A/N: I had meant to post this only a couple of days at the most after posting Chapter 1, but what the Hell - might as well post in the last few minutes of 2011, thus clearing my back catalogue all in one year!
Given that I've said that, you would be right in assuming that this is the most recent piece of fanfiction I've written; I'm not certain when I'll update this again, since the response hasn't been quite what I was hoping it might be, but I do intend to finish it. I'm just warning the few of you who have read this that it might be awhile. In the hope of generating more user feedback, I've changed the filters from Hurt/Comfort/Fantasy to General/Romance, because whilst I always look at the complete list of fic, other people might be more selective (or, in other words, I just don't want to admit that this story has been almost a complete bust - maybe people can't get past the Rapist!Quinn bits in the Character Sketches segment).
For people who could get past the Rapist!Quinn bits in the Character Sketches segment, but still didn't really like them (bad choice of words, but I hope you know what I mean), I hope you like the twist at the end of this Chapter, which sort of makes it - not forgivable, exactly, but, well, you'll see...
The twist also explains my cryptic comment about the different story direction in my opening Author's Note of the Character Sketches. And reading that A/N back now, I realise I said that it would anyway. Still, repetition never hurt anybody. Except laboratory mice.
It's also also the reason I've removed the Fantasy tag, which I probably shouldn't've put on this in the first place.
I've said too much, but people have probably stopped paying attention now anyway.
On with the fic:
Chapter 2: Bartender's Daughter
It had been two weeks since Captain Hudson had delivered her to Fr. William Schuester of McKinley Priory, and Princess Quinn had settled in surprisingly well. It had only taken a few days for her foot injury to heal sufficiently for her to move in with the other orphans, and once there the remaining ice between herself and the others had thawed quickly; albeit due largely to the fact that she was lying through her teeth about her past and was a fairly decent actress when called upon to be such.
She had come to appreciate Mike Chang's stoicism and dry humour, his absolutely-not-girlfriend-if-Fr.-Schuester-is-anyway-near Tina Cohen-Chang's inherent sweetness, fantastic singing voice and occasional stutter, and Kurt Hummel's biting wit, ability to make hair shirts look stylish, and total sexual disinterest.
Actually, she wasn't that sold on the total sexual disinterest, because it rather threw her to not have to fend anybody off with a stick, sword, or vicious biting words. It felt odd, given that it had been a large part of her life in the castle.
She'd punched the last Lord in the face for getting too handsy. Her Father had not been happy, but she pointed out to him that had she had a blade on her, the diplomatic incident would've been somewhat worse.
Not that I actually would have killed him, just given him a really nasty scar.
Fortunately her chances of not-murdering the High King's envoys were considerably lessened now she was a nobody working on a glorified farmstead in the middle of nowhere.
Sat on her bunk, in the room she shared with Tina, waiting for the call to breakfast, she sighed.
I wish I could drive a sword through my bitchiness.
The other girl, who was on kitchen duty, knocked and popped her head around the door.
"Breakfast, Quinn."
"Thank you."
Tina went on her way, humming the opening bars of personnent hodie.
At least Fr. Schuester hasn't tried to get me to sing yet. I don't think any of us are ready for that horror. I mean, I'm a fair singer, but him? I doubt it.
Quinn again sighed, slipped her feet into her simple leather shoes, and got up. She washed her face in the bowl of water provided, and went to breakfast.
Quinn sat at the table, almost-cheerfully tucking in to her ryebread loaf and ham soup. With the addition of the soup, she assumed they would be working out in the farther fields, and be unable to return to the priory for lunch.
She didn't mind working the fields. It involved working with horses, which Quinn had always enjoyed, and the shires they had to work with were not so different from the warhorses she had been disencouraged from riding as a child (this had led to one of her earliest acts of violence, when aged six she had kicked the shins of a visiting dignitary who had made a comment about how far her legs would be able stretch in the future. Obviously, at the time she hadn't understood why it was a bad thing to say, because her Father said that having good stretchable muscles was useful in swordplay, but her Mother's frowny face had said everything she needed to know to teach the man a lesson).
Quinn was partially right. When Fr. Schuester gave everyone their tasks after breakfast was over, Mike and Tina were assigned to work in the far fields.
I wonder if they'll actually get any work done?
Herself and Kurt, however, had other duties.
"Quinn, I think you're well enough now to take the trip into town. Kurt, you can go with her, to show her the way."
Kurt clapped his hands gleefully, and gave her a big grin.
"Oh, we're going to have so much fun!"
Fr. Schuester shook his head, bemused.
"It's just a shopping trip, Kurt. Now you two go and get ready whilst I finalise what we need."
The still-overjoyed boy practically skipped to the room he shared with Mike. Quinn watched him go with a smirk and a shake of her head.
Actually, scratch that 'practically'.
She stayed behind to talk to the priest.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Yes. Frankly, it would seem more suspicious if people found out that a young blonde girl was living here that nobody had seen, and who arrived the night of the attack, so this is the lesser of two evils."
