I know I said one shot… But who was I kidding?! DaisyJane is right – the previous post is a prologue because… Sometimes, the characters (and readers' reviews) simply take over the story. Thank you for the inspiration, CrazyPhenom. And thank you, editlady617, the best beta/writing buddy to walk the face of the earth. I will be lost without you.

CHAPTER 1

The soft chirping of birds and the sound of the surf lapping gently on the shore penetrated Diana's consciousness. With near superhuman effort, she forced her heavy eyelids open, her pupils constricting against the bright morning sunlight. She groaned as she struggled to sit up, feeling sore and stiff all over.

Great Hera, what happened?

"Finally," a soft feminine voice greeted her. "Welcome back, sister."

"Alexa?" Diana croaked, her throat feeling parched. Looking up at the new comer, Diana blinked rapidly trying to focus. "What… what happened?" She lifted a shaky hand to her throbbing temple, thoughts befuddled.

The scholarly Amazon sat down on the bed and handed her a glass of water. She regarded the princess with a worried frown. "You have no recollection?"

"I…" Diana accepted the drink gratefully and took a long swig of the cool, restorative liquid. She closed her eyes tightly, striving to get her bearings. "I'm not... I'm not sure… I think I..."

Her eyes widened in horror and the glass slipped from her nerveless fingers when the memories came crashing back in full, vivid detail.

Three months ago…

Diana gritted her teeth, rivulets of perspiration running down her face as she struggled against Artemis. The two Amazons were fighting for control over the quarterstaff caught in between them.

"Is that all you've got, Princess?" Artemis taunted with a sneer. With a sudden powerful jerk, she hoisted the staff – and Diana – overhead.

Diana bit back a curse as she was catapulted head over heels. Instinctively, she tucked herself into a tight ball, rolled in mid-air and landed in a crouch.

"Lesson number one," Artemis said in a lecturing tone, walking casually toward Diana. The quarterstaff emitted a soft hum as it spun in the expert hands of the fiery, red-haired Amazon. "A lesson you so stubbornly refuse to learn – never hold yourself back."

Diana flinched as Artemis suddenly thrust the quarterstaff, its end whirling to a complete stop barely an inch from her nose. She glared at the imperious look on Artemis' face. Sparring with the Amazon army's most accomplished fighter had been a constant source of frustration and challenge for Diana. She rarely won a duel against Artemis and at the times that she did win, the infuriating woman would just laugh and brush it off as luck.

With a soft growl, she yanked the staff free from Artemis' grasp, simultaneously pivoting on her leg to deliver a kick aimed at her opponent's ribs. Artemis grunted at the impact but quickly recovered. In a flurry of arms and legs, the two furiously engaged in hand-to-hand combat, Artemis relentlessly attacking, Diana steadfastly defending, both seeking any opening, any weakness that could be used against the other. But in the end, Diana's frustration and impatience gave away the fight. She carelessly charged into Artemis thinking it was best to overpower her foe. The seasoned warrior deftly slithered out of Diana's way, twisting the princess' arm painfully behind her. With a vicious shove, Diana soon found herself face down with Artemis' sandalled foot effectively squashing her cheek to the ground.

"Lesson number two," Artemis said, caught between laughter and irritation. "Yet another important lesson you seem to insist on ignoring – control your temper. Never attack under the influence of anger."

"That is enough," Philippus commanded firmly from the sidelines, knowing full well that the sparring session will not stop unless the tenacious women were given a direct order. Her two best fighters also happened to be the most stubborn with Diana being the more headstrong of the pair.

"Diana," the Captain of the Royal Guard continued, watching the princess pick herself up from the ground. "I suggest you go and pay Alexa a visit. Perhaps a change of pace will do you good."

"But I – " Diana began to protest.

"Go."

Diana pressed her lips together, visibly trying to control her fury.

"Such petulance," Artemis snickered, knowingly fanning the fires of Diana's anger.

Diana took a threatening step toward the provoking woman.

"NOW, Diana," Philippus' eyes narrowed dangerously at the princess' continued disobedience.

Swallowing her pride, Diana gave Philippus a curt salute and walked away.

