Wind rustled through the ancient trees, bringing with them a feral bouquet of petals and timber. Garrett's shadow loomed over his fallen apprentice, eclipsing Gwenevere like a frail alabaster moon. His eyes were pensive, yet there was something akin to morbid curiosity within them too. After some quiet deliberation as to what should be done, Garrett's firm expression eased into the features of a very annoyed, very bored man.
"Well, it looks like I won't be needing this..." he sighed, producing an octagonal potion flask, and holding it up to the light. He marveled at the rich ruby luster for a few seconds, before tucking the object away within one of the concealed pockets lining his cloak.
Gwenevere grew animated at his kindness, and did some marveling of her own at the thief's unique eyes. They reminded her of a certain cat Lord Simmons' wife had owned, long ago. A persnickety and aggressive little thing, its sleek chocolate and cream face augmented by two curved, deep-set eyes: One green, the other blue. And while her master's were brown and blue, the odd juxtaposition was eerily beautiful.
"You mean...you brought that for me?" she stammered, astounded. Garrett shot her a venomous glare, that shattered the girl's fondness of him into dust.
"Tch, no! I brought it, just in case I got injured retrieving you from these savage woods," the misanthropic criminal clarified with a snort. Gwenevere puffed up her cheeks in irate disappointment.
"Well then why'd you come after me at all? If you care so little..." she demanded.
"Because Gwenevere, as your mentor, it's my duty to fix your stupid mistakes!" Garrett shouted, startling her. Then, in a low murmur, "I should drop you right now. I already spent all of Basso's payment, so what's he gonna do?"
Gwenevere's fuming expression softened and grew pale. She looked as though she might be on the verge of tears, as she gawked upward at her mentor with those innocent green eyes. The ultimatum of what this escape may have cost her, speared her heart. Without Garrett's knowledge of theft and the city surrounding them, Gwenevere's dreams of becoming a vigilante died with the very people she longed to save. Desire and reason were absent from her thoughts, as she begged the hooded rogue not to give up on her.
"Garrett, please. I can explain!" Gwenevere panicked, struggling to stand. Garrett glowered down at her.
"I decided to take the long way home after checking in with Basso, regarding some new 'opportunities'. I wasn't expecting to deal with you until this evening, Gwenevere," Garrett groused. "So, imagine my surprise when I watched you exit my tower and proceed to go skipping down the road in broad daylight."
"Um...yes. About that..." Gwenevere managed a silly, somewhat nervous little grin.
"We've already discussed this!" Garrett snapped, cutting her off. "You, don't leave the clocktower, especially during the day when everyone can see you doing it! The last thing I need, is a bunch of bluecoats barging in to search the place for vagrants."
"I-I know...I'm sorry..."
"Apologies are worthless to me," Garrett growled.
Usually, the thoughts or desires behind the actions of others disinterested the thief. But every so often, some taffer would do something so ridiculous, so profoundly stupid, that Garrett simply had to know why they'd done it. Basso, was usually the prime candidate when it came to triggering these rare interests in understanding his fellow man. But this time, it was Gwenevere.
The Pagan wood, was perilous enough. But the Maw, where only magic and chaos resided, was a place of nightmares. Volatile swamp creatures, man-eating plants, cries in the night which chilled the blood to ice. More than anything else, Garrett wanted to ask Gwenevere, why. Why had she chosen to venture willingly into a savage world where even the master thief had never gone willingly, or without good reason?
But something troubled him. How had Gwenevere-clumsy, obnoxious, naive Gwenevere-made it this far into Pagan territory without being viciously slaughtered by man or beast? So many questions he wanted to ask of her, wanted to shake out of her. But what followed, was a simple inquiry, and it came in a very annoyed, yet collected tone.
"Gwenevere. Why did you come here?"
His calm demeanor must have surprised her, because it took the girl a good few seconds of silence and staring before she attempted a response.
"I... I saw some disturbing things in the clocktower. I needed some fresh air, and a change of scenery to take my mind off it. The forest has always granted me such serenity, Garrett," she explained quietly.
"What did you see?" Garrett asked. Gwenevere shot him a bothered look.
"Garrett, do you know about the Hammerite Memorial which exists on the lowest level of the tower?" she asked in a nervous voice, her eyes shaded by her bangs.
Garrett's expression darkened, his posture stiffening at the mention of the hidden graveyard. Of course he knew about that place, but he was hoping she didn't. Although he had-and still very much did-harbor an intense hatred for the Hammerites, the thief had never intended for things to turn out so grimly.
