Saturnine

A/N: This chapter takes place directly after the last one. You may wanna reread the last section of the 2nd chapter to understand the beginning.

Brownie points to Babymene17 and Mademoiselle Phantom. Good job! You two were correct (noble effort, Arda Silverlace)!

Disclaimer: At beginning of 2nd chapter.

Chapter Three: Travel Companion

Erik's POV

The girl is a bother. An increasing bother. If all members of the opposite-sex are this aggravating, I've been wise all these years to avoid them.

Since the moment she awoke her eyes have not left me. Yet another reason I plan to be rid of her as soon as possible. I find her quite inquisitive, childishly so, for her own good. The one thing I loathe the most, besides pity, is curiosity.

Nothing good comes from curiosity.

I've found that company, once vacant for a long period, can become greatly unwelcomed and unsettling once it returns.

Attacking her was a mistake, I knew that. I hadn't realized that it was a woman thieving from me, until capturing her. I regretted touching her in such a brutal way for now it wasn't my appearance that vindicated my brutality, but my actions. She didn't need any more reason to be frightened of me so I attempted to redeem myself with the hairbrush and ointment. Her emotions changed quickly though, from coyness to anger in an instant. Just one more attribute in people I find to be rather annoying. Animals are not so irrational as humans. They always have a reason and display signs, warnings, before they strike.

This girl doesn't. One moment she is brushing her hair, the next, questioning my authority.

"And why not?" she inquired, in retort to me refusing to apologize to anyone in the world, including her. "What have you against the world, then?"

Everything.

"That is a story for another day," was my cool reply. I turned my back to her to signal that the conversation was at an end. The mademoiselle didn't take the hint.

"Oh?" She spoke mockingly and I glanced at her. She raised an eyebrow delicately, giving me the impression that, despite her clothing, she was from a proud, well-off family. "Then what is today's story, pray tell? The story of what tragic events led you to your isolation? A description of how you gained your horses? Or, perhaps an enthralling tale of how you came to accost and strangulate me?"

"You tried to pilfer my mares, mademoiselle," I reminded her. She also tried to disable me. Both worthy reasons for resentment in my mind.

Yet I didn't find her horribly intolerable. Not yet at least. But she was growing tiresome what with her aristocratic talk and sass.

Rosetta nickered behind, prompting me to my journey. I doubted I would get far if this discussion continued.

She stomped her foot. "I did not try to steal them. I was hoping to borrow one. I would have brought it back later on." I doubted this, seeing as she would have a difficult time locating me 'later on.'

"And I do have a name, you know," she added, evidently miffed at my continuous and overly polite use of 'mademoiselle.' "It's—" But I interrupted her, for she was talking far too much for my liking.

"I do not care. I have no interest in your name. Or your motives, for that matter." I suppose the words I uttered seemed vague and dubious to her for she misinterpreted my meaning entirely. Pure panic crossed over her face as she took a few steps away from me.

"I simply wish to carry on with my journey in solitude," I supplemented further. Pitiful girl. She misread my meaning completely, extracting a deep terror within herself that all women must harbor against men. I've seen it before. The harem virgin in Persia positively shook with such fear when she saw me.

Perhaps it is only a horror harbored against ugliness like you, a nasty little voice sang in my head. I ignored it.

The girl visibly relaxed at these last words. Now that she had brushed her hair and regained some color in her features I realized that she was actually attractive, in a way. Her hair was brown and curled down below her shoulders. Her young and naturally pale face held no makeup, just dust and dirt. Her green eyes studied me warily.

"What do you mean, monsieur?" My God, this girl is persistent and dense.

"If I give you a horse can you get to Paris independently?" I asked coldly, making up my mind.

She gave me a startled look. "What? Why?"