"Has word even reached here of the attack on the castle?"
Fr. Schuester appeared shocked that she would even ask.
"Of course, Quinn. It's been two weeks. The whole kingdom is in disarray. Nobody knows what really happened - how the bandits got in, why they felt brave enough to even attempt it, whether it was part of the ongoing revolution, nothing. The High King has sent an army to retake the castle; with the Abbess herself leading it."
"So I should be able to return soon?"
"With any luck, yes. But we can't risk revealing your identity yet, there are still just too many things to question about that night."
"Very well. I suppose I should inform Kurt to try and find something black to wear. My Father may not have been all that popular, but a dead King is still a dead King."
She turned to go and find Kurt, but then something Fr. Schuester said struck her, and she faced him once more.
"Wait - ongoing revolution? What revolution? There's really a revolution? I thought it was just a court joke."
She watched the priest shift gently from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable about what he was about to say.
"Your father... May have been somewhat less... 'All that popular' than you would like to admit to yourself. There had been a concerted effort in this area to raise an army against him, with the possible further aim of dethroning the High King himself, or the Abbess. You must know they are not looked favourably on by the peasantry."
"Well, they're responsible for most of the taxes, they wouldn't be."
Quinn shook her head, exasperated.
"This is fantastic, though. Why would Hudson bring me here? Straight into the Lion's mouth?"
"What better place to hide you?"
"There is that, I suppose. But just how serious is this rebellion? Do you think they were behind the attack?"
Fr. Schuester reflected on this.
"No, actually, I don't think they were. So far it's mostly just been noise from malcontents. From what I understand, they wouldn't have the resources to attempt such an action."
"Huh. You made them sound like some enormous band out baying for my blood."
She shook her head.
"Well, with any luck the Abbess and her army will route out these people, such as they are. I understand the hatred of taxes, and the perceived differences between rich and poor, but outright revolution seems extreme. My Father would never let things get that bad. And I'll have one less group of people to worry about."
Quinn walked away, leaving Fr. Schuester's uneasy smile changed into a grimace.
By the time Quinn had got ready, Kurt had finished hooking up the horses to the cart and was sat, reins in hand, waiting for her. She made a mental note to insist on unhooking them by herself, and hopped into the seat next to him. They set off.
"How far is it to town?"
"About an hour, only. It's not as interesting as the city, of course, but it's not as busy, either."
His chipper mood fell slightly.
"Nor as cosmopolitan."
Quinn turned her head to look at him, but before she could ask him what else he meant by the statement, he gave her a bittersweet smile.
"It's nothing, it doesn't matter. And besides, it's not like I know first hand, is it? But my Mother was given to waxing lyrical."
Quinn nodded, and sat back.
She enjoyed the scenery, and the silence, as the cart wound its way along the road. The Kingdom of Lima, as with the majority of the western parts of the Grand and Exalted Kingdoms of Ohio, was mostly given over to arable land, and the acres and acres of corn shimmered wonderfully in the early morning light.
Grand and Exalted Kingdoms of Ohio. The High King deserves a revolution just for that.
Was my Father really that bad?
Before she could ponder further, Kurt addressed her.
"What did your parents do?"
Quinn continued staring out over the fields, trying to work out a good lie, and cursing herself for not thinking of one earlier. Kurt took her silence for reticence.
"I'm sorry, I -"
"My Father was a lawyer. My Mother just looked after our home. We were nothing special."
"Oh. Still, you must have had wonderful dresses. A lawyer's family must surely look their best."
"Yes. Yes, we did."
Quinn shut her eyes, trying to keep out the thought that the cornfields now just reminded her of her Mother's finest gold thread coat.
"If you don't mind, Kurt, can we not talk about the past?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
She held up a hand to stop his apology.
"I know. It's fine. It's just... I've never been that good with my emotions anyway, tending to bottle them up inside, and I have no particular wish to let them out right now. That's all."
"I understand; Mike thinks you're still in shock."
Quinn grimaced.
"If I am I've been in shock since I was a child."
Kurt didn't know how to respond to that, so he just gave her another bittersweet smile and put a hand on her shoulder. To his surprise as well as her own, Quinn raised a hand to his and squeezed it, before returning his smile.
"Thank you. I suppose it's good, being around people who've been through similar things."
They settled back, and Kurt decided to take Quinn's mind off of things by giving her the reins. Other than idle comments about the weather and the local wildlife, they spoke little the rest of the way into town, each lost in thoughts of loved ones.
At the outskirts of town, Kurt retook the reins. He took them straight down the far end of the small, almost resolutely linear, township of Lima, giving Quinn a good view of the place. They passed a blacksmith, a dressmaker, butcher, joiner, apothecary, church, grocer, two general goods stores and three inns, one at either end of the main road and one in the middle, acting as a coaching inn and stables. What side streets Quinn could see were where the dwellings of the middle classes lay. She assumed there were poorer areas hidden from view, although even those houses she could see were hardly dripped in gold.
