A/n: Another update, wahoo. This chapter is "The Battle, Part 2", so enjoy. This was kind of a fun chapter to write, and I'm working ont he next chapter rigth away as well, so the next update should not be too far in the future. My goal is to fully finish my "big four" by the summer, so I'm working hard to make that goal (just for you guys) :D.

Chapter 15

"Tie him up." Westley said and Buttercup snatched up some ropes to do just that. Make them as tight as you like."

And she did.

"Ow!" Humperdinck complained, but to no avail.

The Spaniard burst into the room covered in blood. "Where's Fezzik?"

"I thought he was with you." Westley answered.

Humperdinck stared at the Spaniard. If he ran off down the hall with Rugen, and now returned covered in blood, it seemed highly likely there was a dead Count in the castle.

"No." the Spaniard answered.

"In that case – ooo…" Westley swayed and his knees gave out. He caught himself on the bedpost and Humperdinck's eyes widened. Had he just given up to a man who could barely stand?

"Help him." Ingio said.

"Why does Westley need helping?" asked Buttercup, finally done tying the mercilessly tight knots on Humerpdinck's wrists and ankles. He hoped he would still have some circulation when he was finally found and rescued.

"Because he has no strength." The Spaniard explained, and Buttercup rushed to Westley's side.

"I knew it!" Humperdinck exclaimed, no longer even the afraid of his opponent. "I knew you were bluffing! I knew he was – "

The very sharp and red sword tip of the Spaniard's sword was suddenly at Humperdinck's neck.

" – bluffing." He finished feebly.

"Shall I dispatch him for you?" the Spaniard didn't take his eyes of Humperdinck who gulped and shrank further into the wooden chair he was seated on.

'Don't kill me.' He thought. 'Whatever you do, don't kill me.'

"Thank you, but no." said Westley and the sword tip was graciously removed from being an inch away from slitting Humperdinck's throat. He would never admit how much he was trembling with relief and fear at that moment. "Whatever happens I want him to live a long life, alone with his cowardice."

Westley had glared daggers at Humperdinck who had involuntarily shrunk in his seat again. Even knowing that Westley had no strength and was just going to leave him there was not enough to stop his knees from knocking.

So he'd watched them escape. He'd been found sometime later, and the ropes Buttercup had so "graciously" tied on him, left deep red marks and his skin had been an unnatural purple color until the blood was circulating in them again.

He'd gone to his room and stared in the mirror for a very, very long time, before coming to a decision. Then he went to bed and sleep peacefully, despite everything that had happened.

In the morning he'd risen, and purchased a new outfit. Then he'd burned all of his old clothes and had the castle barber cut his hair very, very short. He changed his name to Saradon, and had the palace servants completely redecorate his room. Nothing was to be left of his former self.

Weeks later, his father had died, followed shortly by his mother. He became King and ruled his kingdom with a stiff hand. Not a cruel hand, just a firm one. He'd learned to instill fear into those beneath him, and had gotten very good at it. He had not felt his own fear since he had watched the Man In Black exit the palace on a white horse.

The split second was over and Saradon was back in the present, staring icily down at the panting crew who had somehow managed to take on a massive number of guards and come out more or less on top. Westley gulped in a few more breaths before straightening importantly and speaking as though he had not been fighting a fierce battle only moments ago.

"Let Buttercup out." He stated plainly, and Saradon had to chuckle. Did he really think he was just going to let them – even one of them – go?

"And why in the world would I do such a thing?" Saradon said with an air of someone speaking down to a child's outrageous request.

"Because she's injured. She needs help. If she stays here, she might die."

"Correction, she will die. As will you all, as I will be killing you myself," said Saradon coldly.

"Please." Westley spoke so sincerely and calmly, it struck a cord in Saradon's heart, surprising him.

He spared a glance at Buttercup, and saw she indeed looked quite rough. The injury she'd sustained had obviously been a bad one. She was white as paper, and breathing very fast and shallow. She was clutching her arm with the opposite hand, and her white shirt was soaked red with blood. He felt the slightest twinge of emotion at the sight.

But it was not enough to sway him. Not even close.

"That's really too bad. However, as I said, she will die here anyway, so it really doesn't matter." Saradon shifted in his seat casually and studied Westley's reaction carefully.

Westley straightened his shoulders back a little farther and lifted his chin slightly. "Well, if it doesn't matter, and she'll die anyways, then I see no reason for you to keep her here."

Saradon rolled his eyes. "Here's a thought that may or may not have occurred to you. I let her out that door and she's really not as bad off as she's appearing right now, and goes off to get some help from your little friends somewhere, who come in here and the I not only outnumbered, but severely outnumbered. Not entirely fair, is it?"

"Valid point." Westley agreed with no emotion. "But suppose she really is as bad off as she says she is, and goes straight to a medical center?"

