Thanks again to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it. I think the alert system is working again, so I promise I'll respond this time.
Okay, this chapter is a little all over the place, but it's also setting stuff up for future chapters, so bear with me...
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"'Pick up the pace,' you say! 'We must hurry,' you say!" Brome mimicked Gawain, "Well, we wouldn't be in such a rush if you didn't stop to help every helpless forest nymph named for seedy vegetation! Now it's only a matter of time before the Romans will be after us and, you know I'm not one to complain, but this trip is getting worse all the time!"
"Does he ever shut up?" murmured Melon who sat behind Gawain in his saddle, hugging to the back of his sculptured frame.
Gawain shrugged. "You learn to block it out," he replied. The knight could not help but be acutely aware of her slender arms holding tightly to his waist and her warm breath on the back of his neck as she spoke.
"---and what's worse," continued Brome, "is that you don't even listen to me! Believe me, there'll come a day when you will wish you had heeded my warnings. Of course, what do I know? I can't tell the bloody future! Oh, it always comes down to that, doesn't it? How much easier my life would be if---"
"Why were the Romans after you, anyway?" asked Gawain out of sheer curiosity.
"I might have---" Melon replied hesitantly, "---provoked them a little."
"Really?" Gawain retorted sarcastically, "I hadn't noticed."
"Well, they had no business being here," she explained in her own defense, "Traipsing through the forest like they own the place."
"They do own it," said Gawain, furrowing his brow in consternation, "This is the Roman Empire."
"Not if I have anything to do with it," she replied haughtily, "Believe me, Sir Gawain (that's your name, isn't it?), the Roman Empire won't be around forever and if everyone would just stop letting them rule the world, their fall would come much more rapidly."
"Look who thinks she can read the future," retorted a begrudging Brome under his breath.
"So stealing from a Roman cavalry will do what exactly to overthrow the Empire?" Gawain asked skeptically, still unsure of what she had hoped to accomplish.
"Well, I suppose I could have done the predictable thing and wreaked carnage on their pompous asses," she said matter-of-factly, "But, honestly, do I look all that threatening? Plus, I'm extremely anti-violence."
"Anti-violence? I think you're in the wrong century," scoffed Brome, "Besides, you little hypocrite, your parents were---"
"I believe," Melon interrupted quickly, "that the world would be a better place if conflicts were resolved in peaceful manners. The Roman's own religion teaches such a philosophy, but they fail to live up to it."
"And theft constitutes a peaceful resolution?" disputed an unconvinced Gawain.
"Stealing and killing are two very different things," she contended firmly.
"I don't know about that," shrugged Gawain, "To kill someone you have only to steal their life."
"Ah!" countered Melon, the excitement growing in her voice, "But I stole something so much better!"
"Oh really?" Gawain replied, still doubtful, "What did you take?"
"This," she said proudly, pulling out a scroll and handing it to him.
Gawain took the parchment in his hand and studied it carefully. "This is a map," he observed.
"That is a map," she confirmed.
"A map of what?" he asked.
Melon looked at him perplexedly. "Well, I don't know," she replied with a shrug, "Something."
"Oh, well that's just brilliant!" Brome cried, throwing his arms up in exasperation, "That is bloody fantastic! You put all our lives in danger for some map that probably shows where all the best monasteries are located or some such Roman Christian nonsense. Well, as much as I would love to travel the countryside to the tune of bald men chanting, I think I will skip the pilgrimage for now, thank you! Why am I always cursed with such idiotic company?"
"If the map were so insignificant," countered Melon, "Then our lives wouldn't be in such imminent peril, would they?"
"Imminent peril?" Brome exclaimed frantically, "Imminent peril? Did I say imminent peril? Please tell me we are not in imminent peril."
"That map is the entire reason they are here in the first place," explained Melon, "They're looking for something, that's for sure. I may not know what it is, but I know it will be missed. Now don't you think that's better than going on a killing spree?"
"Not if they catch us," muttered Gawain.
"Imminent peril," Brome mumbled nervously to himself, "This never would have happened if I could predict the future. I never would have gone to Britain---never would have gone on this stinking venture---"
"Do you know what your problem is?" Melon interjected, "You're too caught up in the past and, let's face it, history is always depressing. Either you have a terrible past that continues to haunt you or you have a lovely past that causes you to spend your present wishing you could have it back. You'll never find happiness by always looking backwards."