I sighed deeply. "You irritate me," I said frankly, "and am apparently frightened silly of me as well. You also seem to want to get to Paris desperately. I hardly wish to hinder you." I didn't want to do it (Shangri La and Rosetta would loathe me for giving one of them away so freely), but it felt necessary. I wanted this girl thousands of miles away from me. All humanity I wanted far far away. It was one of the reasons I refused to listen to her causes for trying to steal Shangri La, reasons to go to Paris, and even her name. Such obscure details would only serve as an unneeded distraction in my life, and I didn't care.

I wasn't supposed to care, I told myself whenever I felt a bit of concern stir for a fellow human being, such as this girl. A horrid monster like myself should care about no one but himself.

The green-eyed girl gripped the hairbrush with the tortoise on it. A token I brought back from Persia. "You're…you're mad," she muttered at last. I took that as an assent.

"A common reaction to my rationale, mademoiselle. Hopefully the last I'll have to witness." I strode over to my mares, untying them both. After stroking Shangri La's dark muzzle in farewell, I gave the girl her reins. "This, mademoiselle, is Shangri La. She's quite kind. A pack of supplies lie across her rump. Sell the brush if you run out of provisions. Paris is northwest of here. Au revior."

I had already mounted Rosetta, with the rest of my bags secured across her front, when I heard the girl cry at me to wait. "Please, monsieur! I do not know the way!"

"Of course you do. It is a northwestern course. A lady of class such as yourself should have been taught common direction long ago."

"B-but…you are headed northwest, monsieur!" She said quickly, calculating my position, holding Shangri La's reins still, and trying to climb unsuccessfully onto her as she spoke.

"Your point, mademoiselle?"

"You are going to Paris too, are you not?"

I kept my face blank and didn't answer.

"Can I not accompany you?"

What an ignorant and naïve child! Ask the strange man who choked you to bring you to Paris. What if I were a villainous rapist? A murderer of children? Stupid girl.

"No, you cannot." I said, firmly.

Her face fell and she ceased her attempts at ascending Shangri La. "Why not? You are going to Paris, like me. Please—"

"No, mademoiselle. It will not happen."

"Why not?" Such stubbornness.

"I believe you can figure out that answer." Actually, perhaps not. She doesn't strike me as the brightest jewel in the shah's treasure chest, metaphorically speaking.

"If it is a matter of money, my brother would gladly pay you for your service."

"What a kind philanthropist he must be!" I muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, but he is!" She exclaimed, annoyed by my comment. "He's Charles Garnier, and he's designing the new Paris Opera House that's in construction at the moment."

I froze. Garnier? The Parisian architect? I wasn't aware he had a sister.

Seizing my silence as another chance, the girl pleaded with me once more. "Please, monsieur. I must get to Paris. I will not be a disturbance for you, I swear. Let me come."

If I were to speak to Garnier about the opera house, this dim girl may prove useful in persuading him about the design plans. It wouldn't be too gentlemanly of me to use her as blackmail but, alas, I gave up on being a gentleman long ago.

Heaving a great sigh, I dismounted. "Very well. You shall come." Before she could interrupt I added, "but there are some guidelines you must follow. Listen to everything I tell you, do what I ask of you, do not talk to me unless absolutely necessary, do not disturb me when I am submerged in work and do not touch me. Is that understood?"

Puzzled, yet hardly deterred, she nodded.

Inevitably, I asked her for her name. "Morgan Eleanor Garnier, monsieur." She answered promptly.

"Well, Mademoiselle Garnier, allow me to explain to you the proper way to ride a horse. Shangri La will not put up with such pathetic horsemanship."

Rosetta gave me a confused snort and Shangri La shook her main disapprovingly, as I enlightened the girl. I understood their meanings completely.

It seemed that I had gained us a new travel companion.

A/N: Well, now the mystery girl has a name. About time of me, too. I felt silly writing "Girl's POV" last time. Now it will be "Morgan's POV." A bit more charming, I think.

Reviews are appreciated and squirreled away conveniently in my Persian Monkey music box,

Alda