So here's the new chapter...and once again, sorry for the wait!

I'm hoping things aren't confusing. I don't want to drag this story out much, and since it is an adventure...I want to include all the exciting parts. So far, you've seen Raven's powers, you know she's engaged to Slade Wilson and you know Trigon's pretty well-feared. The group has now entered the Northern Kingdom, and are stalled once again by Raven's antics.

This is the perfect time to bring in Slade, don't you think?

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Look in chapter 1

"Thief! Stop that girl!"

Gruffly, the burly merchant hollered out, beefy hands clenching the small dagger at his side. No one steals from his cart and gets away unscathed. Even if it was a small loaf of bread…his workers toiled hard to provide these wares, the money helped feed their families. No thief would be allowed to disrupt this delicate balance…not on his watch.

A shout of affirmation echoed through the busy market place. "We've got her!" The villagers surged around the captor as he dragged the thief to the magistrate's compound. Whoever this thief was…they would be punished. Theft and robbery was a grave offence in this part of the country, where morality and righteousness had meticulously engrained themselves in society.

Moving in unison, the crowd surged through the gates, entering the magistrate's compound and pushing the delinquent girl to her knees.

A tense silence overcame the crowd as the magistrate stepped out, hands buried in the folds of his dark grey tunic. "What are the crimes brought against this girl?" The man inquired with a steady and neutral voice. As the enforcer of justice and peace, both parties must present their cases with equal and fair hearing.

The merchant stepped forward, hands still clenching the small dagger tucked safely in his belt. "Your Honor, this girl stole two loaves of bread from my cart. Many of those around me will testify to my claim."

At these words, shouts of agreement rose out from the onlookers.

"Child, you hear the accusations brought against you. Have you anything to say?" The magistrate inquired, his eyes narrowed slightly, trying to judge the look of nonchalance and indifference on her face.

Raven stared into the man's piercing gray eyes calmly. "I admit to my crime. I stole two loaves of bread to feed the orphans of this town."

The magistrate raised a brow in surprise. Never had he witnessed a case as this. Stealing to feed the poor? "If you wanted to feed the orphans why didn't you simply buy the bread?"

A wry smile spread on Raven's face. "I myself am penniless. This merchant looks well fed, his coffers must be full; surely he can spare a loaf or two for starving children?"

The merchant angrily replied. "Gladly would I have given of my abundance to help the needy…must she steal for such a reason? Your Honor, this girl is without upbringing, she lacks morals and conscience. In my day the penalty for theft was swift and merciless. Perhaps having one less hand might teach her a lesson!"

The magistrate coughed. "Now, now. Though her crime is great, it does not warrant the removal of any limbs. Perhaps as a warning, ten lashes would suffice? "

Raven stared into the magistrate's eyes with a calm look of respect. "Your Honor, I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary. My only request is that the needy children of this town be properly looked after. Surely one can find it in their hearts to cook them a hot breakfast or find them spare clothes? Such an act of kindness…will not be forgotten."

Silence filled the compound.

The magistrate stared in confusion and awe. Who was this child that spoke with such wisdom and eloquence? This girl whose features matched those of the southern kingdoms? An outsider, a foreigner… and yet so fluent in the northern tongue?

Who was this child? "Then, for the crime of stealing, ten lashes will be given." He raised his hand slowly and turned around, not willing to behold the punishment of this fascinating young woman.

oOoOo

Garfield watched, his eyes wide with worry and fear as the magistrate turned his back on the crowd, gray cloak swishing prestigiously. He was seriously going through this?

His mistress was going to be flogged…all for a loaf of bread? How could she have gotten into this mess? Wasn't she told to stay close to the group? Why did she have to wander into town and try to play hero? Wringing his hands tightly, the teen searched the crowds for any sign of Richard and the rest of the group. Did they even notice Arella's absence?

Were they searching for her now? Hurriedly, Garfield pushed through the throng, trying to get a glimpse of the young woman who meant so much to him. He didn't want to see her hurt. "Arella!" The teen cried out, his voice lost amongst the voices of the townspeople. What was she going to do?