"Her fighting technique has improved immensely over the years," Philippus commented lightly. She watched Diana's retreating back thoughtfully. "But her temper needs more work it seems."

"She is nearly my equal in combat," Artemis' topknot bobbed up and down in agreement. "Although, I believe it is not the lack of talent or training that bars her from perfecting her skills but rather it is the lack of attention. She seems to be more preoccupied of late. The princess always had the tendency to be hot-headed and impatient but never this impulsive. I sincerely doubt that sending her to Alexa will solve the problem, Captain."

Philippus made a noncommittal sound as she tapped her bottom lip in silent contemplation.

Diana could not wipe the frown from her brow as her feet unconsciously led her to Alexa's cottage by the beach. She kept reviewing her sparring session with Artemis in her head.

I could see where she wanted to strike but I was too slow, she analysed. And how could I fall for what clearly was a feint? I should have attacked more aggressively. Or maybe I should have waited for a better opening... She gave an irritated tsk and threw her hands up in the air.

"It is my most fervent hope," a laughing voice rang through her pensive self-criticism. "That I have not done anything to deserve that fearsome scowl upon your face, Diana. My only chance for survival is to run. And even that would prove to be a futile attempt at self preservation since I do not have the speed of Hermes."

"Alexa!" Diana blinked in surprise, not realising that she had reached her destination. "Please forgive me. I… I did not mean to…"

Alexa waved off the apology. "I reckon you lost your match with Artemis?" She asked with a sympathetic smile. She bore a striking resemblance to her blood sister Artemis, sharing the same facial features and flame-coloured hair. But that was where their similarities ended. The two were in fact polar opposites – where Artemis was aggressive and rough around the edges when dealing with people, Alexa was kind-hearted and diplomatic.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. I could anticipate her moves but somehow I just couldn't…" Diana shook her head in frustration.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Alexa advised. She gestured to one of the seats on the porch. "Artemis has had more years of experience in battle than you. Naturally, she'll have more tricks up her sleeve. But you have a natural talent, Diana. I have no doubt you'll catch up in due time. You'll see."

"And Artemis means well," Alexa continued, earnestly trying to bolster her friend's spirits. "Truly, she does. She may be a harsh teacher but she is how she is because she cares."

"Easy for you to say," Diana plopped down unceremoniously on the seat and rested her elbows on her knees. "You're not the one who is at the losing end of her sword."

Alexa's jade-green eyes twinkled with merriment. "Been there, done that. And for the love of Athena, I pray I never have to do it again." Having been born into a largely militaristic culture, Alexa, just like Artemis, Diana and the rest of their Amazon sisters, had been trained from a young age to be proficient in both armed and unarmed combat as well as the unique Amazonian martial arts. But over time, and much to Artemis' chagrin, Alexa proved herself a hopelessly inept fighter, as she immensely preferred to thrust her head into a book than a spear into a body.

"Your talent lies somewhere else," Diana said absently, staring off into the distance. "You may not be the most skilled of warriors but your knowledge is unsurpassed."

"It may be as you say," Alexa replied modestly. "And while having knowledge is well and good, you have something even better, Diana. You have the wisdom of a goddess. It will only grow over time."

"Time," Diana sighed as she cradled her chin on her hand. "It seems that time is all that I will ever have."

"What ails you, sister?" Alexa placed a concerned hand on Diana's shoulder. "Surely, there is more to this than just losing a duel?"

"Oh, I don't know, Alexa… It's just that… It seems like…" Diana was at loss for words. "I just can't seem focus these past few months. The past few years even."

"Perhaps you are just bored," her friend offered kindly.

"All this," Diana gestured at her idyllic surroundings. "Makes me feel trapped somehow."

"Ah, but there is much beauty here," Alexa pointed out. "And serenity. Everything that we could ever want is provided here."

"Everything?" Diana asked pointedly.

"Well," Alexa hedged, blushing prettily. "Everything that we need at least."

"A gilded cage," Diana retorted crossly, blatantly ignoring the small, chastising voice that told her that she was being ungrateful to the gods for saving her and her people from the turmoil that seemed to constantly besiege the outside world.