Kurt pulled up to the final tavern, named The Golden Star, and the two of them dismounted the cart into the soft mud of the street. Quinn looked up at the slightly dishevelled building. She arched an eyebrow at Kurt.
"Why here?"
"They provide our ale."
Quinn rolled her eyes.
"And obviously that's the most important thing to buy."
"We are downstream from the city. Our water is basically suitable only for washing our clothes. Wait - you haven't been drinking it, have you?"
"I may have taken a sip out of a facebowl, yes."
"Oh, that's alright then. That would've been boiled first. But now you know why we have ale or mead with all our meals."
Quinn shrugged.
"Okay. Where do we go to load up?"
Kurt held up a finger.
"First things first. Let's go and look in the dressmaker's."
He clapped his hands together in excitement. Quinn arched an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Why? To gaze at the latest fashions, of course!"
Kurt tilted his head to the side, reconsidering his statement.
"Well, the latest fashions to have worked their way this far down the societal food chain."
"You really think they'll have new stock with what's been happening in the city?"
"Not really, no. I just like to touch the fabrics. And it's not like we don't have time. Fr. Schuester won't expect us to come back until the afternoon at the earliest. He always gives us a lot of leeway due to not letting us out very much. Or did you not notice how long Mike and Tina took doing this errand last week?"
"Yes, but I thought that was just because they spend as much time as possible having s-"
"La-la-la-la-la-la!"
Did he really just stick his fingers in his ears? Yes. Yes he did.
Quinn sighed.
"Fine, let's just go and touch some cloth."
She sniggered at her base humour. Kurt was nonplussed.
"I don't get it."
The interior of Pillsbury & Daughter was spotlessly clean. So spotlessly clean it was the first thing anybody new to enter the shop ever noticed. Quinn was no exception.
"Does the owner have bad lungs?"
"No, she's just... ...Well, you'll see. If you touch anything."
Whilst no follower of fashions, she still recognised that in fact some of the shop's merchandise was quite up to date. A lot of it wasn't.
Is that knitwear with some sort of deer on it? Who would wear that?
She had just started stroking a plain white pique shirt, remembering her last swordfighting lesson, with Kurt almost drooling over a bright yellow lady's coat, when the shop owner noticed them, having been busy with another customer. The ginger-haired lady smiled - somewhat manically, in Quinn's opinion - upon seeing Kurt.
"Kurt! I haven't seen you in some time! Will, that is, Fr. Schuester, should really let you kids out more."
Quinn arched an eyebrow at her apparent familiarity with Fr. Schuester. Kurt was obviously used to it, because he didn't even bat an eyelid. He also didn't react when she got out a small cloth and began carefully wiping where the previous customer had been leaning near the till. Quinn's eyebrow, on the other hand, found it could go an inch higher.
"Well, the priory is fairly self-sustaining, as you know. It's just unfortunate that it's been a bad season for our vegetables. Hence the trip in today."
The shop owner's face morphed into an almost hilariously worried expression.
"Oh no, that's terrible. Is there anything I can do?"
"No, I don't think so. We just have to get some cabbages and leeks from Beiste's, and some more barrels from the Star. And of course I just had to come in and have a look around!"
Quinn's eyebrow valiantly attempted to go even higher at Kurt's sheer exuberance, but she managed to reign it back in. She had returned her face to stoic indifference by the time the ginger woman looked over to her.
"And who is your new friend?"
Kurt spun on the spot, eyes wide, having clearly forgotten all about Quinn.
"Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners? Quinn, this is Emma Pillsbury, the daughter of Pillsbury & Daughter..."
You don't say.
"...And Miss Pillsbury, this is Quinn Pierce, she came to stay with us only two weeks ago. This is her first trip into town, but she's from the capital, so I'm sure even your fabulous suits and dresses are a bit provincial for her taste."
Quinn narrowed her eyes.
"They're fine, Kurt. I told you, fashion isn't anything I've really paid attention to."
She turned to the other woman, ready to hold out a hand to shake, but something about the almost terrified look that was given to said hand stopped her. She nodded instead.
"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Pillsbury."
The wave of relief off of the redhead was palpable.
"It's very nice to meet you too, Quinn. Please call me Emma, though. I've asked Kurt to a million times, but he just won't."
Kurt addressed her.
"Fr. Schuester lays down very specific instructions on how we should address our elders and betters, Miss Pillsbury."
"Well, maybe it's for the best then. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."
She had a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes, which Quinn found somewhat off-putting.
Really? For a priest?
Then Miss Pillsbury's face returned to its apparently natural state of intense unease.
"Wait, you're from the city? Isn't it terrible, what's happened? The King dead, Princess Quinn missing, I just hope the Abbess can deal with these horrible revolutionaries so the poor girl can come out of hiding."
Quinn had frozen halfway through her sentence, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Miss Pillsbury just gave her a compassionate look.