What was he going to do?

Garfield clenched his fists, breath catching in his throat as the priestess turned sharply, violet eyes meeting frantic jade orbs. In that moment, it seemed as if time froze. The air seemed too chilly and too still for the warm Northern summers. The sun darted behind the clouds, as if afraid of a hidden enemy. Shadows were cast over the square, yet those eerie purple-like eyes continued to stare.

And what a strange look it was.

Why did she look that way? Why were her eyes filled with such a strange look of resignation? Why did she look like she'd been through such an ordeal in the past?

A subdued silence swept over the crowd as the sounds of heavy clanging metal echoed ominously. Garfield bit his lip in agony as the two guards forced his mistress to her knees and fastened her hands tightly to the whipping post. Jade green eyes flinched shut as the guards tore apart the thin frayed dress and rose the whip threateningly…what would happen if her secret were exposed? The mark of Scath was a symbol feared and loathed throughout the Northern Kingdoms…would Arella be killed for bearing this mark of evil?

Why was everyone so silent?

Why didn't he hear the tell-tale noise of leather upon flesh, the gasp of the crowd, and the agonized scream of the priestess? What had happened? Garfield peered out from narrowed eyelids, only to gasp in surprise. Quickly, he fell to his knees, mimicking the townspeople. Why were they kneeling?

What was it about that mark that struck fear into the hearts of men?

oOoOo

The magistrate stumbled back in fear when he turned to observe the source of the villagers' uncanny silence. The mark of Scath. Hands clenched with worry and apprehension inside his gray cloak. Hadn't his people suffered enough at the hands of Trigon the Terrible? What terrible omen was this, that his daughter should enter their lands and commit a crime worthy of punishment?

What was he going to do?

Punish the girl and risk the threat of total annihilation? Yes, he'd heard the stories, the rumors of Trigon and his overly protected daughter. Rumors of her great abilities and powers. Tales of the great and terrible things she had done in her father's name... "Release the girl, immediately!" A sigh left his lips as the guards complied.

How could he have been so…so blind to the truth? How could he have overlooked the girl's features, the distinct accent of the Southern Kingdom? Even the small gem on her forehead, how could he have overlooked its importance? His negligence could have caused another war to break out...Trigon's spies were everywhere. And surely the great king of the South wouldn't take kindly to his daughter being flogged over two petty loaves of bread.

"Daughter of the South, I beg of you,forgive my ignorance. In my blindness, I failed to see the truth of your identity. No punishment shall befall you today, please…go in peace and forgive the actions of your humble servant." Would such an apology suffice?

The magistrate stared at the scene before with a tense face; already the weather had begun to change. Sunny skies gave way to foreboding clouds. The calm breeze that would have been perfect for the town feast dissipated...replaced with a chilling stillness, something very uncharacteristic of the summer months.

Raven rose to her feet, violet eyes trained on the parapet where the magistrate stood. "Do not shirk the law because of me. I committed a crime, and should be punished under the law…making exceptions would only appear weak and cowardly. "

A wry smile tugged at the magistrate's lips. Weak and cowardly. Spoken like a true politician. However, when dealing with Trigon, it was better to appear weak and cowardly. The lives of his people would be better saved through his admission of cowardice...than a staunch display of pride and prestige.

The magistrate swallowed. "Yes, Your Grace. However, your father may not see things in the same light. For my sake, and the sake of my people…overlook this discrepancy. "

"I will grant your wish…provided that you keep to my pleas concerning the children. It pains me greatly to see young ones suffer for things they cannot control." Raven intoned her voice regal and commanding.

The magistrate watched the young woman rise stiffly, hands clutching the tattered dress to her chest. A pang of emotion pierced his heart. His own daughter looked to be her age…and he couldn't help the sorrow that flooded his heart as she took a hesitant step forward…only to slump to the floor with exhaustion.

oOoOo

"Mistress!" Garfield pushed through the throng of people, his arms quickly wrapping around the priestess fallen form. "Are you alright?" His slender fingers clasped her arms firmly as he pulled the woman to her feet, holding her closely to his body. Somehow, despite the warm weather, Arella was cold…very cold. Garfield could only stare in confusion as he watched the young woman struggle to breathe, the harsh intakes of air was too shallow to be any help.