They say that hindsight is twenty-twenty, that one can never undo the past. Time marches forward, leaving all the mistakes and missed opportunities permanent upon the fabric of a human heart. However, there is a purpose to hindsight, as there is with all things. Hindsight, gives us the power of perception. The ability, to learn from our past mistakes. And it was indeed hindsight, the heavy lament and guilt carried within his shadowy heart, which led Garrett to pursue the unthinkable: Keeper enlightenment. More specifically, an interest in future prophecies.
Artemus had told him, as Garrett sat hunched and near catatonic, Viktoria's cinnabar ashes trickling through his fingers like sand, that the Order knew all. They had predicted her demise, the loss of his eye. And they, could predict the future at hand, as well. Thus the master thief had abandoned his pride and joined forces with Keepers for the second-and final-time.
What transpired thereafter, was chaos on level with the Trickster himself. Reckless and desperate, Garrett had attempted to give these prophecies a little push, by stopping time with his own two hands. But as he fled the explosions and screams that night, the massive tower threatening to crush him as it groaned and fell, Garrett regained his senses.
Rather than certainty, his world began to unravel at the seams. A small group of Hammers lay dead and crushed, the clocktower in ruins. The Keeper Council turned on him, using his history and tendencies as a convenient scapegoat for the murder of their beloved interpreter. Upon that day, Garrett realized that control, was merely an illusion.
"Yeah. I know about it," he murmured in a benumbed voice. "It's because of me that it's down there in the first place..."
Gwenevere's face contorted into a visage of absolute heartbreak.
"You didn't..." she whispered. Something flared to life inside of her veins, melting her shock into outrage. "Garrett, how could you kill all those people?!"
Garrett sneered at her when the girl screamed in his face. Clenching his fists around her precious greensie prize, he retaliated.
"I didn't mean for it to happen like that, okay?!" memory, laced with perhaps a slight twinge of regret rattled the thief, prompting him to lower his voice. "I had no idea my actions would be so destructive..."
Gwenevere appeared more insulted than surprised. Her green eyes narrowed, as she examined the reserved moonlighter with concentrated scorn.
"You sabotaged a clocktower, and then you were shocked that your actions were destructive?!" she threw her arms out to the sides of her body in a rather dramatic display. "HELLO!?"
Garrett bristled at that.
"Look, I never intended for you to venture that far down there, Gwenevere! I locked that place up extra tight for a reason."
"You give me a pair of lockpicks, teach me how to use them, and then encourage my exploration? What did you think was gonna happen?" Gwenevere bit back, sarcasm lacing her words like poison.
"I didn't think you'd keep going after seeing that many locks!" he argued, choosing to fire back with a couple of insults all his own. "I thought seeing three difficult locks would intimidate you, signaling for you to turn back."
"If you honestly think I'd quit that easily, then you really don't know me very well at all," Gwenevere snarled. "Plus, I have been learning from the best. Maybe you shouldn't have underestimated me, Garrett!"
Her analytical retort rendered him speechless. Sometimes, Garrett honestly wondered if the girl was just playing innocent and dumb. Either that, or she was some weird kind of savant. Sunlight danced through the leaves above their heads, as afternoon began to steadily ebb into evening.
"Did you find anything else down there?" Garrett inquired, deflecting her argument. That was when he spotted Constantine's sword, dangling clumsily at her waist.
Garrett seethed at the sight, his piercing glare wrought with betrayal, and uncontainable wrath. Before Gwenevere could even attempt a response, he snatched her up by the wrist and pulled her petite frame aloft. Gwenevere yipped and gasped at the sudden, violent action. Pain and fear coursed through her system, as she was hoisted up to the thief's eye level. Her mentor sneered at her.
"You would dare steal from me?! After everything I've done for you?!" His grip tightened, and Gwenevere squealed in pain.
Instinct took root, prompting the girl to thrash and scream like a trapped animal. One of her cumbersome kicks, managed to thump Garrett hard in the groin by accident. He squeezed his eyes shut, and immediately relinquished Gwenevere's flailing form. A loud, surprised exclamation exited his throat, before he collapsed to his knees in great discomfort. She landed on her rump, panting and sobbing as she continued to glare up at him.
"It doesn't belong to you!" she argued, freeing the sword and clutching it tightly against her chest.
Garrett exhaled a loud, heated groan, his body silently quivering beneath the tall trees. As he knelt there, clutching at his throbbing genitals and holding back a bout of swearing that would make even old Basso blush, his hazy vision registered upon the startled young woman. More specifically, on her face. Tears were streaming from her eyes now, utmost candor and conviction locked behind them. Impressionable green and yellow glass baubles; gorgeous treasures that the thief wanted nothing to do with.
The maiden's accusation would have made him smirk, had Garrett not been seething with pain at that particular moment. The sword, apparently didn't belong to him. Neither did most objects Garrett held claim to. He sneered at her, before attempting to speak.