"Is that why you're at the priory? Were your parents caught up in those horrible, horrible events?"
Quinn just nodded, feigning close-to-tears in the hope that it would put Miss Pillsbury off of probing deeper. It worked.
"Oh you poor thing."
Quinn wiped at her eyes, and turned to Kurt, who had apparently also been taken in.
"If you don't mind, I'm just going to take the air outside."
The other two simply nodded, and she left them to their gossip.
She elected to not really go far, simply leaning against frame of the shop door to engage in some people watching.
She watched traders setting out goods, shoppers perusing wares, a couple arguing in front of the coaching inn.
She watched a dark-skinned girl move through what passed for the crowd. She had a hat pulled low down, so Quinn couldn't see her face properly, but she thought her jaw looked familiar.
In her mind's eye, she saw a tear fall down a cheek, and drip off a similar jaw. She shook her head.
No, it can't be. It would be too much of a coincidence.
She continued watching the girl as she bumped into the man arguing with his wife, observing her pocket the man's wallet even as she apologised to him.
She saw a Guardsman, a large man who looked like he could either be extremely mean or extremely jovial depending on the situation, sigh and start to move towards the girl, who hadn't seen him.
She leaned back, straightening herself against the doorway, ready to watch the show about to unfurl-
-When Kurt walked out of the shop, passing straight in front of her, and causing her to lose sight of the other girl.
"Shit. Well, thank you very much, Kurt."
Kurt's face morphed itself into its now traditional nonplussed look.
"I'm sorry?"
"Oh, it's nothing, that Guardsman over there was about to arrest a pickpocket, but now I missed where she went, and he looks like he doesn't know either."
Kurt looked over at the Guardsman.
"Well, I'm sure Karofsky will get his man eventually. He usually does."
"It was a girl."
"It was a figure of speech."
"Right."
Kurt shrugged.
"Well, we'd better get on with the task at hand, so - oh, wait, come and look at this!"
He pulled her just back into the shop and nodded in the direction of the shirt Quinn had been fondling. Emma had put on a pair of delicate kid gloves and was removing the shirt from the mannequin. She carefully folded it and laid it on the counter before removing a shirt of the exact same type from the shelves and putting it on the mannequin instead. She then took the old shirt into the rear of the store. Quinn stared open mouthed at the scene, and Kurt giggled.
"I know, right? Come on, as I said, we'd better get to it."
Quinn nodded, still looking towards the back of the shop. A thought appeared at the back of her head.
"OCD."
"What was that? You shouldn't whisper in polite, if gossipy, company. Especially if gossipy."
"It's nothing."
Kurt regarded her for a second, then shrugged.
"Well, whatever you said, like I said, and for the third time, we'd-"
"-Better get to it, yes. Let's go, then."
Kurt huffed, and walked off towards the general goods merchant he had mentioned, Beiste's. Quinn turned to follow him, but noticed that she was standing near the awful woolen sweater with a reindeer on it. She could almost reach out and touch it...
"Come on, Quinn!"
...Until Kurt yanked her out of the shop. She quirked an eyebrow at him in annoyance, but he ignored it, and continued walking with her arm in his hand toward the other shop.
"You know you can let go at any time."
"Hmm? Oh, sorry."
He did so. They approached Beiste's, which was next to the grocer, and as they were about to enter there was a commotion in that shop and the dark-skinned girl ran out, a half-eaten apple in hand, and barrelled straight into Quinn, sending them both into the dirt whilst Kurt looked on, aghast. As the two of them struggled to get up out of the mud, the Guardsman - Karofsky, Quinn recalled - came out of the grocer and pounced onto the unnamed girl, tying her hands together.
"You've really done it this time, Lopez."
Quinn's head snapped round to stare at the other girl, who's hat had now come off, revealing angry latina features that she hadn't seen in over a year.
No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, oh fuck no, oh Holy Fucking God No, I can't deal with this, no, no, no, no, no...
"Get the fuck off me, you fat sack of crap."
Kurt helped Quinn up as Karofsky dragged Santana Lopez Santana Fucking Lopez it's really Her oh please No off the ground.
"Third time this month, Lopez, it'll be hard labour for you."
"Oh joy," said Kurt.
Quinn gripped Kurt's arms hard, her knuckles going white, and buried her face in his neck, hiding it from view. Something vaguely warm and slimy hit the back of her neck. Santana had spat on her.
"Nice going, blondie."
Even without being able to see her, the sheer venom would've impressed Quinn if she'd been in her right mind. Santana had always had a way with insults, even when she wasn't using the worst language imaginable, it still felt like she was, and it was obviously a skill she hadn't lost the mastery of. Except this time, it wasn't met with a peel of agreeing giggles from the blonde girl, as it would've been before that night, but a very audible crack on the back of the head from the Guardsman.
"Enough, Lopez."
He turned his attention to Quinn and Kurt.
"Are you alright Miss?"