"I'm sorry, Alexa," Diana sighed. "I should not be taking out my frustrations on you. I just... I keep getting this strange feeling..."

"Hmm?" Alexa tilted her head, curious.

"I don't know," Diana shrugged morosely. "I just have this feeling that there's something… more... something that I need to do…" Something out there, she finished silently.

"Oh!" Alexa exclaimed. "That reminds me!"

Diana looked at her close friend expectantly, temporarily forgetting about her problem.

"It's finally my turn to go out into Man's World!" Alexa informed her excitedly.

"Really?!" Diana straightened up. "Is it that time already?"

Alexa nodded eagerly. "I leave in three days."

"You must be so excited," Diana gave her a wistful smile, happy and sad all at the same time. "I envy you, sister."

Every other century or so, an Amazon scholar journeyed from the refuge of Themyscira to document how the world has fared since the time the Amazons willingly isolated themselves from the rest of humanity. The chosen sister was tasked to chronicle the different happenings that occurred since the prior visit and observe as current events unfolded. She was to go incognito, blend in with the populace and gather information and memorabilia as discreetly as possible. This was practiced in order to make sure that the Amazonian archives are kept up to date. It was risky business to be sure and the queen did not approve of it whole-heartedly. After much debate, Mnenosyne, the Chief Historian, was able to convince Queen Hippolyta of the importance of acquiring mementos and keeping records of the changes in the World of Man. The queen had prayed to the gods and goddesses for permission and surprisingly enough, their patron deities gave their approval with one added stipulation – in the interest of safety, the scholar sent out should be accompanied by a soldier.

"Who goes with you?" Diana asked.

"Mnenosyne has not told me just yet," Alexa shook her head. Her face lit up when an idea entered her head. "But wouldn't it be absolutely wonderful if it was you?"

Diana snorted at the impossibility of the notion. "Fat chance."

"You never know, Diana," Alexa argued, demonstrating that even the gentlest, most docile of Amazons bore the innate persistence and single-mindedness that distinctly marked them as a people. "It can't hurt to ask."

"Mother will never allow it," Diana replied with much conviction, shoulders drooping in disappointment.

"Was this a wise decision, Philippus?" Queen Hippolyta asked, not for the first time. She was standing on the shores of Paradise Island, along with Philippus, Antiope and Artemis, watching Diana sail away with Alexa.

"I believe so, your Highness," the gruff Captain replied decisively. "Princess Diana will never fully appreciate her training if she is not put in a situation where she can apply it."

Antiope, the queen's sister, nodded her agreement. "Diana has been restless for years, Hippolyta. Surely, you've noticed that. She needs a diversion, a sense of purpose. And besides, it really is about time that she was given a formal task to accomplish."

"But she is yet so young," a worried frown marred Hippolyta's smooth forehead.

"Young?" Antiope arched a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Antiope," the queen's frown deepened. "I dread to think of any untoward incident that could happen, what with her powers not yet fully unlocked."

"Fret not, Hippolyta," Antiope placed a placating hand on the queen's shoulder. "Powers or no, Diana is a talented warrior and she is wise despite her 'youth.' Undoubtedly, she has more to learn – all the more reason that she must be allowed to make this journey. She will be home in no time at all."

"It is not too late to change your mind, my queen," Artemis suggested with an eager grin. "I stand ever ready to go in her stead."

"Perhaps…" Hippolyta chewed her lower lip, hesitating. A few seconds later, she drew herself up to her full height, coming to a decision.

"Go, Artemis. Follow them but do not make your presence known. Intervene only in the direst of circumstances. Do you understand?"

Artemis promptly saluted with a fist to her chest. "By your command, Highness, so shall I obey."

Schwarzwald, 1151 AD

Harold Robert Bryce Wainwright, the first Earl of Gottam, was clad entirely in black. His headpiece was black. His cloak was black. His greaves, gauntlets and spaulders were black. And instead of the widely used stylized plate armor, the earl wore a stygian body armor of a rare design – it was completely inked in black and did not bear an inch of flashy trimming. Its stark angular lines clung to him in a fashion that closely mimicked his physique. The only embellishment to be found on the earl's accoutrement was a repoussè on his shield of a bat in flight. Even the coat of his powerful warhorse, Titan, was the color of pure ebony. Moreover, the destrier was decked in barding that was darker than a moonless and starless night. Together, master and beast presented a vision straight out of the most hellish of nightmares.

