Also on my AO3: 1nkmistress_1ra
They packed extra fish and fried jerky for the trip. Fletcher had unstrung his bow and stuffed it in with his arrows, to prevent stress on the wood.
Fletcher and Tarquin, much to each other's surprise, struck and swiped together at the branches and bushes before them.
They didn't speak until they reached the waterfall. A small one, at least three meters tall and had a rocky ledge Fletcher could climb it.
He already had an idea, staring up at the waterfall, and he hoped it would work. "Get to bathing," he said, "I have an idea."
He started climbing up onto the upper level before Tarquin could ask if it was a good one.
"I'm going to see where we are. Maybe we can find civilization?" Fletcher waved over the edge and gestured to where he would be. The river this time was wider than where they first started. He couldn't jump it, this time, and he landed right in the shallow part of the mouth.
He continued up the path until he found a tree. He started climbing and balanced his feet against the top branches before searching. Tarquin, looking more refined than before, approached the base.
Fletcher seemed to sense his presence there. "Alright, I see a village, but it's another few kilometers."
"How far exactly?"
"I estimate we can get there within the daylight. Finish up here so we can get a move on."
Fletcher adjusted the strap on his quiver and strung his bow.
Tarquin flinched, looking back when he heard the snap of twigs. "Fletcher, I think something's behind us."
"We'll worry about it later. Start cutting a path, I'll catch up."
Fletcher slid down the trunk as Tarquin swung his blade to and fro in an arc before him. The greenery was getting rougher and rougher, from his observations. Maybe Fletcher had noticed it, too, but didn't think too much of it.
He glanced behind him as Fletcher looked back behind them. That didn't give Tarquin much hope. Sure, his father taught him to hunt and be on the look out for predators, but Fletcher must have had more than a lifetime's expertise on it.
"What do you see?" Tarquin asked.
"Nothing so far." Fletcher looked up and beyond Tarquin. His expression darkened, and he nocked an arrow. "Heads up." Without a flinch, Fletcher released the arrow into the greenland and the squeal of a cat made Tarquin flinch.
"What was…?"
Tarquin made towards it but Fletcher caught him before he got far. "There's another one, some-" Fletcher's eyes widened, looking behind Tarquin. Another lion was perched on the rock behind him.
Tarquin's blood froze as he looked behind Fletcher.
Before Fletcher could move, Tarquin drew his sword and pushed Fletcher to the ground, bringing the sword up as the pouncing lion tried for the both of them. The one on the rock leapt for Tarquin but Fletcher pulled his knife and threw it.
Tarquin let the lion's body slide off his blade as Fletcher pulled the knife from the other's belly. The lion Fletcher stared down at didn't try again and scurried off into the forest.
Both struggled to steady their breathing, equally struggling to grasp at what had just happened. The fact they saved each other weighed heavily on their minds more than the fact they were just attacked by mountain lions.
"You saved me," Tarquin said.
"You did, too." Fletcher sheathed his knife and picked his bow and the arrow from the ground.
"We never speak of this again," Tarquin didn't know why he let the words slip out, but Fletcher didn't look impressed about it.
"Noted."
Fletcher had the head start, swinging his khopesh back and forth into the branches and bushes. - - - There weren't any attacks as they reached the village. A fire was still going and, to the villagers' credit, it wasn't spreading either. There was not a sign of life anywhere.
"Hello?" Fletcher called out.
Nothing.
"Show yourselves!" Tarquin shouted.
"Put your sword away. I want to leave a good impression."
Tarquin grimaced as he looked around the small straw cottages. Were they in Orc territory? It wasn't like any he'd read about if that were the case. No bodies, no weapons, no signs of violence to be seen.
"You shouldn't be here."
The baritone voice made them draw their weapons. No one could be that quiet unless they traveled by air.
The man behind them was big with dirtied grey skin covered in scars and fresh cuts. He wore a long tunic made from fur. His hair was long and greasy, and dyed with something red.
"Where are we?" Fletcher started.
"You should go back from whence you came," The man said. Like it helped.
"We fell down here. Where's a way out?" Tarquin tried. The man narrowed his eyes before giving them the advice they needed.
"There's a cliffside with a chamber, North from here. You'll come across a few caves when you do. Don't go in any of them. And watch for the man in the green cloak."
"Understood," the duo said, simultaneous. They took the man's legs bending back as a sign they should go. They heard the man bound into the forest and his footsteps were more pronounced.
"Who the hell was that?" Tarquin croaked. The scene of the man's legs bending back like an animal's burned itself into his mind. The snap didn't help.
"Hell if I know. But we have a way out. I'm going to scout to where it might be. You have a compass?"
Tarquin took the time to pat at his pockets for something to help them.
"Must have fallen out during the… you know."
"Watch my back, I'm going to try and get a good look around."
Fletcher started climbing and he eventually reached the top of a pine.
"Alright, I see the cliff side. But I don't see the chamber."
"He was probably lying about it."
"It's the only lead we have. Plus, it looks like it's the way we came in."
Fletcher squinted. "It looks like it goes on forever."
"What? Let me see!"
Tarquin, using his sword as leverage, hauled himself to near height where Fletcher was. "Ahh, hell, it may as well. Do you see the rest of them?"
"They've probably gone out to find help. We've been gone for about a day, now."
Tarquin cursed as he started to make his way down. It wasn't as easy as Fletcher made it seem nad he almost cut his foot on the blade.
