Note: Hi ya'll. It's been a short while. A week I think. What can I say? It was Spring Break... and you know us stereotypical college kids and our obsession with the beach. But to be honest, the amount of time it took my to post my third installment is much more realistic than the time between chapters 1 & 2 (I think that was 1 1/2 days...). Keep in mind I have class and social stuff going on... but on another note, perhaps another reason it took so long is because I was writing a chapters that happen later in the story. So once I reach that point (if this story lasts that long), updates will probably be coming a lot faster. So keep on it, and enjoy! Oh, and review por favor.
Just one more day. One last fight. They'd collect the coin, drug that ale—that which had survived her razing, and make off with Guinevere this very night.
… And then what?
Raivierra anxiously twirled her weapons in her hands, savoring the feel of the supple-leathered hilts against her calluses. She reveled in the clamor of the impatient audience awaiting her. Sure, it may come off as brutal, but this was something she was damn well qualified for. Maybe not exactly what she had envisioned… but she had worked for this. Sought this. Craved this.
And Lancelot hadn't been very clear on what would happen after the dear Lady was so valiantly snatched from the jaws of a most gruesome death. It was a given that they'd escort her safely back to Camelot… but there had been no mention of anything beyond that. Did he mean for them to stay there? And even if he did, would she?
What, go to Camelot and become a serving girl? A peasant? Nothing? Again? Hell, she fit in better with these miscreants. Revolting or no, she had a purpose here. And yet, one word from Lancelot had her sprawling to forfeit it. Her knuckles turned white with the severity of her grip. Her jaw clenched and she uttered a low guttural sound, much like an irritated wildcat. Damn it all!
The barred gate to the 'arena' groaned and grated with the effort of the men hoisting it. About time. Pandemonium clutched at her, drawing her in as she ascended the ramp. Oh! The noise! Deliciously deafening. Chaotic. She topped the shallow incline. Silence. Numbness.
Lancelot.
He stood with his back to her- looking for Guinevere no doubt. His feet were planted firmly. Determinedly. Yet he still managed to appear effortlessly relaxed. Then there was that one small detail. He stood inside the cage. The gate slammed down behind her with the speed of a guillotine. Locking them in. Finally, he turned to face her. Furrowed brows. A look of dismay broke his stoic face. He was her opponent. And she was his.
"Only one of you will come away alive." Hengist recited in a flat tone. "Do you accept this challenge?" Never before had it crossed Raivierra's mind to respond "No."
"What is this!" Lancelot demanded, his handsome face warped with an unfamiliar expression of enmity as he loudly protested. How uncharacteristic of him. Though given the circumstances… it was reasonable.
"This… is something that has long been overdue." Hengist's raspy laugh drew her attention to him. "And who would I be to decline popular request?"
Beside him, Guinevere trembled. Nothing new on that end—though this situation certainly didn't help. Then there was Kendrick. Raivierra could feel his steady gaze boring through her. His smug look was trenchant. And then she knew. That cad had his grimy mitts in this.
"You can't honestly expect us to— " Lancelot started, his voice strained against his inherent level-headedness.
"If you don't accept the terms of the challenge…" Hengist interrupted, maintaining his pleasantly amused composure. He raised a filthy hand, motioning to the gate-handlers. "Then the wilderen will eat well—"
"We accept." Raivierra cut him off, returning Lancelot's distressed look with a pointed one.
"Now there's a good girl." Hengist praised, along with the rest of the room. "And… Lancelot, was it?" The Mercian's lips curved into a smirk while Lancelot deadpanned. "I can see reason for your concern." He gestured sharply at Raivierra. "This one doesn't play games." Raivierra could feel his bawdy gaze rake over her. "Unlike you, she strikes to kill."
She averted her eyes, focusing on grinding the toe of her boot into the dusty floor. Testing the traction. Taking her mind away from all this. Just another fight. Another victim. Just slit the clod's throat and be done with it.
But it had to be Lancelot.
Damn it. Nothing can ever be so simple. Only when it all goes to hell, does this forsaken world maintain order. When she looked up, she found Lancelot to be stagnant. His gaze as well as his body. Those sad eyes. That tense jaw. Arms limp by his sides. She took a breath. And charged. No bow. No respectful crossing of swords. No warning. This was not the place for such formalities.
Her short sword jabbed viciously at his abdomen. He sidestepped the attack. Her longsword flicked out at his legs. He jumped. She immediately whipped it upwards at him. He slapped it away with his own broadsword dodged to the side. Only then did she notice he had finally armed himself. She lingered a moment too long on that thought… yet no stinging metal bit at her. Turning with him, her longsword slashed diagonally across his torso, left hip to opposite shoulder. He flinched and leapt backwards, disengaging again. She pursued him—a feral instinct guiding her in for the kill. His back was against the bars. Her prey was trapped. Keeping her movements fluid, she stuck her short swords between the cage bars, just to Lancelot's right. Locking him there. Her longsword bore down on the man's head.