"Of course it's mine!" he grunted, trying to hide his pain from her. "I've had that sword for years now!"
"I know! I remember seeing you take it when I was just a baby!" Gwenevere shouted.
Her rebuttal, surprised him. Still wracked with much discomfort, Garrett attempted to stand.
"You're mistaken," he argued gruffly, bending upon one knee to ready himself. "I've never pilfered so much as a bauble from that guy."
Gwenevere hopped to her feet and marched over to where the thief was still recovering from her accidental blow. She glowered down at him, great distrust within her eyes.
"What guy?" she demanded.
"Who do you think?" Garrett, glared right back. "Lord Simmons."
Gwenevere, was outraged.
"No! Not Simmons. Constantine!" she corrected. "You stole this sword from Lord Constantine!"
As that forbidden name left her lips, all the color seemed to drain out of Garrett's face. Whatever composure he'd summoned since being nailed in the family jewels, dissipated forthwith. Irritation and fury, gave way to concentrated dread. The only thing the master thief had ever feared, were the nightmares of his past. And this unassuming girl standing over him, had just mentioned one of them.
Constantine, had been a fat, jolly old eccentric, possessing a face far too twisted to belong to any man. When first he'd met the maniacal nobleman, Garrett had thought him obsessed, and obviously more than a bit looney. But the aspiring young pickpocket hungered for the bigger scores, the payouts which would inevitably make him a legend. Greed, had clouded Garrett's judgement that night within the muggy confines of Constantine's boudoir, as the absinthe flowed, and Viktoria giggled quietly in the corner. Had he recognized the savagery within her that night, perhaps the thief would still yet retain both of his eyes.
Garrett suppressed a shudder, as he dug his fingernails into the soft warm moss.
"How do you know about him?" he demanded, grimacing up at her. Gwenevere's figure was blocking his light, her shadow casting a disquieting blanket of darkness and mystery over his person.
He played with the idea for a while. Perhaps, the Simmons' were old acquaintances with the, 'Constantines'. Maybe Gwenevere had visited the gruesome mad house once when she was quite young. But there was one problem with that most convenient excuse, an issue which drove holes through both his theory, and his mind. Aside from a few incompetent guards, the mansion had been unoccupied on the night of Garrett's daring commission. Chills tormented the back of his neck, as he continued to stare up at Gwenevere. How could she possibly have been there that night?
"I've said too much already," the young woman croaked, rubbing her cheek against the cracked gemstone adorning the sword's detailed hilt. "Let's just say...that I knew him very well. I guess you could say that he...took certain interests in me."
Garrett's eyes narrowed at that. Nothing this girl said ever made any sense. Why should today be any different?
"Stupid's a better look on you than crazy," he mocked, finally getting to his feet. Gwenevere faced him, giving the rogue an ugly little sneer.
"I'm not crazy OR stupid!" she snarled, stomping her foot. "I thought I proved that when I managed to pick your extra-tricky locks!"
Touché... Garrett smirked a little.
"Just give me my sword back, and we can forget today and just get out of here," he continued, reaching for the weapon. Gwenevere hugged the blade tighter against her chest, shaking her head a little in the process. But Garrett pried the sword from her grasp with little difficulty.
"Come on. We need to head back before it gets dark," he ushered, turning around.
"Huh? But why? What's the big hurry, Garrett?" Gwenevere cocked her head like a curious dog. Garrett looked over his shoulder at her.
"This is the Pagan wood, Gwenevere. And the Maw, for that matter. I'd say that more than constitutes a 'big hurry' to get the taff back to civilization."
"But this forest is so relaxing!" Gwenevere argued, spreading out her arms and acquiring a dreamy expression. She spun around a few times, before growing dizzy and collapsing back into the berry patch in a fit of cherubic laughter.
Garrett stared blankly down at her, watching as she giggled in her childish and berry-coated state. All he ever felt within this place, was trepidation. Bitterness, and a primitive unease. Like an early man, hiding and creeping amidst the dense brush in order to evade the hideous beasts who hungered for his soft, mealy flesh. He couldn't begin to fathom venturing into this jungle for such a spontaneous purpose.
"Do you have any idea what this place is?" Garrett's features darkened, a deep sense of foreboding within his voice. "Do you have any idea what sorts of dangers lurk here?"
"Umm...I think I do," she replied. The moonlighter continued as though he hadn't heard her.
"Dangerous savages, beasts beyond your wildest imaginings, Gwenevere. And trust me when I say, both would gladly tear you apart without a moment's hesitation."
"Well I dunno about that," Gwenevere beamed, rolling around in the berries. "I can imagine some pretty wild things, ya know!"
