AN: Hello to my friends Gingeraffealene and sandhopper!! So nice to have your comments! BTW, your comments on my previous story literally made me tear up.It's kind of a fun challenge to write in first person, but I can't wait for more with the actual characters from the show. It will take a couple of chapters to get more into that, but I swear it's coming. Chapters 5 and 6 are practically done, so expect more updates soon. Also, my favorite character shows up here. *giggles childishly*Enjoy.
CHAPTER 4: Seriously, Bandits?
A very rude reality came trickling in. Rough voices were talking, but there words didn't really reach me. I was lying on something very hard and poky, and my head was pounding hard enough to make my stomach roil and turn. I didn't quite dare move, afraid I would throw up if I did. The whole thing was extremely uncomfortable. I felt very stiff and sore, like I'd had a hard workout or something. I tried to remember what was going on, but the pounding in my head made it hard. I took deep, slow breaths to settle my stomach. My memories were all jumbled up. I remembered the screech of brakes, sudden pain, grief, running through the woods, clashing swords...none of it seemed to fit together. One thing I was sure of: I knew I was very, very angry with someone named Taliesin.
The voices began to make sense, and the attack and failed flight through the woods came back with a rush of terror. Honestly, I kind of wished I were still unconscious. "Why'd ya have to hit her? I wanted to have some fun." grumbled one man, with his mouth full. That's right, I though. Bastard pulled me off a horse, then later threw me into a tree.
"She don't need to be awake for you to have yer fun," said another, and raucous laughter followed, along with other comments I had to shut out. Why couldn't I be Wonder Woman or Lara Croft or someone other than just...me? Lying in my own cold sweat, I forced my aching brain to focus.
Keeping my eyes firmly shut, I tried to evaluate the situation. My hands were bound in front of me, and there were at least four different men's voices, only a few feet away from me. I was sure they'd taken the small knife I kept at my waist, but maybe they hadn't found the dagger I strapped to my ankle whenever I traveled? I very slowly rubbed my ankles together, terribly disappointed when I found the dagger missing. That tiny little flicker of hope all but died. Wait, since when did I carry a dagger? Was that even legal? But yes, of course I carried a dagger. It was dangerous being a woman, even with the guards my aunt had sent. AUGH! These confusing thoughts were going to drive me mad!
"I'm not waiting any more," said a voice that would haunt my nightmares, the voice of a man who had laughed and said he enjoyed killing. "I owe her for these scratches."
Well, I had exactly one plan left. Super strong psycho came over and pulled me to my feet. I looked directly into his face and screamed. And I mean, I screamed like a banshee. I'm the girl who could be heard from one end of Cedar Point to the other, whatever Cedar Point was. I must have startled the pissant holding me, because he actually jumped back and released me. I fell onto my butt and got two more good screams in before slapped me. And holy crap, did that hurt. But I didn't stop screaming until he pulled me back up and held a dagger against my throat. "Shut up, or I will gut you slowly."
I believed him. I swallowed, seeing nothing but his ugly, dirty face. Was that really going to be the last thing I ever saw? My heart began to pound, and my vision swam, but it wasn't all fear. From somewhere deep inside of me, there was also fury. My smart brain, the civilized part, was screaming at me to shut up and lower my eyes and for heaven's sake don't antagonize that man with the pointy thing held against my neck. But the more primitive part, the part that had laid hidden for my whole life, whichever life was real, pushed all of that civilization aside. I stared him right in the eyes, and with a growl in my voice that I didn't even know I could make, said, "Go ahead, you stinking coward. I would rather die than be touched one more time by a filthy worm like you." And I spit on him. I'm not proud of that moment; I'm not really sure what came over me, but there it is. You know what? I am a little bit proud of that moment.
Attacker dude's face turned a strange shade of purple, but before he could sputter his rage, he stiffened. "You heard the lady," drawled an unseen man in an Irish accent. "Let her go." With an honest-to-goodness roar, he backhanded me. Everything was rather confused after that. There was a lot of yelling and clashing of swords, but mostly I just watched feet chase each other around from my spot on the ground. My vision sort of drifted in and out of focus anyway, so I didn't feel quite up to standing up. I sort of sleepily realized that I should be a lot more interested in who won the fight, and might want to consider running, having no idea who it was that was fighting my captors. Even if the bandits lost, I might be going from the frying pan into the fire. But I just couldn't muster the energy to care much.
It might have been a few minutes or a few hours, but the sounds of clanging stopped. Boots came toward me and stopped, and someone crouched down low to look into my eyes. Hazily, I looked up to see a ridiculously handsome face creased with concern. The man pulled off his gloves and cut my hands free, then just barely touched the spot the psycho had backhanded me with one finger. I'd like to tell you I bravely told him I was fine, but really, I just blinked stupidly. A tiny bit of my confused brain thought I recognized him, but the thought was buried almost instantly in the soft mist that had taken over my thoughts. The voice that had interrupted my attacker spoke sadly. "Ah, sweetheart, what've they done to ya?"
The world was sort of gray and fuzzy, and, well, I'm afraid what I said was, "You're pretty."
He smiled a little, but still looked sad. "Let's get you to a physician. It's a good thing we heard you scream." He lifted me up – lifted me up! – from the ground and I had a fleeting thought that the guys around here were freaking strong. I mean, who does that? Isn't it like a romance novel thing? The thought of romance made me think of a beautiful castle that practically shone when it caught the sun.
"Camelot?" I whispered.
"Yes, sweetheart. You're safe now." I wanted to tell him not to call me sweetheart, but someone turned out the lights.