The Hunters and the Prey - Chapter Nineteen
Author: Milady Dragon
He awoke slowly, blinking groggily, realizing almost at once he wasn't where he'd been before darkness had taken over.
Sir Steven Rogers, the Paladin of the Western Lands, sat up quickly, hissing as his brain seemed to be left behind and was slow to catch up with his head, pounding as it settled back into his skull. He clutched at his head as he tried to regain his equilibrium, curling into himself as the agony in his head slowly faded until he could straighten and get a better look at his surroundings.
He was in a bedroom.
It was really fancy. If Steve had to guess, he was in some sort of palace or baronial residence, as those were the richest people he knew of. The bed was huge and soft, the mattress supporting his sore body like a lover would. The sheet and comforter were of a bright fabric, in shades of reds and golds, and yet they weren't overly gaudy.
Well, he was being polite about that. It really was fairly gaudy.
The bed frame was of some sort of reddish wood; Steve didn't know what sort of wood was naturally that color, but it certainly wasn't painted like that, just well varnished and gleaming in the soft light of a lamp on the matching bedside table…a lamp that wasn't a flame, but shone with a steady glow, which just couldn't be natural. For a moment Steve thought it was magic, but dismissed that; magic hadn't existed in the world for centuries, except for scattered artifacts that could be most likely found in various abandoned towers and buried in deep caverns.
Like the artifact that the Skull had had.
Steve could recall it with vivid clarity, his last battle with the Skull.
The war had been raging for years. The Despot from the North had rampaged through the Western Lands, only to be stopped near at the proverbial line in the sand…a ragged trench system that had run from the western coast to the Mountains of the Continental Divide, over hundreds of miles. There had been rumors that the Despot was going to attempt to go around the mountains, but that would have meant retreating and leaving his rear guard practically defenseless, and Steve hadn't seen him doing that, not after all the losses his troops had already suffered in the fighting.
He and his hand-picked band, the Howling Commandos, had been on a mission behind enemy lines. Their spies had claimed that the Skull had found some sort of magical artifact and had been experimenting with it, and Command had been concerned that he'd be able to work it out and the impasse would be broken, so in they'd went.
To be honest, Steve had wanted to go in. After Bucky had been killed, he'd wanted to get a little revenge, and this had been his opportunity. It had taken them weeks, but they'd finally managed to locate the Skull's base, and they'd infiltrated it surprisingly easily.
It had been in a mansion that had overlooked a beautiful mountain valley. Steve remembered wishing he could sketch the place, and that such evil hadn't tainted it by its very presence. The Skull had always been a bit greedy, and him 'owning' this gorgeous view had been just like him.
Steve could recall facing down the Skull, and him raising a strange, glowing block before him…and then nothing but blackness.
He didn't even know what had happened to his men.
And now, he was in some sort of sumptuously appointed bedroom, in a strange place, without knowing how he'd gotten there.
Oh, and then he noticed that the pajamas he was wearing were silk. Definitely, he was the guest of someone of not-inconsiderable wealth, although he no real idea why someone would have taken him to a place like this to recover from whatever had happened to him.
He flung the covers aside, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The carpet was warm and plush against his bare feet, and was a deep red to match the comforter. The curtains were also the same reds and golds, and the furniture that red wood. It was…too much, really. Why would anyone put him in such a room? He was just a simple soldier, even if they all insisted on calling him a Paladin, and if he'd been injured – which didn't seem to be the case, unless it was a head wound that he couldn't see, and would also explain why his head was aching so badly – they certainly wouldn't have gone out of their way to set him up in such a place as this.
Whoever had put him in the pajamas had thoughtfully hung his armor on a rack especially built for that purpose, his shield and sword leaning against it. It was obvious now that he wasn't a prisoner because, if he had been, that would have been locked away somewhere else. Instead armor, shield, and sword had all been taken care of, and Steve was grateful for that little kindness.
His under-armor garments were nowhere to be found, however; he even looked in the large wardrobe which, for the moment, was empty. He didn't really want to go snooping around in just those silky pajamas, but knew he'd have no choice.
Besides, if he wasn't a prisoner, then he didn't need to put his armor back on, and that would have been uncomfortable without the specially made padded underclothes anyway.
Still, he buckled on the sword anyway, as well as picked up his shield. He might have been in friendly territory, but that didn't mean he had to be completely unprepared.
The door was unlocked. That was another mark in the 'not a prisoner' category.
The hallway outside was wide, and just as ostentatious as the bedroom had been. What looked like hand-carved wood decorated lintels and wainscoting, small tables holding knickknacks and vases of brightly colored flowers lined the walls, giving the area a friendly aspect that had Steve relaxing just a little.
The floor was gleaming hardwood, cool against his bare feet as Steve made his way down the hallway, toward what looked to be some sort of open space that, once he reached it, proved to be the landing to a wide staircase that led down to the lower level. The place seemed to be mostly empty…until he saw a man pass by below him, dressed in a somber dark suit and seeming to not be in a hurry, his shoes clicking across the highly polished floor. He had dark hair and was tall and thin, and Steve could tell he wasn't any sort of soldier. A servant, perhaps.
The man crossed the hall and then vanished below where Steve was standing. He took a deep breath then started down the stairs, shield held out before him, but his sword still sheathed. He didn't want to appear aggressive; but he wasn't about to accept anything at face value, either.
He was halfway down when the riser he stepped on squeaked.
That wasn't good at all.
Steve didn't freeze, however. That wasn't the way he was, although the noise had been startling. He made his way down to the ground floor just as a door was pulled open and a man stepped out.