"Calm down. Breathe in slowly." The deckhand encouraged, remembering the things Victor taught him.

Gently grasping her numb fingers, Garfield began to rub them vigorously, trying to warm them back up. How does one get so cold in such a short time? Why was this priestess so strange? And why did the magistrate refer to Arella as 'daughter of the south'? Azarath wasn't that far from this kingdom...only three days by boat. Why was he so afraid about the mark of Scath?

Afraid enough to call her 'Your Grace'; something only reserved for royalty? Was it possible that a priestess was considered royalty? And Arella's father...was he truly as fearful as the magistrate made him out to be?

"He's here." The priestess mumbled, her light voice painted with shock and disbelief.

Her body trembled like a leaf, and Garfield wasn't sure if it was because of the cold…or something else. He tightened his embrace, wishing there was a cloak nearby to warm her chilled frame. "Who's here?" Garfield looked up, jade green eyes scanning the crowd.

Was she talking about Richard? He wasn't in the crowd though. "Arella, what's…?" The teen's voice cut off as the priestess broke free from his grasp and darted out of the gates, suddenly filled with energy. What was going on?

"Arella! Wait!" Standing, Garfield took off after the young woman, marveling at the incredible burst of speed she seemed to have attained. Wasn't she struggling to breathe a few minutes ago? Where did that burst of energy come from?

Suddenly, Garfield froze in the middle of the dusty market street, jaw dropping in confusion and awe as he watched Arella fling herself into a man's embrace.

Who was that man?

oOoOo

A growl of anger escaped Richard's lips as he and the few men with him sprinted down the dusty, main road, searching frantically for the priestess and the deckhand. Where could they have gone? Didn't he give clear enough instructions? Were his words garbled when he said 'don't pass through the towns'? How can one woman cause so much trouble!?

"Captain, it seems the villagers are heading towards the main square. If we follow them, the priestess will be found."

Richard turned to look at Roy Harper, a dubious look in his ice blue eyes. Roy Harper was a suspicious man, and Richard could tell the weapons expert knew more than he was revealing. Why was Roy sounding so …smug and all-knowing? Was there something about the priestess he wasn't aware about? "And if she's not?"

A catty smile spread on the man's rugged features. "Trust me Captain; the priestess cannot resist helping the less fortunate…even if it means breaking the law."

Richard shrugged, eyes staring out across the strangely empty main road. Wasn't today supposed to be a market day? Why were things so quiet? Thin lips narrowed in suspicion as Richard's keen eyes spotted another traveler, heading towards them. Though the man's face was obscured by the glare of the sun, Richard couldn't help the strange sensation that flitted with annoyance in his stomach.

Somehow, his silhouette seemed familiar. Almost as if he'd seen him before….from a distance. But was that possible? For someone's silhouette to be recognizable?

Maybe the sun had dulled his senses.

A muffled shout echoed across the quiet road, and Richard watched with surprise as the priestess ran out from the tall gated square, rushing not to him, but to the stranger walking down the road.

The young man sprinted ahead, heart filling with a jealous rage as she threw herself into his outstretched arms, a squeal of happiness escaping her lips. Richard skidded to a stop in front of Garfield, seething in anger as the stranger lifted the priestess into the air, kissing her passionately.

Realization hit the captain like a ton of bricks. He did know this man! How could he forget that white hair, those eyes the color of glowing emeralds…the boy who taunted and teased him so many years ago at his father's house.

"You!"

oOoOo

Joy.

Unspeakable joy burst out Raven's heart as she threw herself into Wilson's outstretched arms, a peal of laughter tumbling from her lips. He was here! Wilson was really here! It was his arms that lifted her up, his scent that filled her nostrils, and his aura that enveloped her senses… the aura she could no longer feel after Richard pried the bracelets from her feet.

Oh, to see Wilson again!