Garrett's face twisted in astonishment. Without thinking, he stormed over to the playful girl creature, and pulled her to her feet. Gwenevere's gleeful disposition faded, revealing a very surprised and concerned expression upon her face. The thief grabbed both of her shoulders and gave his clueless apprentice a harsh shake.
"This isn't a damned game, Gwenevere!" he barked. "Even a thief as skilled as myself would never be caught in Pagan territory, unless there was a reward of great significance waiting at the end. You don't go risking your life like this on mere flights of fancy!"
Gwenevere blinked, staring upward at him for a moment before starting to giggle. Garrett, was furious.
"Why the hell are you laughing?!" he demanded. The girl faced him, teeth jutting down over her bottom lip, mischief glimmering within her eyes like tiny diamonds.
"Because," she whispered, as though hundreds of prying ears now surrounded them, "I did find something of value."
Garrett's long fingers squeezed and rubbed against the surface of the peridot bauble he'd snatched from an unwitting Gwenevere's hand. Pulling the Woodsie Emerald out from his cloak, the thief held the shimmering orb up in front of her face.
"You mean this?" he inquired, in a disinterested tone. "Sure, it looks pretty. But in my professional opinion, it's just a worthless piece of junk."
"No, you're wrong! It's far more special than-"
Gwenevere's argument was shattered, as the mythical green stone was thrown to the forest floor. The mossy earth sank slightly, as the Woodsie Emerald rolled to her feet. Again, Garrett grabbed her, forcing her to look at him.
"Foolish girl! Don't you understand?!" he chastised, clenching his teeth. "You could have lost your life over this trivial Pagan garbage!"
"It's NOT garbage!" Gwenevere barked back. Garrett's expression tensed. He didn't appreciate that she was talking back to him like this.
"This, was pure folly, and it will NEVER, happen again," her teacher snarled. Gwenevere squealed as the thief took up her chin between his index finger and thumb, forcing her to stare into his bi-colored lenses. His unnatural right eye bore a deep hole into her subconscious, holding her captivated. "Is that clear?"
Still mesmerized, Gwenevere somehow managed a modicum of weak acknowledgement.
"Yes..."
The thief's hand dropped her. But unbeknownst to him, the young woman was still captured within his eyes.
"Good. Then let's go," the thief muttered.
"But," Gwenevere's words petrified the man before he could even attempt his first step. Turning back around, Garrett sneered in her direction.
"What is it now?"
"I-I just needed to say, that even if you can't see it, this item is still quite valuable to me!" she explained.
Garrett remained pensive, too miffed by her defiance to bother correcting her again. Instead, he chose to ask that one simple word again.
"Why?"
Gwenevere plucked the orb up from the verdant earth. Every voice within her heart, every sensation in her deepest chasm forbade her from speaking. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled like animal fur, and her legs began to quiver like a newborn fawn's. But against all warning, the girl creature spoke her mind. She chose to convey the truth to Garrett, because she hoped it would help him understand. For what he perceived as recklessness, was mere duty. Dangerous realms, a forsaken paradise. Gwenevere summoned a deep breath, and locked eyes with her incomparable, trusted mentor.
"Because, this stone is part of my lost heritage, Garrett! I'm half wood nymph ya know!"
At first, the thief merely stared down at her, smiling a little at her perceived madness. But something about the way her silhouette melded effortlessly against the backdrop of trees and flowers, prompted the faintest hint of intrigue to trickle down his spine. Garrett had seen madness, recognized it like an old nemesis across a crowded room. It had warped the face of a gilded prophet, driven the very foundations of a secret society to ruin. The master thief himself had even wrestled with it personally a time or two. And as he looked ever deeper into Gwenevere's vast green irises, Garrett beheld neither a trace of insanity nor deception.
If she wasn't lying, and she wasn't mad, what other choices did that leave? A disquieting chill found the back of Garrett's neck, causing him to swallow hard. This would explain her magic; her flighty and whimsical heart. Her fearless desire to return to this place. A myriad of memories and twisted thoughts played and reflected within the moonlighter's eyes, before fading away again into the deepest recesses of his subconscious. He had known at least one nymph, in what now felt like a lifetime ago. And Gwenevere, was nothing like her.
"Don't even go there with me..." he warned in a low, threatening tone. Gwenevere looked bewildered.
"But Garrett! I am!" she protested.
Garrett's brows furrowed. He'd endured just about all he could take from this girl, and her reminders of his bitter past. He grabbed Gwenevere's wrist again, ignoring her pleas and cries as he threw her back over his shoulder.
"Shut your mouth. We're going home," he groused. "And if you even try to kick me again, I'll make you regret it."