Knowing her voice would betray her, Quinn just nodded, face still buried against Kurt.
"Well, okay then. Hope the rest of your day is better. Hummel."
She assumed the Guardsman had nodded at Kurt, because he gave a quick nod in return.
"Karofsky."
She remained pressed against Kurt until she could hear that the man and his prisoner were a fair distance away, then she looked up, searching for them. Karofsky was dragging Santana towards what Quinn presumed to be the gaol, although it looked like most of the fight had gone out of the latin girl, as she wasn't exactly struggling.
She could feel Kurt observing her.
"What?"
"Well, now I'm certain you were just feigning your emotions in Miss Pillsbury's shop."
She glared at Kurt, but he remained sympathetic.
"Oh honey, you're not a good enough actress to fool a drama queen of my standing."
She released him from her death grip and stepped back, rubbing her arms.
"Kurt..."
He reached out patted her on the hand.
"It's alright, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to."
"No, I was just going to say-"
"Yes?"
"-Never call me 'honey' again."
And just like that, she reclaimed her stoicism, wiping her face of all emotion. Kurt just gave her a quick bittersweet smile, and nodded.
"Okay."
He went into Beiste's. Quinn again stared after Santana, whom Karofsky had successfully dragged to the gaol. As he forced her inside, Quinn shuddered, and followed Kurt into the store, subconsciously muttering under her breath.
"Santana fucking Lopez."
Quinn finished loading the boxes from Beiste's onto the cart. That shop had also transpired to have a woman running it, Shannon, and she had been quite jovial, even if Quinn had got the impression she would've rather been working at the smithy two doors down. She had certainly been built like Quinn's stereotyped idea of a blacksmith.
In the end they hadn't needed much; just some boxes of seed to replace damaged stock, some fork handles (which had almost lead to an hilarious misunderstanding thanks to Kurt, but she had managed to avert it), and some replacement tableware. Quinn had briefly suspected that the trip was simply a ruse on Fr. Schuester's part to show her off in town, until she remembered that they did need the beer.
And if it had been a ruse, wouldn't it've gone spectacularly well if Santana had noticed who I was?
Shannon let them borrow a 'barrow to take the goods back to their cart, and Quinn had done that whilst Kurt picked up a pallet of tomatoes from the grocer, the Priory's having been affected by blight.
Kurt placed the pallet on top of the boxes, wiped his brow, and turned to her.
"Okay. You take the wheelbarrow back to Miss Beiste, and I'll go talk to Leroy and Hiram."
"Who?"
"The Berrys. They own The Golden Star."
"I was beginning to think you only ever called adults by their surnames."
"They've been very good to me, helping me through some trying times."
"Oh. Your Mother's death?"
"Umm, yes, but other things as well. And their daughter Rachel has always been a good friend to me. Well, mostly. When it hasn't conflicted too drastically with her own interests. And even then she sometimes comes around."
"Sounds like a wonderful girl."
"She can be, actually. She also has one of the best singing voices I've ever heard. And I listen to myself sing a lot. In fact, I keep asking Fr. Schuester to let us come here at night when she sings to the crowd, but of course he worries about the influence bawdy songs would have on his sweet, innocent young charges. Not to mention her other line of work..."
His last sentence was spoken mainly under his breath, and whilst it did pique her interest, Quinn chose to ignore it.
"Well, I certainly can't wait to meet her after that glowing recom-"
Something Kurt had said suddenly impacted her conscious thought processes.
"Wait, their daughter? As in, Leroy and Hiram's?"
He shuffled from foot to foot.
"Yes... That's not going to be an issue for you, is it?"
"No, no. I'm almost certain one of my Mother's closest friends was actually her lover, so, no."
"Hmm. I don't quite see how that correlates, but nice to know, I suppose."
"Doesn't Fr. Schuester have a problem with it, though?"
"No, fortunately McKinley is so insignificant a town that even though he's allied to the Abbess, he's able to be quite progressive."
"Right. I guess that explains why he hasn't sent Tina or Mike to a different orphanage."
Kurt giggled at that.
"No, he's just that oblivious."
Quinn let out a quiet laugh of her own.
"Now that is nice to know."
She got another giggle in response, and a nod.
"True, true."
Quinn grinned, then, remembering the wheelbarrow, she sighed, and stretched.
"Well, as you said, I'd better be taking this back to Beiste's."
"And then I can introduce you to the Berrys."
"Yes."
She started to push the wheelbarrow back to its home, but after only a few feet she stopped and around to address Kurt, who hadn't begun to move off yet.
"Kurt... Is that what they helped you with?"
The boy seemed slightly taken aback, but then gave her an almost infinitesimal nod.
"Yes."
She nodded back.
"Okay."
She resumed her pushing, and he let her get another few feet before piping up himself.
"They could help you, too, if you need it."
Quinn's head shot round so fast she felt she could have given herself whiplash, but she said nothing.