"Let's just find another source of water. If we're lucky, we'll find another cascade." Fletcher said and adjusted the strap on his quiver. Tarquin yanked the sword from the tree and started swinging around at the shrubbery. - - - They found a waterfall and it was bigger than the last one. Fletcher took his time to cleanse himself before he raised his hands above his head as if in prayer before drinking out of it.
He spat the water back out into the river before repeating it another three times.
"Well, at least you know you needed it more," Tarquin remarked.
Fletcher ignored the jibe and stepped out of the makeshift bath, his muscles still tense.
"What happened at that little prison anyway?" Tarquin couldn't help but eye the scars on Fletcher's back. Some came from burns, some came from the whip. One, in particular, stood out: a brand mark of a small X by the small of his back.
Fletcher didn't notice the eyes on him as he dressed, "The usual. Didric came by a few times to mock me, but I was mostly left alone."
His clothes were still damp but they weren't difficult to put on.
He felt like he couldn't walk another step. It didn't matter, anyway, Fletcher thought as he took a glance at the setting sun. "I'm going to hunt for a bit. Setup camp while I'm gone."
Tarquin undressed and took his time picking at the dirt on his skin before moving on to clean his clothes. - - - Fletcher had been gone for more than ten minutes and for a second, Tarquin felt worried. He shook the feeling off quickly. Where the hell did that concern come from?
He was a Forsyth for the Gods' sake! He doesn't care about that peasant boy. Besides, why should he be worried? He could hunt, he had his sword, after all. He could sneak up on a deer and strike it down.
He started to move to begin the search when the bushes started to move.
"Sorry it took a while."
The deer was still alive when Fletcher brought it into view. He looked exhausted, swaying back and forth during his intended path. He was covered in blood, mud, and grass.
Without much care, he dropped the deer onto the ground, causing it to squeal. It struggled against it bonds but Fletcher got to it first. He plunged the knife into the deer's side and tore it open.
"What happened?" Tarquin asked. He glanced down at the fire he made, and then at the shelter.
Fletcher paused, looking up from his work, then at Tarquin with skepticism written clear on his face. He didn't expect him to care if he was honest, and it took him a moment to register that. "I just got into some trouble."
"Nothing you couldn't handle it seems." Tarquin leaned back against the tree as Fletcher began to prepare the meat.
The skinning process Fletcher used was nothing like Tarquin was used to when he was hunting. It was messier, though it may be just Fletcher's way of doing things, and he set the pelt aside.
"I don't have many tools here, but I can probably make a blanket for you."
"That would be best."
Tarquin watched as Fletcher washed the pelt clean of blood and wrenched it out before hanging it on the tree like it was a shirt.
Fletcher didn't respond and started ridding himself of his clothes. Blood, both his and his opponent's soaked the old furs.
"How'd you get that mark?"
"The what?" Fletcher didn't turn back as he stepped into the flowing water.
"The Mark! The X."
Fletcher paused from washing his hair.
"It was from the prisons. It marked me as a prisoner. In case I escaped."
A lie, though not complete. Tarquin frowned. Why lie about it? He asked himself.
"You can eat you know, just turn the arrow." Fletcher gestured towards the spit from the curtain of water.
The river was stained red by the time he stepped out. The meat remained untouched, much to his surprise.
"I was thinking." Tarquin turned away from the meat.
"Now, I'm getting worried," Fletcher muttered.
"Hmm… Perhaps Commoners shouldn't be funny." Tarquin sneered.
"Perhaps Royals need a sense of humor."
"You're always so crude, it's a miracle you're alive."
"I'm crude anywhere I go. It's just not called that in my standards."
"Maybe you need to get with the time, then."
Fletcher rolled his eyes as he put on his trousers and sat down in a smooth patch of dirt across from him. Tarquin continued to push the question.
"What happened at those prisons, anyway?"
"I told you," Fletcher didn't look up as he turned the meat on the stick.
"Yes, but I want to see you squirm," Tarquin remarked.
"I was just left alone for a year, given food every once in a while, etcetera. Nothing new."
"Why the mark, then?"
"Why is that so interesting, do you want to brand your prisoners?"
"Heavens, no!"
"Then you'll shut up about it."
"You're awfully defensive about it."
"Yes, people get defensive about things they don't want to talk about."
"Why don't you like talking about it, then?"
"Because I don't like to. Now Shut up!"
"This is quite a spine you have here."
"That and the time I kicked your ass?"
Tarquin opened his mouth to snap back, but Fletcher shot him a dark look. It was something so out of character for him, he flinched.
"Let's just say the conscripts needed something to mess with," Fletcher said, softly.
Tarquin didn't want to make assumptions, but with that single confirmation, he didn't have the choice to. The scenarios forced their way into his mind and he looked down at the meat, his appetite lost. He could have sworn he was shaking.
"I'm going to bed," he said finally.
"Hang on." Fletcher stopped him. He reached over to the skin and tossed it at Tarquin. It made him squirm.
"I'll keep a watch for the night." - Tarquin woke but Fletcher pressed him back down.
He smelled something rotting and he guessed it was the old meat.
They listened to the footsteps, as they passed.
"Remember when the man said to beware the man in green?"
"You saw it?"
It was almost impossible to see through the darkness but then something in the darkness shifted. It was hunched over, taller than any man either of them had seen, and it was wearing a tunic out of leather.
It was watching them.
They held still as the thing started to approached, sniffing all the while until it came to them.