Author's Note: After many, many, way too many long months of Ballad-less moments, I have brought you the awaited Chapter 14!!! Yay! Forgive me for the wait, because I love you. I understand that I am a terrible person. That is why I have started Chapter 15 already and I am going to email it to myself in case my laptop charge cord breaks again (yes, I tracked down a new one finally), or in case it gets another rogue virus that the tech guys can't get out (yup, I just got it back today from them. They had to WIPE IT CLEAN, and so naturally I was just a little super freaked out. Whoever makes these viruses need to go get lives. Find a girlfriend/boyfriend. Get married. Get real jobs. Stop ruining other people's happiness. Because it's freaking annoying, and I hate it, and-... And I'll shut up my anti-virus-maker-schpeel.) Many thanks for all of the comments. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Again. Sorrysorrysorry. Iloveyou for sticking around and waiting for me.
Uhmmm...let's see. I'll just tell you all a few things before someone points them out. Teehee. YES, I do know that in the 9th Century, they did not use contractions (I'm, they're, we'll, etc.). Do I care enough to go back and check and re-check to see if I got lazy and put them in by accident? Noo. Ha ha I'm lazy. I don't edit my work. Especially this one. There are probably so many mistakes because I just kind of wrote it and uploaded it and I didn't really give a crap about specifics because I'm tired and it was 11:11 eight...no nine...or rather, ten minutes ago and I was too busy making a wish about some lovely people. Ha ha.
So, here's chapter 14. Read, enjoy, spaz at the end because I decided to be unfulfilling. I apologize.
And...I want to go write some more, so cheers.
-XOX, Mintermist

Chapter 14
Fearless

Gold coin. That had been the plan, to goal, the purpose. To give it all for that which glittered. And, really, what had he received for his measures? The man feebly spat a foul mixture of blood, tears and mud from his mouth, wincing as his wrists were chaffed by the rough, braided rope bonds that kept him here in his state of humility. Rainwater was a stinging ointment, as it ran in tiny streams down his torn up back, over the bruises inflicted by the constant onslaught of feet and fists and wooden staffs.

He shut his eyes, suppressing shame and bitter tears as the weight of his actions drove down on him, pinning him into place. What had he received? The thought was angry and desolate, as his mind responded in agony. All he had brought about was a large and very possible serving of death. Not merely his own, but that of his father, brother, mother, beloved wife, cousins...his family's death. He balled his hands into fists, the ragged, dirty fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm, praying to whoever might hear him that he would be given a chance to atone for his actions.

A booted foot dug sharply into his shoulder, and the man looked up from his low place in the mud, grimacing at the sight that met his gaze. The cold eyes of a murderer smouldered like a viridian shade of poison. Venemous.

"Get up, yeh worthless swine." Cliff barked, the healing slash on the right side of his face contorting with the words. "Léon and you has some business to attend to, I do believe." He smiled cruelly, as Maurus's eyes widened in fear.

The caravan was the pinnacle of chaos. Not even Kippernium Castle was this agitated on Market Days, Jester noted with grave humour.

Horses were hastily being tacked, bows were strung, hatchets and the odd blade packed. Raincloaks were handed about, and Jester huddled under his, unsure of what to do, sitting on the steps to the dining cart. He ran his hands along the hilt of the shortsword Smithy had given him, packed for the journey. He had barely begun training with it, but had the general idea and prayed that some angel might guide his hands and the strokes the blade might make.

His eyes grew sad, as he watched couples embracing, promising to return safely and to deal justice upon the highwaymen, and Jester swiftly made count of those who would take part. There were nine in total, including Jester himself. Wymund and Godric would lead the group, wielding staffs and shortswords at their hips should they need them. Lucius bore a bow and a few throwing knives, as well as a staff upon his back, and his wife Amice was determined to march alongside him with a staff. Linota, the wife of Maurus, had declared that she also would venture into battle, to both redeem her family as well as to search for her husband. Her eyes flared with determination as she strung her bow with deft hands. Tiberinus and Ippolito bore swords of a beautiful appearance, which Tiberinus has purchased from the Moors in their conquered lands to the south, and to Jester's surprise, gentle Octavia would also join in the fray with a bow.