The earl melded with his surroundings perfectly. The early afternoon sun shone brightly up in the sky but its rays found much difficulty piercing through the thick and seemingly sinister canopy of evergreens that towered over the Black Forest. The people who settled in the surrounding areas avoided venturing into these woods, as the place was fraught with fearful whispers of witches and specters and other evil mythical beings of bygone eras – which was exactly why the earl had chosen to travel through this dense forest of conifers. He preferred to journey with as little notice as possible on his way home to England.

Home, Bryce thought. Will I ever have one?

It felt like he never did... and never would. All his life, Bryce had not known anything except the battlefield, having been born in a time of anarchy, in a time of civil war between King Stephen and Empress Maude. His earliest memory was when his parents sent him to an uncle, a knight of the realm, to embark on his own training for knighthood at the age of seven. His parents died shortly thereafter leaving him and his brother five years his junior, Lorin, virtually alone in the world. Bryce was not given much time to wallow in grief over his parents' passing for he had his training to complete. As for his brother, his uncle arranged for a neighbouring family to raise Lorin as the boy was yet too young to join the training to become a knight. As his uncle's squire, Bryce's education was geared toward learning skills related to horsemanship and wielding various weapons such as the two-handed sword, battle-axe, mace, dagger and lance. He demonstrated a natural talent in the arts of war, perfecting other associated skills such as climbing, swimming, throwing stones, javelins, archery and wrestling. Furthermore, Bryce demonstrated a remarkable predilection for a skill that was deemed unusual for a knight and more fitting for an assassin – he was unparalleled when it came to matters of stealth. It was because of this particular talent that he now bore the title of earl and a fearsome moniker that he carried until this day.

Bryce was barely eighteen and recently knighted when King Stephen was besieged by Robert of Gloucester at Wilton Castle. The king attempted to break out but his army was forced back and dispersed by a cavalry charge by Earl Robert's army. Under the cover of darkness, young Bryce boldly led a small group of knights into the castle and played a pivotal role in the monarch's escape. When they finally reached safety, King Stephen commented on how Bryce had appeared from out of nowhere and swooped down on his enemies like a giant demon bat from the bowels of hell. As a reward, the king bestowed upon him the title of Earl of Gottam, after the village from whence Bryce was born. King Stephen then laughingly dubbed him 'Lord of the Bats.'

The story of how Bryce rescued the king was repeated by every courtier to anyone who wanted to listen – and there was never a lack of a willing pair of ears. In each retelling, the storytellers could not resist the temptation of piling on terrifying details, successfully boosting the legend of the fledgling earl. What started out as a whimsical pet name soon became one that struck fear into the hearts of friends and foes alike. With each battle fought and won, Bryce's reputation evolved to that of a cold and ruthless warrior. Although he was not overly fond of the appellation, Bryce shrewdly allowed the melodramatic rumors to propagate because he found it to be an advantage – allies willingly offered aid whenever he needed it and enemies readily capitulated, preferring diplomatic negotiations to outright battles against one who was named after a horrid-looking and purportedly bloodsucking nocturnal creature, who had the propensity to strike his enemies down when they least expected it.

The best victories were those wherein not a single drop of blood was shed, Bryce thought.

Despite everything, Bryce served King Stephen faithfully over the years. Battle after battle, he unfailingly proved his loyalty to the monarch so much so that Bryce was the only noble allowed a personal army, albeit a small one. It was composed of forty elite knights who swore fealty to Bryce and Bryce alone. His personal guard was comprised of his five closest friends – the very same knights who went with him to rescue the king in the Battle of Wilton – Sir Clarence, Sir Walter, Sir Oliver, Sir Jonathan and Sir Henry.

