Note: Sorry ya'll for such a painfully long wait. But I hope the attention I put into this installment (and the teaser I gave ya'll) will at least some-what make up for it. Hope Ya'll enjoy. And always, Read and Review, por favor. Seriously. Come on, Ya'll. I see how many hits and visitors I get to this story… and all the "alert/favorite" notices… and yet there's a grand total of 3 users that have submitted reviews. Throw me a bone, here?
Sleep evaded Raivierra like a pigeon hovering just beyond striking range of an irritated cat. Waiting. Eyes closed. Head nestled deep into the moth-gnawed pillow. Waiting. Her breaths came slow and measured, trying to coax herself to sleep.
But how could she?
"Stay behind. If something should happen, we'll need you here." Raivierra muttered, her tone barbed as she recalled exactly what Lancelot had asked of her. She cursed under her breath. "More like when something happens, you jump in and save our arses."
Simply and honestly, she was exhausted. What, with the intended battle to the death, that sad little rescue operation… then having to reject the clods that offered to 'comfort' her. Sure, some were dismissed with vicious threats to their manhood, but others were persuaded by nothing short of a blade at their throat. She threw her head back against the mattress and forcefully shut her eyes. She was done with it all. Spent.
But the day was not yet through with her.
Rapid breathing. Boots scuffing impatiently on stone flooring. Someone was watching her. Trying to get her attention. And whoever he was, he dared not venture further than the doorway. Smart man.
"You have five seconds before I take my frustrations out on you." She warned, making no effort to move.
"And what frustrations are we talking about?" The man's gruff voice was laden with suggestion.
"The kind where I make you bleed." That was sure to clear up any ambiguities running through his desperate mind.
There was a brief silence on his end. Raivierra smirked. Struck a chord of fear in his bloated belly? "Well…" She heard him clear his throat. Hear him swallow. Could imagine him sweating. "Well there's something you'll want to see." There was a hint of strained laughter in his voice. Odd. A gruff grunt sounded his departure.
Raivierra reluctantly sat up, smoothing her hands over the sheets and catching up the dagger settled to her right. What could she be interested in? She slowly opened her eyes—not even a tad groggy. Watching a bunch of brutes gut each other never got old. But the fights had ended hours ago. She hadn't seen Kendrick around in a while. Maybe the rumors were true…maybe Hengist did feed him to the wilderin. Well damn. So much for getting to waste the clod.
Kicking her feet off the side of the bed, she sat there a moment. Rolling through the possibilities in her mind. Oh bloody hell. She groaned and rubbed her temples with her thumbs. Already? Seriously? It'd been but two hours? Maybe three? Or had she really lost track of time. Nope. They really where that pathetic. She stood and made for the hallway, tucking the small knife underneath the band on her forearm.
Well, it wasn't really Lancelot's fault. A gust of cool air greeted her as she passed through the doorway. The man was formidable. There was no question of that. Hell, if he wasn't, she wouldn't be drawn to him like she was. But not when it came to this. He was neither ruffian nor vagabond. No bandit. All those things… she'd use them all to label herself. But definitely not him. Her footsteps reverberated around her in the barren corridor.
Lancelot was simply a victim of circumstance. As she saw it, he'd been mistakenly made a commoner. The way in which he walked and spoke. His damned embodiment of chivalry. Tell-tale signs of nobility.
And that Guinevere. The last thing he needed when attempting an escape, was a distraction like her. Excellent.
Raivierra rounded a corner, greeted by boisterous laughter and jeers. Her hands instinctively fondled the hilts of her swords. Even she wasn't too keen on surrounding herself with this company. The common room proved the passageway to be muffled.
The common room was packed with Hengist's henchmen. Gathered about the cage like a pack of hungry wolves waiting for their alpha to invite them in for their share of the kill. She had an inkling as to what they would be feasting on. Whose blood would make the entrée for the always-ravenous wilderin. She shouldered and shoved her way through the crowd, cursing and growling at those that stood between her and the familiar cage. Aggression was the only way to gain respect around here.
She soon found herself pinched between two burly men, preventing her from progressing any further. But she still caught a glimpse of the figure slumped over on the stained flooring behind the bars. A head of dark, wet hair. Short. A man's. Sure enough, it was Lancelot. His head was down and his knees buckled beneath him. And he had yet to see her.
Before she could move to get his attention, a man grabbed her fisted hand. Had she not recognized him as Hengist's second, she would have retaliated. Her free hand replaced the shortsword to its sheath. Well, Kendrick was certainly dead.
"Hengist requests you presence." The man muttered, then proceeded to drag her after him.
"Well, this is hardly requesting, don't you think?" Raivierra shot back smartly, struggling to maintain her balance as he led her to the opposite side of the ring, where several mean mustered protectively around Hengist. She laughed inwardly. Smart man; he didn't trust his own lot of vandals.
"So tell me. Was it worth it?" Hengist's voice boomed as she approached with her 'escort'. "Losing your life so that serving wench could get away?" The ring-leader's voice silenced his unruly followers.