"Five minutes before we depart, Jester!" Ippolito called over the pounding rain.

Jester squinted skywards, grateful for the cover of the rain despite the bone-cold chill of it. It would give them cover, to muffle their steps and cloak them against guards; cover that they would need, as they had the underhand in numbers.

A sudden angry outburst sounded to Jester's left, and he turned his head to look, and then looked away swiftly embarassed. But, despite the thunderous sound of the rain, he could not drown out the heated argument between his sister and her husband.

"I cannot risk losing you, Maia! Why can you not understand?"

Maia made a strained, furious sound, before she shouted back. Jester tried to cover his ears, but it was to no avail.

"So, what? You think I can risk losing you? You want me to just watch you skip off into battle all happy-go-lucky-cheery, while I sit at home quietly sewing by the hearth?! Maybe receive a swift vision of you falling to the ground, or being pierced by a blade? Is that what you expect??!"

"That is exactly what I'm asking you to do. Yes, we know it is a risk, but I would prefer you safe, my love. Risk one rather than both."

"NO! I am coming with you."

Jester winced at the tone of their voices, and stood up abruptly, dodging and ducking through the array of arms, horses, and caravans with an agile grace.

The pain was sharp and acute about him, thickening the torrent of rainwater, and he writhed inside to know that he was the source of it, its epitome. The sorrow... the fear... the anger about him were toxic, noxious fumes added to the storm. His fingers trembled at the force of emotion, and he grasped the hilt of his blade for courage, murmuring a silent prayer for safety and protection over his family.

"All will be well, mon fils," Pere Matthieu's voice spoke with a solemn gravity, as the priest stood stooped in the doorway of one of the caravans. A lantern hung suspened in the grasp of one of his wizened hands, its soft glow radiating hope. "Go with my blessings." He outstretched the other hand towards Jester, before hobbling his return into the caravan. Jester had the merest glimpse of candlelight before the door closed against the elements.

There was so much fear, so much at risk…

"Jester! Are you ready?" Ippolito's voice resonated through the din, and Jester cast a long glance at the camp, his eyes memorizing each aspect of his temporary home, his temporary happiness. This place, this beautiful, vibrant caravan had fulfilled in him a portion of his past. He had a family. A family who loved and would sacrifice everything for him. For his love for Jane.

Oh, Jane… He grimaced. She, despite her skill and ability, was a young bird face-to-face with a tomcat; vulnerable and helpless in her position. His nightmares flashed before his eye, bile rising in his throat and melding his courage to the sticking place.

"I am." His voice seemed to echo in his ears, as if spoken by another person within the great halls of the most ornate palaces. It was calm and confident, despite his inner self quaking in terror…fearless, the very antonym of the mere boy who had left Kippernia not so very long ago. As if by their own accord, his feet steered his body towards the sound of Ippolito's voice. He drew his cloak about himself, bracing against the wind and rain. Long strands of sopping blond hair were plastered against his forehead, his blue eyes icy against his tanned skin.

The horses pawed the ground, while Ipplolito waved Jester over. He handed Jester the braided rope bridle of a large, bay stallion. Muscles trembled with anticipation beneath its dark, russet coat, and it regarded Jester with an indifferent disdain.

"His name is Bishop," Ippolito said, running a hand over the horse's neck. The creature tossed its head, and nudged Ippolito's shoulder affectionately. "Bit of a proud fellow," the Italian continued, "but trustworthy and level-headed."

Jester reached out, placing a tentative but firm hand on Bishop's neck.

"Hello, old chap. I do not ask that you bear me long or far, but merely bring me to my Jane, for better or worse." The horse sniffed Jester, buffeted his chest, and turned away, clearly satisfied that he was neither a threat or a foe.

"Mount up, we will depart within moments." Ipplito turned, gathering his blade and mounting his own horse, blowing a tender kiss in the direction of his wife and child.

"Cloak yourselves," Tiberinus called, taking the lead beside Lucius who led the pack.

"Good luck, brother of my beloved," Godric said with grave humour, riding close to Jester. "I pray we come through this all whole and well, and that we might sit 'round the table with warm food in our bellies and good company once more."

"God willing, we will," Jester said, grasping his blade once more.

Fearless.