"I can't really count on that, now can I?"

"Suppose you let her go. Just her."

"I will take her." Inigo suddenly volunteered firmly.

Westley exchanged glances with Inigo before continuing, slightly less confident than before, though he picked it back up the more he talked.

"Alright, suppose you let Inigo take Buttercup out that door, out the castle, and to a medical facility. Chances are, you have many more guards stationed about the castle, so it would prove difficult for Inigo and injured Buttercup to get out of the castle." Westley reasoned and took a small breath. "And I also am going to assume, that since Buttercup is in a condition that is growing steadily worse, and probably won't be able to make it to a medical facility on her own, Inigo will have to help her all the way. He won't be able to break off for help."

Saradon nodded slowly, considering, and looking for the loop-holes in Westley's words.

"The nearest medical facility is about… well, it's on the entire other side of the kingdom." Westley continued. "Which, by the way, you out to change. It's extremely inconvenient." He added.

"I will keep that in mind." Saradon nodded accordingly.

"So it would take them a long time to get there, providing Buttercup can make it." Westley glanced anxiously at his wife, who was now even paler than before, though it hardly seemed possible, and was visibly in a lot of pain, as she was supported by Elisabeth and Inigo. He cleared his throat slightly before moving on with his plea. "You may or may not believe this part, but I will tell you it is true. Our nearest 'friends' that we could get for help are currently on a ship, sailing around, who-knows-where. They were to meet us some time from now, and it would be quite impossible to get immediate help from them. As for townspeople, I know none of them, and neither do Will or Elisabeth. The next nearest help would be far out in the country near my home."

Saradon nodded slowly, mulling this over. It was very possible Westley was an excellent liar – after all, he had managed to convince Saradon at one point in time that he was extremely strong and able when he was really weak and pitiful. And yet his words had an undeniable ring of truth to them. Saradon felt it, heard it, and try as he might, couldn't ignore it. He had banished his fear long ago, which had been the factor that had forced him to give in to the Man In Black all that time ago. But here and now, there was no fear, and though he did not like it, he could see Westley's point of view.

Westley took another breath before continuing once again. "So they would not be able to bring help back. Suppose you post extra guards at the entrance and barricade the doors to this throne room. Will, Elisabeth and myself will have no choice but to fight. And supposing we lose, you can always send guards after Inigo and Buttercup to… arrest them."

The last bit seemed to cause Westley a bit of difficulty to say, which Saradon found extremely fascinating. Westley clearly did not like the idea he was presenting, and Saradon had observed this discomfort in that flash of hesitation. Westley had expertly rearranged his features immediately, putting the confident mask on once again. But Saradon had glimpsed that odd unease in Westley, and it pleased him.

That was what swayed the decision.

Unfortunately, Westley's arguments made sense. They felt true. Saradon had grown to be no fool, and though he did not believe all pieces of Westley's story – that felt true or not – he wanted more than anything at that moment to be the one to press his sword tip to Westley's throat and finally be rid of him. He knew he would never be able to accomplish such a thing with all of Westley's companions present, so knocking two of them out of the picture with no fight required, seemed very well-thought out indeed.

Saradon was suddenly filled with a strange, unexpected confidence. This was going to be Westley's undoing. His love for his wife. All Saradon had to do now was goad Westley into believing he could be the only one to defeat Saradon once and for all.

A wicked smile made its way across Saradon's face. "Well thought out, Westley. Well thought out indeed." He paused and chuckled. "Let her go then."

Westley looked instantly shocked, but just as fast became coolly confident once more. Again, Saradon was delighted. As much as Westley had cajoled to get Buttercup released, it was apparent he had truly not been expecting for Saradon to agree with him. And, to be honest, Saradon hadn't either.

The others stared up at Saradon with open shock.

"Hurry up." He said roughly. "Before I change my mind."

Inigo hastily supported Buttercup as best he could, and swiftly made his way out the door, Buttercup moaning the whole way. Saradon smoothly stood and yanked the rope against the wall three times, before settling into his chair again.

"What was that?" Will asked worriedly.

Saradon smiled cruelly. "I asked more guards to cover the throne room door and the entrance to the palace."

"That's handy." Westley nodded with his bottom lip stuck out as if to say, 'Wow, I'm impressed'.

"Why didn't you tell them you have intruders on the loose or something?" Will demanded suspiciously.

Saradon shrugged casually. "We don't have a code for that."

Before anyone could comment or question further, a panel in the wall just back and to the right of Saradon in his chair, opened. All eyes turned to it, and Saradon's eyes narrowed viciously at the three left in the throne room before turning to the wall as well. Out of the room apparently behind the wall panel, came a creaky looking old man, dressed in brilliant white robes and carrying a menacing looking white stick. It had a fist-sized ball on top, with white claws of the staff enclosing around it. The ball looked misty blue and black and frighteningly somehow alive.