To touch him, caress him; to know that he really was real…this was not a dream. Wilson had come for her…just as he'd promised all those years ago! Raven said nothing as she curled up into Wilson's arms, tears still dripping from her violet eyes. Inhaling, the young woman smiled as the man's comforting scent wafted up her nose, bringing back long forgotten memories.

He didn't smell like the snow…only of leather, parchment and cinnamon. "Wilson, were you in France? Your father's house always did smell like books and cinnamon. What of Nadine? Has she married yet? Oh, and Jacques…is he a doctor now? I wanted to write but-"

Wilson chuckled, the deep tones of his voice smooth and velvety. Softly, he planted a kiss on Raven's nose, a smile on his lips as he uttered, "All in good time, love."

His emerald eyes twinkled with mirth and happiness and Raven couldn't help the butterflies that filled her stomach.

She hadn't seen him in so long…how was it that someone could look completely different, and yet still be the same? His voice had changed…the deep seductive tenor being something Raven didn't remember about Wilson. He had grown taller, stronger…his arms, chest and shoulders impeccably taut and rippling with muscle.

Time had blessed him abundantly…his features were even more handsome than in the past. The man's face was flawless, displaying a strong chiseled jawline, well defined cheekbones and a nose that curved elegantly, proudly displaying his Lastonian origin. Emerald green eyes that once glittered with childish mischief now smoldered with mystery and intrigue, a trait that seemed most alluring to the priestess.

Raven reached up, gently tracing her finger across the man's cheek and smiled when she realized his dimple was still there. After all these years, to find that his smile was still the same thrilled her heart.

"You!" Richard's aggravated voice sliced through Raven's thoughts and she turned to stare at him in confusion, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Are you talking to me, Richard? Because you have no right to use such a tone, what did I ever do to you?" She spoke, her English sounding like the choppy Scottish accent Garfield used.

Wilson looked down at the woman cradled in his arms, eyebrows tilted in surprise. "You know these people, love?"

Raven closed her eyes and burrowed her face into Wilson's warm cotton shirt. A sigh escaped her lips as she replied in French, "These people are horrid! They took me from the temple…he wishes to have me tried for a crime I did not commit."

Wilson's eyes narrowed as he placed the priestess back on her feet. Hands now unoccupied, he reached into the folds of his coat, withdrew a small revolver and released the safety, pointing it at the captain with a blank face. "Richard Grayson. You remember me. I'm flattered."

A tense silence overcame the crowd, and Raven scuffed her moccasin clad feet against the dusty road, wondering if she should intervene. It was…actually a surprise, to know that Wilson and Richard had met some time in the past. How long ago was it? Judging from the wrathful glare in Richard's eyes, Raven knew the two hadn't been friendly to each other in the past. One would think the two to be rivals.

Without waiting for a reply, the tall man continued speaking. "Then surely you remember just how good of a marksman I am?" A sadistic smirk pulled at the man's lips, and his voice lowered to a seductive hiss. "Shall I remind you?"

"Whoa!" Let's not be too hasty. I'm sure we can all come to an understanding, over some dinner, right?" Garfield cut in, his voice apprehensive and nervous.

Raven eyed Garfield curiously. Biting her lip, she moved in front of Wilson and placed her hand on his arm. "Garfield is my friend. I don't want him getting hurt." A stagnant silence filled the air as Raven silently pleaded with the irate man. As much as she wanted Richard to suffer for kidnapping her, simply killing him was not the answer. No, she had…other ways of making him remorseful.

Besides, if Richard was killed, the truth about Bruce Wayne's death would never be solved. Even if she hated the man, he still had a purpose. Raven wrapped her arms around her soul-mate as he concealed his weapon. She looked up, eyes filled with a silent thanks. "We need to find out about Bruce Wayne's death…he blames my mother. But she's innocent."

Wilson pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Bruce Wayne was stabbed…and no murder weapon was ever found. How credible is this claim?"

Raven exhaled softly, as she replied, still speaking with the man in French, lest Richard understand the conversation. "He was an eyewitness...whoever killed Bruce Wayne, wasn't silent. Richard says he saw my mother. If he's right then Trigon is involved."