The thief subconsciously patted the hard leather blackjack at his waist.
"Alright, alright!" Gwenevere squealed, bobbing her head up and down as she dangled over Garrett's back.
The thief prowled onward in silence for a while after that, Gwenevere's light frame bobbing up and down like a ragdoll. Garrett deliberated on what the girl's punishment should be for this reckless behavior. Aside from cleaning his tower and the like, he hadn't yet instilled any real discipline. But after today, the misanthropic rogue knew he had to put the fear of the Builder into her. By whatever means necessary. And, as far as Garrett was concerned, there was only one foolproof way to do just that.
"Garrett?" Gwenevere peeped, pawing at the back of her mentor's cloak as he carried her out of the forest.
"I thought I told you to shut your mouth..." he muttered.
"Y-you did," Gwenevere blushed. "I just had something I wanted to say."
"Tough shit."
"I'm sorry I broke the rules. I'm sorry I argued, and I'm sorry I disobeyed you, Garrett," the young woman offered. Garrett just sighed.
"You're still talking, ergo, you're still disobeying me," he grumbled.
"I... I know..." she whispered. "I just wanted to make you happy, Garrett. But I keep messing it up."
The thief halted abruptly, and lowered Gwenevere to the ground. He leered into her with an agitated, yet almost bored expression.
"Read my lips, Gwenevere: I. Don't. Care," he clarified, before starting out of the forest again without her. Gwenevere scampered after him.
"I-I'm sorry about today! About accidently hurting you! I never wanted any of this to happen, I..." she hesitated, gazing down at her feet with a sorrowful, yet longing expression within her eyes. "I just wanted to make you proud..."
Again, her words halted him. Garrett turned around, giving Gwenevere a cruel, almost menacing glare.
"Yeah, about this whole, 'make-me-proud' thing?"
"Uh-huh?" she began to perk up again.
"Cut it out," he ordered. Turning around again, the thief motioned with his hand for her to follow suit. "Pick up the pace, Gwenevere. There's something I need to show you."
***
As twilight cast its rich golden colors over the City, Garrett continued his procession through the darker regions of that place. Gwenevere trailed behind, running her hands against the brick walls, and kicking little bits of debris forward as she walked. As light began to wane from the world and the torchlights buzzed to life, she began to notice that they were nowhere near Stonemarket, or the clocktower.
"Hey Garrett? Where are we going? I thought we were going home?"
"We are," he replied, before looking over his shoulder. There was a sinister glint within his remaining brown eye. "But first, you need to be punished for what happened today."
Gwenevere jerked backwards, bringing her little hand across her chest in shock.
"P-punished?" she stammered.
"That's right. Tonight, I'm going to show you what can and will happen to you, if you don't learn to survive down here."
Before Gwenevere could inquire further into this mysterious 'punishment', or why they needed to venture so deep into the worst parts of this city to carry it out, she received her answer.
Before her, occupying a dark and dismal stretch of alleyway, were dozens of disheveled individuals. Some, were missing limbs. Others were covered in filthy bandages. Some, were already long dead, flies swarming over their rotting remains. Perhaps the sight which haunted Gwenevere the most, was that of a dead child. The poor soul was curled into a fetal position around a scraggly straw doll; bones prominent, and the look of hopelessness etched into his still features. Gwenevere shuddered, her mouth agape as she took in all of this unexpected suffering. Tears flowed from her eyes, thick as blood as the survivors looked up at her. She clutched her navy cape tighter around her quivering shoulders, as she followed after Garrett. Never before had she felt such levels of remorse. Of helplessness.
"I've gone into the heart of that Maw, robbed a chasm of the dead. But out of all the horrible and disturbing places I've been to, this city is the darkest of all." The sound of Garrett's voice permeating the darkness nearly caused Gwenevere to shriek. "You say you want to be a vigilante? A hero? You're far from the first. Liberating this place, is a fool's errand."
They continued into another alleyway, the state of the homeless within far worse than the first. Some were obviously very ill, sores and puss covering substantial portions of their arms and legs like sickly burns. Others were sitting in piles of their own waste, their legs twisted behind them into unnatural positions. They looked up at Gwenevere, a harsh mixture of helplessness and envy contorting their faces as she walked by.
"What happened to them?" she gasped.
"This is what can happen when you get too careless in my world, Gwenevere," Garrett continued his rather grim lecture. "Defy the watch too many times, and they'll either kill you, or break you. Most of these people were thieves. Thieves who won't be running from the watchdogs anymore..."