But this was Lancelot. And he wasn't trying.
She stopped mid-stroke and instead struck him above the ear with the pommel of her weapon. "Fight me!" She growled, grabbing a hold of Lancelot's tunic. Receiving no response, she jerked him roughly towards the center of the ring, pouncing on his back when he lost his balance.
"I… cannot." Lancelot finally returned in a defeated tone. "I will not." A bit more life to it that time.
Raivierra dragged him to his feet by his neck, her right forearm securing a choke-hold of sorts—with the blade of her sword threateningly close to his throat. "I suggest you find the will." She hissed into his ear.
"I will not harm you. Do not ask me to." He asserted stubbornly, though he now moved with her and his head was reared back stiffly against her chest, wary of her weapon's deadly promise.
"Damn it, Lancelot!" Raivierra growled and released her hold on the man—not that he had made any real effort to escape.
He stumbled forwards, lazily turning to face her again. Around them the crowd voiced its collective disapproval. They wanted a fight. They wanted a bloodbath. She gave one quick thrust of her short sword, met only with the resistance of his chainmail. She drove the point deep into his flank. At least, that's what it looked like—She kept the strike as shallow as possible, pressing her body against his to give the illusion of depth.
"If I show you mercy, I may very well die along with you." She warned again... pleading with him.
"Then I beg you." He turned those somber eyes down upon her. "Do not." A little extra weight on the length of her weapon. His hand ... now bleeding profusely from the intensity of his clamp on the shaft of her short sword. Raivierra suddenly lurched forwards- he had jerked the blade further into his side.
Horror flooded Raivierra's senses. No. No no no no! This wasn't supposed to happen! He was supposed to save his Guinevere and flee to Camelot. He was supposed to be the hero. He gasped. Her knees grew weak. He coughed, his lips leaking a thick crimson fluid. She eased the blade from out of the wound- slippery with his life. He grunted. And then he smiled. An artificial little token. Taut with the agony he tried so painstakingly tried to hide.
"What good are you to her, dead?" Her voice cracked with the inquiry. So much for the embodiment of unrelenting ferocity. Just a fragile shell, on the verge of breaking. All at once his weight was on her. Lancelot slumped over her, as if standing on his own was too great an effort. "I entrust... Guinevere's safety to you." He grunted out the words.
She backed away, letting him fall to his knees. This was familiar. All of it. Too damn familiar. Though this time, his dreary eyes were cocoa, not cerulean. And his tousled hair was an auburn mess, not fawn. But the fear. And the blood. And the dying... by her hand. It was happening again.
Fight or flight. She needed to run. Run to where? The gate would only open when one of two things happened. And Lancelot was already well on his way to fulfilling the first condition.
"Finish him!" The Mercian bandits around them demanded in relative unison. Finally, their bloodlust would be satisfied. At least for a time.
She cautiously stalked up to him. She trembled. She needed a steady hand to make this as clean as possible. He raised his bleak eyes to her one last time. She stopped in her tracks. Damn it Lancelot. This was hard enough as is. She clenched her jaw and pressed on.
It needed to be done.
She tossed her weapons between her hands, trading her short sword to her right. With one swift movement Raivierra plunged the stockier sword into the right side of Lancelot's neck. His eyes widened and his jaw hung loosely. She withdrew her weapon, matching his gaze until the moment his eyes rolled back into his head. He crumpled to the ground; his blood-smeared face caked with dirt on one side. Blood trickled slowly from the slit in his neck. Thank God.
She turned slowly from his still body, deaf to the acclamation of the assembly. Numb, as she crossed over the threshold and weaved through the muster to Hengist's table. Guinevere had slouched into the back of her chair. As if her spine had lost all strength to it. And her face. The way her lips parted. The way she stared desolately into the cage... she was appalled. She made no endeavor to hide that she had wished Lancelot to be in Raivierra's place. "It's not as if I'm glad of it either..." Raivierra muttered under her breath before plastering on an apathetic mask.
"Ah, my dear. You never disappoint." Hengist proclaimed loudly. "Watching him squirm before ending it? That is just sick." He laughed fervidly and looked to Guinevere, whose breathing was shallow.
"I have one request" Raivierra stated flatly. From the corner of her eye she watched a few of Hengist's henchmen collect Lancelot's body.
"Now now... you know I don't act at the behest of my performers..." He glanced at Lancelot's corpse. "But you've got me curious."
No hesitation on her end. "I want my coin."
Note: Didn't expect that, did ya? So, I'm ending it here... I had planned to make it longer but this is a nice breaking point, I think. Hope ya'll enjoyed it! R&R, and maybe I'll update quicker, yes? And a little critique would be greatly appreciated. Gratzi.