Wilson laughed. "Why would Trigon want to kill Bruce Wayne?"

Raven turned away, violet eyes emptily staring into the sky. "Why wouldn't he?"

oOoOo

Peals of laughter rang out across the large terrace, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air. The mood was festive, with many exotic and interesting dances, endless platters and trays of food as well as impressive music. It was a happy night…a joyous occasion. So why wasn't he happy?

Richard lifted a spoonful of rice into his mouth, chewing slowly as he observed the smiling faces around him. Victor was happy, flanked by many curious villagers. Curious, because despite his dark skin and eyes, he was not Armenia. Such people were apparently oddities in the great kingdoms of the North.

Roy Harper seemed at ease discussing weaponry with the young men, his cobalt blue eyes glowed as he described the many bows and their intricate forging. While Richard was a decent marksman, he didn't have too much of an interest in how the weapons were made. Maybe if he'd grown up the son of a blacksmith, or a hunter...perhaps then he'd appreciate the work that went into creating the arrows he wasted over his childhood.

Ice blue eyes flickered with an uncharacteristic tiredness as he observed Garfield and Arella playing a strange game with two jumping ropes. What were the children calling it? Double-Dutch? Why did it have such a name? Maybe the better question was…how the hell did Arella have so much energy? Wasn't Garfield going on and on earlier about how she 'needed rest after going through such a terrible ordeal'?

How could she jump and frolic around, how could she smile after what she did? How does one walk around with an empty conscience after killing a person? How did she do it?

Richard's eyes left the playing children, landing on the white-haired man resting casually against the trunk of an old tree. Wilson seemed contemplative…at least Richard thought he did. It was hard trying to decipher the blank look on the Wilson's face as he gazed into the darkening sky. What was he thinking of…staring off so intently? How was he here and yet…thousands of miles away?

Were all Lastonians this way? Cold and intimidating? Emotionless and void of compassion?

Everyone said they were…Richard wasn't sure who to believe. Everyone said Lastonians were cruel and merciless assassins. Was Wilson an assassin, then? How many people had he killed without remorse? Did he kill them with honor? Or were their last moments spent begging for mercy the man couldn't offer?

Ice blue eyes watched in veiled wonder as the magistrate's seven-year old daughter made her way to the Lastonian man and curled up in his lap, a look of contented peace on her childish face. If Wilson was surprised…he didn't show it. In fact, he probably didn't even notice the girl…nor did he seem to care. Those strange green eyes continued staring emptily into the evening sky, shutting out the world around him. The sight of it seemed… very picturesque, really. There was this strange sensation of peace and serenity surrounding Wilson and the sleeping child…a stark contrast to the excitement and action of the feast.

Like the lion and the lamb.

Richard couldn't help but marvel. A man trained to kill, a merciless assassin embracing a child as if it were his own. Caring for the child with such a gentle touch…could Wilson even kill at all? If a child was not afraid of him…who would be? Who could be afraid of a man so…gentle and loving?

Perhaps Wilson wasn't a deadly assassin after all, Richard mused as he watched Arella gracefully sink to her knees beside the Lastonian. Her slender fingers reached out to touch the sleeping child, while her face clouded with a seemingly concerned look. Was something wrong with the magistrate's daughter? The young man couldn't help but strain his ears to listen…they weren't speaking French this time, but the common trade language spoken over the kingdoms.

"She has a fever, Wilson. I believe they call it pneumonia in this country. I do not know how to cure it." Dark violet eyes glittered with concern as they stared at the sleeping child.

Wilson looked down for the first time, unusual emerald eyes filling with a strange emotion. "Are you sure there is no way?"

Arella pursed her lips. "I must understand her pain if I am to heal her…you understand me, oui?"

Wilson moved his hand slowly, fingertips trailing softly down Arella's cheek. "I do not wish to see you sick, love."

A reassuring smile graced the priestess lips. "I will be fine…and so will she. Do you not feel it Wilson? The power in her aura? The bond between our spirits? She came to you for companionship and understanding. This girl shares our abilities and gifts! I can sense her fate will be filled with much love and happiness!" The preistess' tone was hopeful, light and carefree. She seemed to care genuinely about the welfare of the child, and honestly wished a happy life for the little girl.