"You have a tendency to stare at Tina's behind. Don't worry, she hasn't noticed. And neither has Mike."
She stared at him a little longer, then went back to pushing the 'barrow. When he piped up again, she ignored him, continuing on her way.
"You'll really like Rachel."
Rachel, it transpired, was nowhere to be found when Quinn met the Berrys. Kurt introduced her to a short Jewish man named Leroy and a tall Black man named Hiram. She couldn't help thinking that maybe the names should've been the other way around. Or maybe she'd just got the wrong end of the stick; she decided to ask Kurt at a later date.
They bought eight barrels of ale, and with Kurt and the Berrys helping her, they loaded the cart in no time. Afterwards, Kurt stated he had business to discuss with the two men, and went inside with them. Hiram brought out a pint for Quinn, then went back inside.
Well, they seem nice enough.
It was as she was just finishing off the pint of ale that she heard it. A soft melodious sound just reaching her ears on the wind, it was like nothing she'd heard before.
Not even the best of the court singers sounds like that.
She put her glass down by the cart and set off in search of the voice.
After investigating the outside of the main building, not wanting to go inside in case she disturbed Kurt and the Berrys, she realised that it was coming from the rear of the inn, from one of the outbuildings situated around a small courtyard.
Investigating further, she found the voice to be emanating from a stable, the main door of which was slightly ajar. She approached the door carefully, so as not to spook the mystery singer.
If this is Rachel Berry, you have seriously undersold her, Kurt.
She popped her head gingerly around the door, trying to cause as little shadow as possible, and was met with a truly breathtaking sight, in both the best and most horrible of fashions.
Her first thought:
Legs.
Just:
Legs.
Her second thought:
Dat ass.
Which was followed very quickly by her third thought:
I am seriously going to throw the fuck up.
This was because Rachel Berry, if it was she, was bent forwards over a barrel, her obviously already very short skirt hiked up around her hips, having what appeared to be anal sex with a fairly unpleasant looking redheaded boy. She had her eyes closed, and it appeared almost like she was singing to herself.
Fourth thought:
God, she's beautiful.
Fifth:
Maybe it's a distraction technique.
"Hey, here's a thought: Why don't you just shut up and let me listen to the sound of my balls hitting your ass? I'm not paying you to sing."
Rachel huffed, but became quiet. Quinn balled her hands into fists, but managed to refrain from marching over and lamping him one.
Sixth thought:
Paying her?
Before Quinn could easily reach a seventh, Rachel turned her head towards the door and opened her eyes, instantly locking gazes with her, providing her with one.
Oh, wow.
The brunette's deep chocolate eyes widened slightly, but she gave no indication to the boy behind her that they were being watched. Despite her disgust at the scene, Quinn found that she couldn't break the connection. She could feel the other girl getting lost in her gaze, and wondered, hoped even, if she was using it instead of singing as her distraction.
The boy gathered pace, and Rachel grimaced. The particular sexual act was not one Quinn had experienced, and the look on the other girl's face was not selling it to her. Of course, even if she had had the opportunity, she couldn't see herself as the one receiving. The boy finished, and relief flooded into Rachel's features, her eyes closing involuntarily as he pulled out. Quinn couldn't help but look at the boy's flacid member, and was relieved to see that he was wearing a thin leather condom.
At least I hope he is, because if that's his actual thing, he's got more problems than simply being as ugly as all sin and needing to pay for sex.
Her supposition was confirmed when he removed it tossed it down near a bucket of soapy water with a sponge in it. He smirked.
"And that's why they call me 'The Stick'."
Quinn had to turn herself away from the door way and lean against a wall to stop herself from bursting out laughing.
Does he actually think she enjoyed that?
"Y'know," she heard him continue, "Those things are awfully messy. I think you should clean me off."
"You haven't paid for that."
"It should be included in the price."
"Well it isn't. Now if you had the extra fifty pieces, I would be glad to service you with oral sex, but I don't believe you do, so please leave so I can get cleaned up myself."
"Nah, I think you'll be doing it anyway."
"Why would I - hey! Get off!"
Quinn sobered instantly, scanning the yard for a weapon. Bingo: pitchfork. She ran and grabbed it, then burst through the stable doorway to see 'The Stick' trying to force Rachel onto her knees. She was putting up an impressive fight, but a losing one. Quinn could see that the boy was excited by the fight, so her plan of attack became obvious. She spun, hitting him square in the chest with the pole of the pitchfork, separating him from his target, then spun again with an upwards motion to bring down her shaft straight onto his. His scream was deafening, and after it faded she could hear people come running.
It was Kurt and the Guardsman, Karofsky, who demanded answers.
"What happened here?"
'The Stick' looked up from a foetal position on the floor, and pointed at Quinn.
"She attacked me! With a fucking quaterstaff!"
"It's a pitchfork, you moron," she turned to Karofsky, "He should feel lucky I didn't use the pointy end, he was trying to rape this girl."
"You can't rape a whore!"