Gwenevere took a moment to allow the realness of that statement to sink in. Whatever the elder treebeast believed, this city was desperately in need of salvation. It was proving to be a far more savage-and downright evil place, than the wide-eyed maiden had initially expected. Gwenevere was now crying so terribly, that the tears were beginning to obstruct her vision. A street filled with broken bodies-how could anyone be so wicked?!
"Why would your leader allow this?!" she demanded in a shrill voice, without thinking better of it. Garrett turned to her and frowned.
"Because without influence or titles, you're nothing but garbage here," the thief sneered. "Surely someone like you can understand that..."
His jab, caused the emotional creature to seethe. Tiny flames seared and danced within her eyes, as Gwenevere ground her teeth. As Garrett turned around, she raced ahead of him. He nearly tripped over the girl, as she spread her arms outward to stop him. The criminal gave her a hideous scowl, but Gwenevere shouted at him first.
"How can you be so horrid? So cold inside?!" she fumed. "There are people dying all around you, and all you can think to do is blame me for it? Why?! Because of where I came from? Because you think I'm a Simmons?!"
Weary eyes slowly turned their miasmic gazes onto the irate girl, as the infamous family name left her lips. Seeing this, Garrett abruptly covered them over with his gloved hand, and pulled her into him.
"Taffing girl!" he hissed into her ear. "You trying to get us both killed?!"
"Let GO of me!" Gwenevere wailed, trying to pry herself loose. But Garrett's grip was like being caught in a steel vice.
"No!" he snarled. "You need to learn the weight behind your words. Plenty before you have tried and failed to be this city's savior. And they all had intentions just as pure as your own."
"I never claimed to be the first!" she squirmed.
Garrett finally released her. His face was flustered, wrought with both physical and emotional exhaustion. Gwenevere panted, her hair feathered out and wild from the struggle.
"Why are you doing this? Why are you so intent on trying to stop me?!"
"Because I still don't understand why you'd want to, Gwenevere!" Garrett retaliated.
"Because! I want to help people!" she snapped. "Why is that so hard for you to understand?!"
"Because that's not the way the real world works, Gwenevere," Garrett explained. "Nothing is free, and no one is that charitable."
Gwenevere looked up at him, her furious expression melting into a deep look of pity.
"I am," she stated solemnly. "I know it may be hard for you to trust that, but all I've ever wanted to do, is help people. It's like, there's something deep within me, blazing like the sun. Pushing me onward."
Her eyes danced, lost in a place where Garrett knew he could never venture. Gwenevere, truly was a foreigner to him. A passionate heart, hailing from a land where perpetual optimism reigned, and hope could never be extinguished. Sometimes, cynical as he was, the thief wished such a place could truly exist. But in reality, however cruel, Garrett knew such innocent aspirations and ideologies would lead only to her death. Thus, it was with a certain reluctance, that he deigned to drag her further into the darkness. To expose her naive mind, to reality. A deep sigh exited his mouth, as darkness covered the land.
"Just come on..." he muttered, resuming his pace.
***
That reality, came in the form of a murmuring crowd, as they gathered around a familiar wooden structure. The City Gallows. Garrett pulled his black mask up over his mouth and nose and narrowed his eyes. Even now, the sight managed to cause a lump of black dread to well up within him. But being there, was mandatory. He'd known for weeks, via a certain heavy-set drunk, that a vigilante was to be hung that evening. Taking Gwenevere to the execution; forcing the girl to bear witness to the horrible fate awaiting her-should she fail in her goal-had initially been the furthest idea from his mind. But her recent acts of defiance and oblivious notions, had forced his hand.
Gwenevere at his side, the thief found a shadowy spot towards the very back of the group. A perfect place to both observe, and hide. The scent of flowers and sweet berries wafted up from her messy red hair, she moved in front of him. Standing on the tips of her toes, Gwenevere groaned as she struggled to get a better view.
"What's going on? Why are all these people here?" she questioned, still traumatized by what she'd seen back in the alleyways. Little did the girl creature realize, that the worst imagery, was yet to come.
The gallows themselves, were composed of weatherworn wood, ash grey and sullen. Torches blazed from two secured brackets, casting sinister shadows down upon the execution below. Two bluecoats held the accused, a burlap sack concealing his features from the public. Beside them, stood the executioner himself. The very visage of this man filled Gwenevere with dread. He was a younger man; perhaps late twenties, early thirties. Hair framed the sides of his face in a series of inky black waves. His knife-cut nose and high cheekbones gave him a rather imposing appearance, as did his challenging stance and scathing amber eyes.
"Garrett," Gwenevere tugged lightly upon her mentor's cloak.
"Huh?" Garrett responded, only half-cognizant. The brunt of his focus was still being directed unto the grim sight before him.
