to answer. "Let's go." She moved away from the grisly scene she had created. She had let happen in her weakness.

With a relenting sigh, Sam pointed ahead. Catriel moved forward eagerly. She wanted to be away from this. Sam followed, though he seemed to sense her mood and lingered far from her side.

"Remind me never to enter into the line of Cat's fury."

It was meant to lighten the mood, but the jest only further darkened it. She couldn't believe the savagery she had committed. He deserved it after what he'd done to her, after what he said he did to her mother. Yet that was not all that was troubling her. In truth, she was afraid of what she had become in her fury. She was not sure she ever wanted to feel that way again – out of control, mindless to the point of recklessness. A small part of her, though, wished for it to be so.

A sleek, green dragonfly flew in front of her. It watched her, studied her. She swatted it away but it came back.

"Dragonflies are the eyes of the gods," she muttered under her breath.

"What?" Sam asked, looking curiously in her direction.

"That's what my mother used to tell me. They watch us when the gods are busy with more important things. And then, they report back." She felt like she was babbling, but she couldn't stand the silence, the ruckus of her thoughts. And, perhaps, the dragonfly was a sign, of what, she couldn't quite figure out.

The dragonfly landed on top of Sam's shoulders, its wings remaining outstretched.

"Clever gods," Sam said, "sending bugs no one notices to watch us. Well, better the bugs than the real dragons."

It flew away. Catriel said nothing more. She only wondered what the little spy would say to the gods of her deeds, of her weakness. She didn't know what had happened to the dragon, had not the strength to ask of it, and only figured that it must have been defeated, for Sam was in no panic. But suddenly, she wished the cold breath of the beast had reached her, frozen her, and shattered her to pieces before she'd even had the chance to meet the chevalier.

Gods, she thought, it is far better to die than to live with the shame.

For the first time in her life, Catriel felt drained of any hope. Even when she faced the gallows and thought all was lost, some part of her knew she would make it. But now, it didn't seem to matter anymore what happened to her. And she found that she didn't care in the least of what lay ahead.

In a forest where the mountains could not be seen, she lost a part of herself.