Rachel, previously quiet from her experience, now got angry.
"Actually, you can, if you try to obtain services that you did not pay for."
Karofsky nodded in agreement.
"Sounds good to me. Get up, Rick, you're coming home to a nice cold cell today."
"Fuck you, Karofsky! Why aren't you arresting either of them?"
"Because Rachel's Rachel, Miss...?"
He looked questioningly at Quinn.
"Pierce."
"Miss Pierce here was just performing a public service, and you're an asshole."
He moved over and grabbed Rick's arm, dragging him off without even bothering to let him put his cock away. Quinn looked at Kurt.
"He does a lot of dragging."
"You have no idea."
He came in and stood with Rachel, rubbing her soothingly on the shoulder.
"How are you?"
"I'll be fine in a moment, you know me."
Quinn moved to stand at her other side. Rachel turned to her and smiled.
"Thank you for your swift action. You must be the new orphan Kurt told me about on his last visit. Rachel Berry."
She held out a hand for Quinn to shake. Without thinking, Quinn took it, but in true chivalrous fashion, brought it to her lips and kissed it.
Her Royal Highness Princess Lucy Quinn Fabray.
"Quinn Pierce. And yes, I'm just here shopping with Kurt for the first time."
"Always an experience."
Kurt glared at Rachel, then exaggerated a nod of agreement. He sighed.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, Kurt."
"Good. I'd better go reassure Leroy and Hiram."
"That would be a very good idea, yes."
He turned to Quinn.
"We should go, after. Don't be too long."
She nodded.
"Okay."
He left. Watching him go, she felt Rachel move away from her. She turned to see what she was doing, and immediately reddened in the face before quickly turning away again. The other girl had crouched over the soapy bucket, and was cleaning herself. Quinn heard her straighten up, and once again turned to face her, only to deepen her blush because Rachel chose that moment to bend over away from Quinn to pick up the condom.
At least now I don't have to picture those legs with some horrid Ginger kid attached to them. And God, she's tiny! How did she wind up with legs like that?
Rachel washed the artifact carefully in the bucket before going over to a saddlebag, taking out a bottle of oil and rubbing some of the contents into the leather, then replacing it. She reached into a pocket on her skirt and took out a thin case, placing the condom inside and then returned it to the pocket.
She regarded Quinn's now quizzical expression.
"If I don't oil it after washing, it'll go dry and hard, and neither my clients nor I would wish for that."
"Makes sense."
"If you're wondering - as I suspect you are, I certainly would be - why a pretty young woman who still lives at home with two doting parents who run a very popular inn would ever stoop to prostitution, I can assure you it is a necessary financial endeavour. My Fathers's relationship may well be legal, but the Abbess her church are dead set against such things, and so they tax us heavily. Far, far above the normal rate."
Quinn just nodded, she vaguely recalled her Father arguing with her Mother over those very laws, but her Father refused to go against the Abbess and risk the wrath of the High King. Rachel smiled at her once again, and Quinn returned it.
She really is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
"Well, thank you for assistance with Rick."
Quinn tapped the pitchfork against the ground.
"That's why they call me 'The Stick'."
Rachel giggled, and it was the second most beautiful sound Quinn had ever heard.
"Really though, thank you. You didn't have to do anything but you did. That deserves a reward..."
Quinn's eyebrow shot up, instantly reaching it's upper limit. Rachel smiled again, obviously finding it cute.
"...We don't have time right now, with you having to leave and me needing to talk to my Dads, but the next time you're in, I will grant you one occasion of the sexual act of your choice for free."
Quinn's eyes went wide, and dark, having not expected that at all. She immediately tried to protest.
"No, I-"
"No, Miss Pierce-"
"Quinn. Please, Miss Berry-"
"Rachel. No, Quinn, I insist. And try to tell me that you don't want to take me up on my offer, because you're really quite obvious. And Fr. Schue would never give you enough spending money to buy an act, so really, you absolutely must accept. Also, it would nice for me to have sex with someone that I actually find attractive for once."
All Quinn could do was open a close her mouth like a fish.
"I shall take that as acceptance. And you can put the pitchfork down now, I think I hear Kurt calling you."
Quinn listened, and sure enough, the boy's voice could be heard calling her name. She dropped the pitchfork and started across the yard, accompanied by Rachel. Halfway over, she tiny girl stopped her.
"Here is where we part for today, Quinn. Despite the circumstances, it really was a pleasure to meet you."
"You too, Rachel."
Rachel stuck her hand out again, but this time when Quinn accepted it, Rachel brought it to her own mouth and kissed Quinn's knuckles. Quinn felt her stomach flutter.
I wonder if Rachel felt that when I kissed her hand.
"Quinn."
"Rachel."
She watched Rachel bounce off towards the main inn building, only to stop when she reached the back door and turn around.
"And Quinn, when you next come around, don't try and get out of it."
She trailed her hand up her thigh and under her skirt, before removing it and licking her fingers.