"Who is that man?" she inquired, pointing over the crowd towards the formidable man in black. Garrett stared down at her, almost dumbfounded.
"How could you not know him?" the thief gaped. "I know you don't get out much, but wow..."
"Can you please just tell me who he is?" the girl tapped her foot impatiently.
"That's Sheriff Bronsin Truart," Garrett groused, crossing his arms. "He's the entitled nephew of the late Sheriff Gorman Truart, ya see. The second he turned eighteen, he pulled some strings in the underworld, and got former Sheriff Mosley deposed. Said she 'stole', his uncle's job. Would have had her killed too, but she was too clever for him. Last I heard, the broad went into hiding. Hasn't been seen or heard from since."
Gwenevere nodded slowly, listening to Garrett's explanation as she watched the sheriff withdraw a small bound parchment from his jacket. Unfurling the paper, he began to speak.
"Citizens of my fair City," he began, his voice arrogant and nasally, "before you today, stands the infamous Peirce the Liberator. This criminal has been accused of numerous counts of theft, assault, and espionage. Yet he would tell you, that these actions were noble," he sheriff purred.
Gwenevere's eyes narrowed. Like the murmuring crowd before her, the gallows now held her full attention. Within the deepest glens of her complex mind, a memory fell like fruit from a twisted and forgotten tree. Gwenevere shuddered, bleating in protest as Sheriff Bronsin Truart's allegations began to mesh and collaborate with a similar and horrible experience all her own. The very words and memories which had driven her from that mansion, and down this road of justice in the first place:
"I'd wager you believe yourself quite noble in this moment, don't you?" Simmons had mocked, as the lord leered vehemently downward at his shattered pet.
Gwenevere cupped her hands up over her ears, and began to tremble, as the sheriff continued his damning speech.
"This man claims to have committed these crimes in the name of the people. A truly selfless act-if true," the sheriff grinned. "But tell me, good citizens: Since when have petty thieves ever been capable of selfless acts?"
"But monsters are incapable of being noble, Gwenevere," Simmons' torment continued. "All they know, is chaos. This is why you have failed-and why he must die."
"All these men and women know, is greed," Sheriff Bronsin Truart continued with an ugly sneer. "They yearn for gold, for power and disruption. And they will do whatever it takes to acquire thus!"
"Beware the minions of the Trickster, for they revel in chaos," Lord Simmons quoted from memory. "Seek they to undo thy works, and subvert thy thoughts."
Gwenevere shook her head harder, drowning out her captor's torture, as the sheriff tucked away his parchment and peered out over the huddled masses. A sick smirk drew up the corners of his mouth, as his lips prepared their final statement.
"They will paint their lies white in order to subdue the masses, or to sleep at night. But no goodness can be found within the hearts of these deceivers. Only in death, will their fingers cease to pry coin from the purses of hardworking folk."
Gwenevere's face grew pallid, as the horrible realization struck her. The man before her, this daring and giving vigilante. He, was about to die.
The young woman jumped when Garrett began muttering quietly to himself behind her.
"Tch, it's kinda ironic when you think about it. That man offered up his very life for the people of this city. Yet now, in his darkest hour of need, not a single person is going to come forward and help him," he commented, shaking his head. There was something akin to bitterness tangled around his words.
Gwenevere stared at Pierce the Liberator for a few tense moments, before a proclamation consisting of but three simple words flew from her tongue like a battle cry.
"Then I will!"
Before the thief realized what was happening, Gwenevere took off like a shot. Pushing her way through the crowd of eager civilians, the determined young idealist approached the gallows with purpose blazing within her eyes. Garrett sprinted after her, grabbing hold of the girl mere moments before she reached the front of the crowd. He pulled her back, scorn and distrust flooding his features in response to the concerned, prying eyes of the locals. One poisonous scowl from the master thief however, and the group hastily turned their attention back unto the execution at hand.
Garrett struggled to pull Gwenevere away from the podium, and back into the safety of shadow. The girl was shrieking by this point, lurching forward like a captive beast, as the sheriff prepared to release the trap door. When she found that escape was impossible, Gwenevere turned to her mentor, desperation and hopelessness shimmering within her celadon eyes.
"Garrett! Garrett, you have to let me save him! You have to do something!" she pleaded, mouth agape and panting. It was like trying to reason with a statue.
Garrett's face remained stoic, his bi-colored stare intense and radiant. Her earlier actions should have infuriated him. After all, she'd nearly gotten them both spotted-by the sheriff, no less! But strangely, all Garrett could feel for Gwenevere in that moment, was a benumbing sense of pity. This girl. This passionate child. She truly believed there was hope for that defamed criminal with a noose around his neck.