He couldn't help it, Steve stopped then, his jaw dropping in surprise. "Howard?" he blurted.
The man froze, dark eyes widening. In that moment Steve realized this wasn't his friend, although there was certainly a resemblance. The man who was staring at him was a little older, wearing a different cut to his well-trimmed beard, and his face was a little narrower. Still, they had to have been related, which was a shock considering Howard hadn't had any living relatives that Steve had known about.
The man visibly shook himself out of his surprise. "Um, no. Sorry. Not Howard…or the Howard you knew, anyway. And it's nice to see you up and about, anyway. We were all beginning to wonder if you were gonna sleep the day away, and Ana is making lunch, you don't want to miss her cooking."
"Tony," a woman's voice reprimanded him gently. A lovely strawberry blonde moved around the Howard lookalike, giving Steve a gentle smile as she walked toward him, the hem of her deep blue dress brushing the tips of her matching shoes. "Please excuse him," she said to Steve, "but he can be a little overwhelming."
The man – Tony – rolled his eyes at her. "C'mon, Pep…he surprised me, that's all."
"But that doesn't mean you get to babble at him." Her tone was fondly irritated, as if this was something she was used to. And, she must have been, if she was living there.
Steve was about to speak, when something flew out of the room to land on the woman's shoulders.
If he'd been startled at the man looking so much like his friend, then this set him back on his heels.
In an instant, he had his sword out and aimed toward the creature that was perched on the woman. It was winged, and small, a silver-white color with whirling solid blue eyes. It chirped in confusion as the woman raised her hand. Her pale eyes flashed gold and suddenly the sword was torn from Steve's hand to land with a clatter against the far wall.
"We'll have none of that," the woman snapped, anger tinging her cheeks a pale pink.
"You have no idea just how hot that is," Tony purred.
"Not now, Tony."
"You never let me have any fun."
"If this is your idea of fun…" she stopped what would have most likely become a tirade, instead focusing on Steve. "I know you're confused, but we aren't going to hurt you. We only want to help you."
She lowered her hand, and that was when Steve took in more about her appearance. There was a fairly impressive knife in a sheath hanging from her belt, and on the opposite side a long, slim piece of wood in a leather holster rested. The creature grinned, its tongue lolling, and it flexed its wings as if it was going to jump into flight.
"No, Happy," she spoke to it, "you can't go and greet him, not yet anyway. He's not used to seeing dragons around."
Wait…what?
"Did you say dragons?" Steve exclaimed. "But dragons don't exist any longer!"
The anger faded a little from her pretty face. "You have a lot to catch up on. Please, put the shield down and we'll explain as best we can." She took a step forward. "I'm Mistress Virginia Potts, Head of Cardinal Order of the Western Lands. And, I'm a Wizard."
Steve shook his head in denial. Wizards were a legend; they'd all died out a long time ago. There was no way this woman could be one…
But then, she'd obviously used magic to disarm him. She had a dragon on her shoulder, and everyone knew that dragons were Wizard familiars, at least they were according to the old stories.
"This," she turned to her companion, "is Anthony Stark, Baron Ferrous, and you're in his mansion, where you've been recovering."
Steve stared at the man identified as Baron Ferrous…Anthony Stark. The only Stark he'd known had been Howard Stark, his friend, and he hadn't admitted to any relations that were Barons. In fact, Howard had been rich, yes; but not any sort of noble. Maybe this was another family named Stark? But Howard would have bragged about being related to some sort of Baron, wouldn't he have?
He certainly wasn't dressed as any sort of Baron Steve had ever seen…not that he'd seen all that many. His clothes were a bit threadbare and stained with something the Paladin couldn't identify, and it looked like he hadn't combed his hair lately , as it stuck up in all different directions. There were also stains on his hands, and that might have been a burn hole in his tunic…
Steve's head was pounding. He was confused. All he wanted to do was sit down. Things were strange and he didn't know how to accept what this woman was saying. He couldn't relax, because he didn't know what was coming at him next and he had to be prepared for anything.
"Please," she coaxed, "we only want to help you. You've been…ill, for a very long time. Won't you please come in and sit, before you fall down? You can even bring your sword if that will make you feel better."
It would, but Steve had the distinct impression that it wouldn't do him a lot of good, not against a Wizard, of all things. If he was inclined to believe her, but then she'd just raised her hand and his sword had flown right out of his grasp.
But there were artifacts out there, maybe she had one of those? He didn't see anything but the knife and that piece of wood – a wand, his mind told him, even though that sounded a little silly in his head.
"Pep," Baron Tony said, "I think you freaked him out more than I did with my resemblance to Howard Stark."
She ignored his comment, although Steve wasn't sure what 'freaked out' meant. If it was surprised and shocked and out of his depth, then that was exactly true.
"Please," she said once more. "Please, Sir Steven…we do want to help. Come into the sitting room and I'll get you something to drink. You look like you could use a brandy."
The Baron moved back into the room, leaving the Wizard on her own…not that Steve thought he could overpower her. He was definitely outranked, power wise, and he knew it.
Still, there was something about the woman…something calming. If she was a danger, then she was giving a very good impression of not being one.
Steve had no idea where he was. These people had answers.
Besides, his head was really hurting and he really did want to sit down; besides, a brandy sounded just the thing. He didn't know if he could really trust these people, but something was going on, something he didn't understand, and he needed more information before he could act.
And so, Steven Rogers, Knight and Paladin, accepted Mistress Virginia's invitation to join her and the Baron in the sitting room, where another man was waiting for them.