Brome stared at her with blank, unaffected eyes. "Do you know what your problem is?" he asked.
"What's that?"
"You have a very stupid name."
Melon laughed, not at all offended by his remark. "You can call me Mel if you like," she offered warmly, "Believe me, I'm not completely unaware of the unusualness of being named for a fruit."
"There are worse names," Gawain said sympathetically, "You could have been named Asparagus."
Melon giggled. "I suppose you are right," she replied, "But there is an explanation behind my name. It's a silly story, but an explanation nonetheless."
"A silly story indeed," remarked Brome, since he of course knew it already, "Sentimental and cliché."
"Well let's hear it," urged Gawain.
"Alright, but you must promise not to laugh," Melon relented, "You see, my birth came very late---at least a couple weeks later than it was supposed to. My mother---"
"The nitwit," interjected Brome.
"---said that her stomach had grown so big that it looked like she was carrying a melon under her dress. Anyways, she finally went into labor and out came her melon. I guess the name just kind of stuck."
Gawain chortled and Melon swatted him across the back of his head. "You promised you wouldn't laugh!" she chided.
"Actually he didn't promise," corrected Brome, "I would laugh myself if I wasn't already occupied with mourning for the dignity of humanity."
"I'm sorry," said Gawain, stifling himself, "It was a lovely story, really."
"Yeah, yeah," Melon replied in dismissal, "So where does the name Gawain come from?"
"It was my grandfather's," he answered.
"Not that it would mean anything to you," said Brome proudly, "but I was named for the most renowned oracle in all of Gaul. He was the one who predicted the---"
"Gawain is a good, strong name," commented Melon, "I think it would be an honor to be named for an ancestor."
"Thank you," replied Gawain.
"---so what it comes down to is that I will never live up to the man for whom I was named," Brome moaned, "I am nothing but a disappointment, a blemish on the face of all the great seers who have come before me. I will endure my lot in life, though, as I always have. There's nothing I can do about it, after all. I'm a pitiful wretch."
There was presently an awkward silence as the conversation dwindled into cessation. Brome continued his sulking and sighing as Gawain and Melon once again became keenly aware of the close proximity in which sharing the same saddle put them. Melon bit her lip anxiously, hesitant to break the silence.
"So where are you two headed, anyway?" she finally inquired, deciding on a change of subject, "I did promise to be your guide, after all."
"Sarmatia," Gawain replied.
"Sir Gawain here is going to rescue a damsel in distress," Brome explained less than enthusiastically, "and finally end his long, pathetic term of bachelorhood."
"Is that so?" Melon asked, nudging the knight playfully.
"It's just a favor for an old friend," Gawain quickly corrected, "Nothing romantic. I've never even met her."
"You'll have to be more convincing than that if you're going to pose as her fiancée," Brome warned, "I don't know much about these things, but I do know that it helps if you at least show interest in the woman. Now if I had been born a fortune teller like I was supposed to, the woman would be lining the streets. They would---"
"You're really on a quest to save a woman's life?" asked Melon, clearly impressed.
"It's really nothing," muttered Gawain, who for reasons he could not explain was not comfortable discussing his potential romantic affairs in front of this new female acquaintance, "Like I said, it's for an old friend."
"Well I'm not one to pry," said Melon with a shrug, sensing his reluctance to speak on the subject, "I've always been very private about my relationships, myself."
"There's really nothing to tell," Gawain insisted, "Although, I do agree with you about privacy. For instance, it would be none of my business if you were currently---attached to someone---"
"Oh, I'm not!" Melon jumped in, "I haven't been for awhile actually."
"Oh, me neither," replied Gawain a little too eagerly, "I mean---it's not that I couldn't be---I could. I just---"
"Haven't found the right girl yet?" prompted Melon, finishing his sentence for him.
"Yes," he replied, "Exactly."
"I know what you mean," she said, "Except with the right man of course."
"Gods have mercy on me," Brome groaned, "You two are sickening."
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The sun had almost finished setting when three travelers came to a clearing in the forest where, to the ever-exhausted Brome's relief, Gawain decided they would camp for the night. Gawain kindly offered to help Melon down from the horse, his strong hands embracing her waist and, once she was safely on the ground, remaining there a moment longer than was necessary. Their eyes met, but the two saddle companions quickly averted their glances in embarrassment.