"Garrett!" her voice came again, jarring Garrett from his peculiar insight. "Do some-"
"-Stop it!" he ordered, grabbing at her mouth. "There is nothing you can do, Gwenevere. That man, is finished."
He ground his teeth as Gwenevere proceeded to thrash about, her fingers squeezing and digging around his leather armguard as Garrett fought to restrain her.
But she succumbed to mortified silence, still and lifeless, as the distinct sound of a wooden door creaking open permeated the musky evening air. As the rope grew taught, and Peirce the Liberator gagged and choked, Gwenevere's body fell limply into Garrett's arms. Tears filled her wide green eyes, as she watched the lifeless vigilante dangle.
***
She did not remember the thief carrying her back to the clocktower, nor could she recall the raucous sounds of satisfaction wafting up from that disgusting crowd. All Gwenevere could feel in that moment, all she could see, was a crushing reminder of how cruel the world actually was.
Garrett was pacing, his thumb and forefinger pressing against his throbbing temples. She watched him for several seconds, feeling as the blood bubbled within her veins. Emotion intercepted fury however, sending Gwenevere crumbling into a broken heap upon the wooden floor of the tower.
"Why didn't you let me save him?!" she sobbed, holding her hand to her chest. Her heart was threatening to burst, palpitating wildly with each shudder and cry. Garrett ceased his pacing, and leered down at her.
"Because you couldn't have!" he snapped. "If you'd interrupted a pubic hanging, everyone would have recognized you. Then, you would have been taken back to Simmons. And you'd just love that, wouldn't you?"
Tears flew from her eyes as Gwenevere jerked her head upright.
"It would have been worth it, if I'd saved a life!" she screeched.
Garrett just stared at her. Throughout her stay with him, Gwenevere had likened the Simmons' family estate to her own unadulterated version of hell. Yet she was willing to risk being taken back there, just in order to rescue one doomed man. A lack of understanding, was putting it mildly indeed.
"I should have expected any elements of severity or danger to be lost on you," he grumbled, staring out the window. "Why did I even bother?"
"Why didn't you help me?!" Gwenevere demanded, getting to her feet. "Maybe I couldn't have succeeded, but with your help-"
"-Yeah? And why the hell would I risk my life for some idealistic moron who threw his own away?!" Garrett interrupted with a vicious snort.
"No. Of course not. Why would you?" she hissed. "You're only about as selfish as they come..."
Garrett mulled over her attempted insult for a moment, wondering how or why she thought such a statement would irk him. Of course he was selfish-he was a thief. And the greatest one out there, at that. Sighing, he licked the corners of his mouth before attempting to reason with this stalwart dreamer.
"Gwenevere, look. You can't save the world or everyone in it, no matter who you are or how hard you try," he muttered coldly. "Some people, just can't be saved."
Gwenevere wiped away her thick tears, and proceeded to give Garrett the most disappointed, accusatory glare he'd ever seen.
"That person, could have," she whispered, her face wrought with anguish.
Before Garrett could attempt any sort of response, Gwenevere ran into the Hammerite dormitories, slamming both of the large double doors behind her. Garrett followed, banging his fist against the worn mahogany wood. A loud click rang out within the hollow room, as Gwenevere hastened to lock the doors.
"Gwenevere, honestly-"
"-Just leave me alone!" she shouted.
The idea of locks providing any sort of safeguard against his presence, was laughable. Garrett could effortlessly invade her precious sanctum, had he desired to. But leaving the girl to both her solitude and delusions, seemed a far more apt solution. Garrett could tell from that quivering voice, that she'd started crying again.
Rolling his eyes, the thief turned around and made his way up to the belvedere of the clocktower. The moonlighter reached the top, watching as a few slick black ravens took flight across the waning sunset. Garrett peered out over the world below, arms crossed and a frown deep-set against his features.
The wind howled like a ghostly apparition, welcoming the stars as they came out to play. The scent of smoke from a hundred chimneys mingled with the earthy smells of late autumn, tickling his nostrils as they swept past. Somewhere down below, a cat cried in the night. That demure, yet profound noise, was inevitably what guided the thief's thoughts back to Gwenevere.
Curiously, it wasn't her abundant insolence that had bothered him this time. Rather, the amount of passion poured into such disobedience. And while her words hadn't wounded him, her behavior had at the very least nicked the thief in places. Perhaps the worst part, had been watching her go limp in response to the hanging. As she fell listless against his arm, Garrett swore he felt her innocence shatter. Maybe it was his inexperience with such things-such women-which encompassed the entire situation, making it far more unsettling than normal. The thief truly couldn't say. But whatever the case, Gwenevere's tarnished innocence riddled him with guilt.
Worst of all, Garrett couldn't begin to understand why.