"For some reason, I just don't like feeling like I owe you, okay?"
Quinn just nodded, once again dumbfounded by the tiny brunette and her ridiculously long legs, who smiled the sweetest smile at her as she disappeared inside the building, leaving Quinn to just stand there until the sound of Kurt calling her once again goaded her to action.
Quinn had a lot of time to process her thoughts on the ride back with Kurt.
By the time they got back to the priory she was elated at the day's events, with only a nagging worry about Santana eating away at the back of her mind.
She cheerfully helped Kurt unload the cart and put everything away, and then she cheerfully started to prepare some late lunch for the two of them. She smiled to herself as she cut some carrots.
Rachel Berry.
Of course, moods can change quickly. And elation cannot last.
Her elation lasted until Fr. Schuester pulled her aside and asked her to follow him to his office. She apologised to Kurt, who gave her sympathetic shrug, and did as she was asked. Once in the office, Fr. Schuester motioned for her to sit down, and she did so. The look on his face was not encouraging.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news, Quinn."
"How could any news possibly make things worse?"
The priest winced.
I'm going to regret saying that, aren't I?
"Apparently things have been moving faster than I suspected. The Abbess and the High King's army have already moved against the force occupying the castle."
Quinn was incredulous.
"They can't possibly have lost."
"They didn't."
"So what's wrong? Why can't I go home?"
"The Abbess has declared... That the bandits, or revolutionaries, or whatever they were, must have had inside help in storming the castle..."
"Obviously. Probably some disaffected guard or servant."
"Her problem is... You fled."
Quinn failed to see where he was going this.
"Of course I fled! Did she expect to die by my Father's side?"
"I think she expected you to be captured. Maybe so that you would be forced to wed whomever declared himself King, I don't know."
He paused, and sighed. Quinn started to feel very, very, worried.
"She can't possibly think..."
She trailed off. Fr. Schuester nodded, and gripped her shoulder to try and impart some comfort. Quinn suddenly felt overwhelmed, she could barely process her thoughts, and his final statement destroyed her.
"She believes you arranged your Father's death, Quinn. She has declared herself Protector of the Kingdom of Lima, and she has declared you outlaw."
Quinn was near catatonic for the rest of the day, eventually going to bed early. She did so apprehensively, thinking that she would probably dream of that night in the castle, or of reprehensible actions with Santana, but it turned out her subconscious had other ideas.
Short brunette ideas.
Short brunette ideas with long legs and a perfect rear end.
Ideas that had promised her sex.
And so the floodgates of her dreamworld opened.
Clothes were shed slowly, seductively.
Clothes were ripped off in a passionate fury.
Kisses were tender, hungry, then wanting, as tongues searched for other places to dip in and explore.
Two bodies melting together before exploding in a fireball. Hands gripping, squeezing, rubbing. Fingers tweaking, penetrating.
Soft and slow.
Vicious and fast.
The cacophony of images formed into something clear.
Rachel holding her, their legs intertwined, thighs pressed into centres, moving towards release as the two of them kissed languidly. Quinn had never felt more loved.
Her soft hazel eyes gazed into deep chocolate as they came closer and closer to the inevitable end, the heat becoming deliciously unbearable.
And then it was over, a shared climax obliterating any semblance of conscious thought, sending Quinn even further into the depths of her mind.
She was still wrapped in Rachel, but it didn't last. The image faded, and Quinn suddenly felt very tired, her limbs deadweight. She couldn't even move her head, nor see, even in her mind's eye. But she felt things, further to being so very, very, tired. She felt that she was in a room. And she felt that there was someone with her.
It was Rachel.
Even without seeing, she knew it was. But she was different, or the same.
She looked wrong.
No, right. Quinn could feel her, dressed in her argyle, her reindeer sweater, her knee socks, her beret, her flat shoes, holding her binder.
But that was wrong after all - why would the daughter of tavern owners dress so ridiculously?
She felt this strange Rachel move. She had sat down.
She felt her speak.
"I don't really know what to do, Quinn. Everybody's looking at me, trying to learn how I keep it together, when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and cry."
Why?
"Your Mother asked me in here to sing to you. She thinks you'll be able to hear it, and maybe come back to us."
My Mother died two years ago, Rachel, you've never met her.
"I couldn't think of what to perform, but then I remembered how touched you'd been when the Glee Club sang this to you when you were pregnant."
Glee Club? Wait, what? I would remember being pregnant. This dream's gotten ridiculous.
But then she felt Rachel start to sing.
"You're not alone, together we stand, I'll be by your side, you know I'll take your hand..."
Rachel was right, the song was touching, and comforting, and made Quinn feel so, so, good, but she still wanted to wake up, to get back to her Rachel, not this weird imposter. Luckily, she could feel herself begin to drift back up towards consciousness. She could move again, her naked, loving Rachel was back in her arms, and only the faintest echoes of not-Rachel sang through her mind, causing her to sing along too.
"Keep holding on."