Within just a year of acquiring his title, Bryce was able to amass enough wealth to start the construction of Wainmoore Castle in the small village of Gottam. It was to be his seat when he finally retired from war. Regrettably, Bryce's duties as one of King Stephen's champions prevented him from overseeing the construction of his demesne. Bryce was forced to relegate Lorin as steward to his estates with specific instructions regarding the design of Wainmoore Castle because the English king always had a battle for Bryce to fight. At the beginning of his reign, King Stephen had developed strained relations with the Catholic Church and as a gesture of conciliation, King Stephen sent Bryce to join the Crusades.

Now, at nine and twenty, Bryce had grown weary of a life of war and never ending violence. He was tired of the blood, the sweat, the grit, the lack of food and sleep... tired of losing men whom he considered friends, of hearing the mournful cries of hundreds of innocents... tired of death. He yearned for the day when he would be able to finally settle down in peace. If he had his way, he would never again raise his sword to kill – unless it was in defense of himself and for what was his. When he received King Stephen's summons to come home, he did not hesitate to send fifteen of his knights ahead to alert Lorin of his homecoming. After a fortnight, he left the Holy Land accompanied by his personal guard.

Perhaps it is time to settle down with a biddable wife and start going about the business of siring an heir, Bryce thought with eager anticipation for domestic life.

On the few times that he attended court, he had met the young Lady Celine, the daughter of the one the French earls. The king had hinted of a match between them to strengthen his alliances. Bryce did not think much of it then but he started to give it careful consideration when he received the king's missive.

The Lady Celine seems to be quite the demure beauty, Bryce mused idly. She is easy to talk to and she has this interesting glint of mischief in her green eyes. Perhaps we will suit well enough to wed. But if the news from his motherland were to be believed, the civil war between King Stephen and Empress Maude was far from over. He had a grim feeling that he was being called home to fight yet another battle.

One more battle, he gritted his teeth with ironclad resolve, a muscle twitching in his jaw. One final battle then I shall tell the king of my intent. I have earned this much.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crashing through the underbrush. Bryce held up a fist, signalling a halt. The soft scrape of steel against steel told him that the four knights with him had readied their weapons for any kind of danger. While adept in the use of various weaponry, each knight favoured a weapon that matched his personality. Known for his strength, Sir Clarence looked formidable with a two-handed bastard sword in his hands, capable of severing limbs – or his enemies' heads – with one powerful stroke. Sir Henry, a creatively athletic fighter, held a straight and narrow-bladed short sword in each hand that enabled him to bombard his enemies with rapid strikes and jumping aerial assaults. The ever reliable and steadfast Sir Jonathan hefted his great war hammer with a wicked spike on one end while Sir Oliver, the undisputed marksman of the team, had an arrow knocked on his bow, ready to be loosed in a blink of an eye.

Several seconds later, Sir Walter, the fifth knight of his personal guard, and the cause of the noise, sprung up into view. The lean and lithe knight was fast on his feet and as such, he was the designated scout of the group. He closed in on them with the long and easy strides of one who actually enjoyed running.

"Bryce!" Walter called out, barely breathing hard. While the rest of the world addressed Bryce as 'my lord' as befits his station, the knights of his personal guard had long ago earned the right to call him by his given name. To him, they were equals. "Come! Quickly!" the fleet-footed knight spun on his heel and led the way.

Bryce gave Clarence a sideways glance. His right hand man shrugged his impressively broad shoulders.

"See to the horses, Richard," Bryce turned to the last member of their small group. His young squire was already hastily scrambling down from his own horse. Bryce dismounted and jogged after Walter.

Clarence, Oliver, Jonathan and Henry followed suit, automatically fanning out in an attack formation behind their leader. After years of fighting together and watching each other's backs, they rarely needed spoken commands to function as a unit in any given situation. Each knight knew their role and anticipated each other's needs on instincts that bordered on clairvoyance.

They came to a small clearing ringing with the sounds of a skirmish. Bryce's eyes widened with what he saw. A band of brigands was assaulting two hapless females, one cowering in fear and the other was surprisingly holding her own, fighting like an avenging angel. The marauders easily outnumbered Bryce and his knights five to one but they dove into the fray without hesitation.

Bryce saw Clarence and Walter move to aid the red-haired woman so Bryce focused his energies on helping the black-haired one. She moved with the fluidity of one accustomed to fighting, her strikes measured, her aim true. She wore a reddish-brown tunic-style leather body armour that clung to her like second skin. The bustier and short skirt left her toned arms and legs bare.