The three travelers then separated and proceeded to search for twigs and fallen tree branches with which to build their campfire. Melon sauntered lightheartedly between the trees with a bundle of sticks in her arms when a set of slender fingers snaked around her wrist and pulled her behind a tree. Her sight came into focus to find Brome's mean eyes burning down onto her face.
"I know your secret," he hissed, "What you're not telling Gawain---about where you come from."
"Then why don't you tell him?" Melon challenged defiantly.
"I want that map," Brome snarled, "All you have to do is hand it over and I'll keep my mouth shut about---"
"What do you want with it?" she asked suspiciously, "Of what use is it to you?"
"I'm going to give it back to the Romans and avoid imminent peril," Brome snapped, "Well, sell it back to them would be more accurate. If it's as important as you say it is, I may get a hefty price for it."
"Actually, you know, it's kind of funny…" remarked Melon with an apologetic smile, "…I might have---exaggerated---the importance of the map. It's really quite worthless. Honestly."
Brome leaned in close with a menacing glare. "Then you should have no objections to relinquishing it," he countered.
Melon opened her mouth to respond, but a rustling in the brush and a low, deep growl seized her attention away from her blackmailer. The translucent yellow eyes of a wolf glowed in the darkness along with a set of sharp, ivory teeth bared as an indisputable threat. Brome stumbled backward in fright, too petrified to scream or run.
"Virginia!" cried Melon in delight, squatting down to the ground and opening her arms out to the stealthy predator. "Where have you been, sweetheart? I missed you!"
"What---in bloody hell---" Brome stammered, "---is THAT?"
The wolf, or rather, Virginia, trotted happily over to Melon who ran her fingers through its thick coat of fur. "Don't worry," she assured him, "He's perfectly harmless."
"He?" Brome repeated in confusion, "You named a male wolf Virginia?"
"Why not?" asked Melon innocently, "He doesn't know it's a girl's name, so he can't be offended."
"You are an incredibly sick person," Brome rebuked.
"What's going on here?" Gawain inquired, arriving late to the party.
"She named her male wolf Virginia," Brome replied grudgingly.
"Whoa! What the hell is that?" Gawain blurted out, suddenly noticing Melon's animal companion.
"A wolf," she answered.
"A male wolf," Brome corrected, "named Virginia."
"It has no tail," remarked Gawain.
"And he's paying for it with that feminine name," Brome added disapprovingly.
"He was born without a tail," Melon explained, "I found him when he was a young pup and raised him to only attack out of defense. He's completely tame, I promise."
"Just---" said Gawain warily, "---keep him at a distance."
"You don't like wolves?" asked Melon, a little disappointed.
"I don't like the prospect of having my flesh chewed off," he replied sternly.
"Oh, don't listen to him, Virginia," cooed Melon, wrapping her arms around the wolf's neck, "You'd never bite anyone, would you? No, of course you wouldn't."
"Right," said Gawain, still not completely convinced, "Well, it's getting dark. We should probably start building the fire."
"It's going to be a cold night, isn't it?" asked a pessimistic Brome, "I can't bear the cold. I suspect the cruel fates will make this the chilliest night yet---just to spite me!"
The three travelers, followed by a tame, tailless wolf, made their way back to the clearing where they built their fire to warm themselves on what did turn out to be the coldest night yet. Brome sat bitter and huddled up against a tree trunk, cursing the gods for their unrelenting malice. Virginia, sensing a hard heart in need of softening, crawled over to Brome and nestled his head in the sullen man's lap.
"Melooooon!" Brome screeched, "Help!"
"Aww!" Melon remarked sweetly, "He likes you!"
Brome gulped and replied weakly, "He's. Frightening. Me."
Melon observed the situation closely for a moment. "Don't worry," she said at last, "I doubt you have anything down there to lose."
Gawain snorted in amusement and tried to stifle his laughter.
"Oh you all think this is so funny, don't you?" Brome spat bitterly, "Don't worry about me! I have a man-eating monster lying on top of me, but don't bother yourself to lift a finger! I'll be dead by morning---"
Once again, no one was listening. Melon had curled up in a ball under the shelter of a tree and was already sleeping soundly. Gawain looked down at her small, shivering body and her fingers that were turning blue from the cold. He removed his cloak and draped it over her. She did not stir, but let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Gawain sat down beside her and, after a moment more of tolerating the raucous of Brome's complaining, surrendered himself to sleep.