Wilson's emerald eyes darkened. "She will never find happiness here. They will kill her first." The man's tone was ominous, and the implication of his words seemed too disastrous to contemplate.

Richard's eyes widened…kill her? He couldn't understand the hidden meaning behind Wilson's words...though he knew one existed. Who would want to kill such an innocent child? Why was the girl's life in danger? And what 'gifts' and 'abilities' did the three of them share? Transfixed, the young man could only stare as Arella's eyes took on a vengeful glare.

Then suddenly, lightning flashed across the night sky and a boom of thunder shook the ground. The wind began to shriek, filling the man's ears with a horrid noise. In the distance, the startled shouts of the people echoed as if they were thousands of miles away. He watched in a daze as people darted into the house; shrieks and exclamations floating through his ears and exiting without understanding.

Rain began to spill from the heavens in torrents, banging and splashing noisily on the zinc roofs of the houses...and despite all this Richard sat, ice blue eyes frozen in astonishment and fear, captivated by the anger in the woman's eyes. It was frightening…and beautiful. Shivers coursed up and down his spine; had it really gotten so cold in such a short time?

Wilson stood swiftly, taking hold of the priestess and pulling her up. "Enough Raven! You cannot save everyone! Fate bows to no one…not even to you." Even through the storm, the man's obvious anger and irritation was clear. Despite the darkening sky, Wilson's narrowed eyes and frowning mouth were visible. Yes, he was angry...but why? What had Arella done?

"Then maybe this child should die now." The priestess intoned, her voice as cold and as merciless as the wind. She took a step back, staring with fierceness at Wilson, fists clenched at her sides.

Wilson was silent for a time, a look of resignation clouding his strange eyes. "Maybe, but the choice is not yours to make."

"And whose choice is it? Would you have killed me too, if the choice was yours?" Arella's voice was softer now...a strange sort of sadness evident in her tone. Her hands were no longer clenched in anger, but now awkwardly twisting the old traveling dress she'd been forced to wear when they entered the Northern kingdom.

A sarcastic laugh escaped the Lastonian's mouth. "Your father would not be pleased, if I killed you then. If and when he gives the order, rest assured that I would not hesitate. I promise a swift and painless death."

"You love me, yet speak such callous words!" Arella stepped back, an eerie smirk playing on her lips. "Tell me, do you regret it? Being my father's slave? Perhaps if I died back then, you'd be free." Her tone was sardonic, and mocking.

"Dwelling on the past has always been your weakness, Raven. As I said before, neither you nor I can decide who lives or dies…only the gods make such decrees." The man turned, a sense of finality in his tone.

Arella scoffed bitterly, her purple-ish eyes flashing with disdain. "The same gods who cursed your people? The gods who sit back and let my kind be slaughtered in cold blood? They turn deaf ears to our cries; we are persecuted, tortured and killed in their name! Am I to sit back and watch this child suffer from their cruel games? Damn the gods!"

Wilson turned around, eyes flashing with a confusing anger. "Damn them if you must, Raven! But never forget; you are worthless without their power."

Richard could only stare in confusion as his eyes darted from Wilson's retreating form, to Arella as she slumped to the grass in defeat. How does one understand a conversation and yet feel so…lost? What exactly were the two speaking about? How could Wilson be a slave? And the magistrate's daughter…

Richard stood to his feet, genuine worry building up in his mind. Would the little girl be alright? Those two weren't going to kill her, were they? Richard was on the stairs leading up the verandah when a sudden thought entered his mind.

Wilson had been calling the priestess, Raven.

What do you think? That scene with Slade and the magistrates daughter...I was thinking of Sesshomaru and Rin when I wrote it. Please overlook any discrepancies.

To be honest I'm not too sure about the Slade I have in this story...he's not a villain so I'm not used to his ways. I guess he's somewhat normal...only living in a world that persecutes those with magic and strange abilities. As far as cryptic and mysterious, I think he fits bill?

Review!

~heartless16