The old man trudged up to the throne and bowed his head to Saradon. "You rang?" he said in a deep, bone-chilling voice. Even Saradon shivered slightly, though he should have been used to the man by now.

"I did. What took so long?"

The old man rolled his eyes slightly behind the curtain of white hair that hung down, hiding his face. "I was busy."

"Doing what?"

"Business." The tone in which the man said this, was so sinister, the temperature of the room seemed to drop a notch and it left little doubt that his business was anything but something of a horrible nature.

Saradon fought back another shiver at the man's words and cleared his throat hurriedly. "Right. Of course." He said, attempting to sound like he knew exactly what the man was talking about and failing miserably. "Anyways, I have some new business for you."

The man raised his head, and did not look at Westley, Will and Elisabeth, who were now standing close together with their swords out very defensively. He curled his lip into the smallest and scariest of sneers. "Really." It was not a question, but a statement as though he truly had better things to do than the King's business.

Saradon gestured to the trio. "Kill the girl and the dark one, leave the blonde one for me to deal with." Saradon purposely spat the words 'deal with' to anger Westley. It worked, for at that moment, Westley gripped his sword tighter so his knuckles turned white and his eyes glinted fiercely.

"Really…" The man seemed suddenly in a much better mood than before, which was somehow far more disturbing than his previous attitude of disgust. He turned his frozen black eyes on the trio, who all took an instinctive step back. The man seemed further amused by this, as his lips slid into a smile that made the hair on Elisabeth's neck stand up and goosebumps appear rapidly across her body.

"And please it make fast, Tythe. I don't have all day to wait for them to die. I have that dinner with the Duke of Dumont and Lord of Netherfield later this evening." Saradon drawled, and Westley seemed to ignite ever so slightly more. Saradon had to try not to smile.

"Of course, my lord." Tythe bowed deeply before striding behind the throne to the left half of the platform. He smiled again, showing sickly yellow teeth. "Come out to play, little ones." He taunted.

Will glanced at Westley. "What now?"

Westley's eyes were trained unmovingly on Saradon and they seemed to be sharing some sort of non-verbal exchange. Through the smallest gestures – eyebrow raises, lip curls, weight shifts, posture changes, narrowing of the eyes – they were communicating, and both were looking angrier by the second.

"Westley?" Elisabeth ventured.

Still not taking his eyes off Saradon, Westley said. "Take on the man. Leave Saradon to me."

"But – " Will started.

"Just do it." Westley cut Will off harshly. "And if you finish first, don't help me. I have to do this myself."

"Westley – " Elisabeth tried, but again Westley firmly interrupted.

"Just go."

Will looked unsurely to Elisabeth, who took a breath, and steadied herself. She gave Will a tiny nod. "It's us now." She whispered, and looked grimly up at Tythe.

Will nodded slowly. "Just us."

There were a few moments of hesitation as Saradon gracefully descended the steps from his throne off the platform to level ground to come face to face with the Man In Black, Westley. Saradon drew his sword and held it poised, ready for Westley's attack.

And in those few moments, Will and Elisabeth took several steps towards Tythe, solemn and determined, and uncertainly waiting to see why this old man had been called in to dispose of them.

Tythe raised the staff he was carrying and held it horizontal at shoulder level, the eerie blue ball aimed at Will and Elisabeth. His other arm was raised in a similar pose, and as he bent his knees, he suddenly looked strong, not creaky, and ready to strike like a viper or a particularly dangerous cat.

Westley raised his chin defiantly at Saradon, ready to take down the man he would call his nemesis. He would end it this time. He would finish Saradon and never let him darken any doorway ever again.

He was expecting Saradon to wheedle him with insults, and Westley knew Saradon had an unfair advantage. Saradon had not been fighting for his life against fifty something guards, but was well rested from his time of merely observing the battle. Westley knew Saradon was going to get under his skin with his taunts, though Westley was going to throw every bit of energy and training he had ever known into this fight, and keep it controlled. If he was going to lash out in anger – which was Saradon was going to want – he was sure to make a mistake. That's how Inigo had finally lost to Westley all those years ago: he'd gotten desperate and had lashed out in frustration.

Westley squared his shoulders and stared into Saradon's blazing eyes. "You won't get away this time." He rumbled.

"Neither will you." Saradon countered threateningly.

All parties stared at each other for another second, before both battles broke loose at the same instant. The second part of this fight for life had begun.

A/n: Alrighty, what did ya think? Review me and tell me your thoughts! Oh, and also: in this story I wrote in a few "nods" (as I call them) to other things/books/movies/stuff and if you think you know what they are/were, tell me in your review. If you can pick them all out I'll give you a piece of my mommy's icebox cake (mmmmm!). Lol.