Out of the corner of his eye, Bryce saw a bandit attack her from behind. With lightning quick reflexes, he drew a dagger from his belt and threw. The attacker fumbled to the ground as the sharp blade hit its mark.

The enraged angel whirled around and locked gazes with him. He had never seen her before – of that he was certain – but a spark of recognition shook him to his core.

I know you... But before he could analyse why she seemed so familiar, she lunged at him with her sword and screamed in a foreign tongue.

"DAIMONAS!"

Bryce lifted his shield just in time to block the potentially lethal strike. The bones on his forearm vibrated from the powerful blow. Saints preserve me! He thought in awe. She is strong!

"PIGAÍNETE PÍSO STA TARTARA ÓPOU ANÍKETE!"

Bryce sidestepped as she executed a swift thrust aimed at his chest. He sucked in his breath through his teeth when the blade caught him just below the shoulder, one of the weakest parts of his armour. Strong and fast, he amended. He could feel a telltale wetness starting to slide down his arm from the hard hit.

"Peace, woman!" Bryce backpedalled, desperately blocking and parrying her powerful strikes with his shield and sword. "I am only trying to help you!"

But she kept up the relentless assaults. While Bryce blocked strike after strike, he dimly realised that either she did not understand a word he said or his words did not register through the red haze of battle that obviously blinded her to the fact that he was not the enemy. Bryce's keen tactical mind recognised that if he wanted this fight to end, he needed to start taking the offensive instead of employing purely defensive maneuvers. But the Code of Chivalry had so deeply ingrained in him the value of courtesy and gallantry toward women that he found it difficult to countenance ever striking a member of the fairer sex.

Even if she is clearly one of the most formidable opponents I have ever faced, he thought with irony, barely dodging a swipe meant to sever his head from his neck. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was Clarence's equal in brawn and Walter's equal in speed.

Always assume that every adversary is bigger, stronger and faster than you, his uncle's stern voice reminded him. Rely on technique, timing and leverage instead of brute force. Outlast him then outwit him.

Bryce began to feign exhaustion – with the bleeding wound on his shoulder, pretense was not at all difficult. His feet began to flag, his ripostes deliberately delayed. He almost could not control a smirk when he saw her face light up with the anticipation of imminent victory.

Hers is the most expressively beautiful face I have ever seen if not for that ferocious glower, he could not help admiring. And somehow, even in the midst of their fighting, he could not shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere.

When she struck again, Bryce allowed his short sword to fall from his hand. Another strike brought his shield crashing to the ground. He clenched his jaw when he saw that she was about to backhand him. In what outwardly appeared to be a feeble attempt at blocking, he raised his arm to dampen the impact to the side of his head and spun around making it seem like the momentum was from the blow. He fell to his knees with a dull thud. Bryce swayed, bowing his head and clutched at his helmet, taking it off acting disoriented.

She stood squarely in front of him and lifted her sword overhead. With a small cry of victory, she brought it down, its sharp point aimed at the base of his spine. In an astonishing burst of speed and agility borne from years of training and experience – and perhaps with just a tad of desperation – Bryce forcefully tossed his helmet up, adequately deflecting the blade. Simultaneously, he sprung to his feet, tackling her to the ground, pinning her down with his solid body. Bryce swiftly threaded his arm under her neck, through her armpit, his enormous hand clamping down on her opposite arm, effectively cutting off the airflow to her lungs and disrupting the blood supply to her brain. He squeezed, applying a calculated amount of pressure, enough to make his chokehold decidedly more uncomfortable.

"Yield," he whispered menacingly, his face so close to hers that the tips of their noses touched.

"Nev – " she started to say when her bright blue eyes bulged in surprise. All the fight suddenly left her, jaw slackening, her full lips forming an 'O'.

"Baerius?"

A/N:

Schwarzwald - the German Black Forest (of Hansel and Gretel fame)

Daimonas – Greek for demon

Pigaínete píso sta Tartara ópou aníkete – Greek for "Go back to Tartarus where you belong." (as per Google translate lol)