"Guinevere…" Lancelot's weak murmur reached her. "Guinevere matters more to me than you could ever hope to understand." It was stronger that time. Strong enough to lift his hanging head. Strong enough to alight his dark eyes. To dampen Raivierra's own spirit. Even further, that is.
Raivierra tore her gaze from Lancelot's beaten figure to look at Hengist. The room had grown eerily silent. A discomforting smug look had settled across Hengist's face. ".. Then you'll be glad to see her again."
The gate to the underground cavern inched up with the efforts of two of Hengist's henchmen heaving on the well-worn rope. Frightened gasps ascended the ramp first—the one Raivierra had climbed countless times. Curly, untamed hair announced the arrival of a shivering, whimpering Guinevere.
"Lancelot!" She cried out, stumbling towards her intended savior—forced to her knees by two brutes that beat a hasty retreat through the door into the (relative) safety of the common room.
"Guinevere…" the look of dismay on Lancelot's face was unmissable.
"I am sorry, Lancelot." Guinevere mewled, her throat clearly taut with fear. She scooted backwards, seeking Lancelot's body for some sort of comfort. His fingers found hers, becoming a tangled mess.
Raivierra groaned, dismissing her own cloaked woes through focusing on the task at hand. "You've got to be kidding me," she growled irately. By some stroke of genius luck, she may have managed to find a way to spring one of them. But both? She might as well make a run for it and name it a lost cause.
"No…" Lancelot's shoulders caved and he leaned against Guinevere, using the cowering woman for support. As if his spine had been ripped from his back. Guinevere as well—though from what Raivierra had seen, that woman had none to begin with.
"I am sorry, Lancelot." Guinevere repeated herself, tears brimming at her lashes.
"You failed her, boy." Hengist cruelly interrupted, his voice even hinting at a chuckle. "And you," Hengist had suddenly spun around, bringing his snarling face inches from Raivierra's. "Tell me. What is wrong with this picture?"
Raivierra drew back slightly, like a cat preparing to launch itself at an irritant that dared disturb its rest. She glanced briefly at Lancelot, who just now took notice of her presence. His parted lips were a clue to that. "It's not my fault he doesn't know how to die," she responded coldly, turning sharp eyes back on Hengist.
"Oh, he'll be learning. Don't you worry." Hengist smirked, beady eyes searching her face. Scrutinizing every bit of it. Waiting for a giveaway reaction. He would get none.
"Excellent," she tried to pull her wrist free of the lazy grip, but to no avail. "Then I assume I'll be the one to teach him to stay dow—"
"Oh, I don't think so." Hengist drawled. "With you doing the deed, he may rise from the dead again." He gave a curt nod to the robust lad at Raivierra's right.
The loose grip on her arm suddenly grew claw-like, and the recipient of Hengist's gesture snatched up her free bicep.
Raivierra growled, trying to wrench her arms free—either one and she'd be satisfied. But to no avail. "I swear, I don't know how the lout survived."
"You really expect me to believe that?" His calloused hand shot out, gripping her neck just below her jaw.
"Leave her be!" Lancelot demanded, and Raivierra could see him struggle against the binds that held his hands. Not just for show.
That had an adverse effect on Hengist. Egged him on. His hold on her neck became vise-like, his jagged nails digging into her skin. Suffocating. "You really think I'm that stupid to not see when I'm being robbed blind?" Spittle slapped against her face and gray dizzied her vision.
She opened her mouth to reply, and let out a feeble croak. That haze was enveloping her now. Her mouth dropped open, trying to draw in a breath that wouldn't make it past her tongue. Again, she heard Lancelot shouting something or another. Slurred and incoherent. Or maybe that was just her. The furious look that contorted Hengist's face and what she imagined were curses he was shouting, told her it was.
Air filled her lungs by way of a long-drawn inhalation. Hengist had withdrawn his hand. He wanted to drag this out. What an arse. Raivierra stretched out her jaw, nursing the muscles with oxygen before attempting to speak. "I don't—"
Another man approached her from behind, carrying Loki's saddlebags that she had stashed by the stables. They rattled and clinked with their contents. "A good year's worth of medicines and tonics, sir."
Well, hell. So much for denial. "I can explain that." Raivierra flinched away from Hengist, favoring her fragile neck. No attack came. The silence was far more ferocious. "… What—so why not throw me in there with them?" that was as close to a confession as she'd give.
"You'll get yours…" Hengist hesitated and sneered. Unsettling. "Once my boys tire of you." A symphony of cheers followed that. Along with Raivierra's grimace.
"I won't allow that." Evidently, Lancelot had to get in on this. Had to be the hero. At least try to.
"Oh?" Hengist sneered, pressing his face up against the bars; as would a child tormenting a captive bear. "And tell me what exactly you can do from there, boy." He laughed wickedly at the now mute Lancelot. "You got your wench. This one's mine."
Had she really been paying attention, Raivierra would have found a way to remove his tongue, slit his throat, or castrated him on the spot. Or all three. But again, it was Lancelot who held her focus.
Remorse. Guilt. She had to avert her eyes—'lest he convince her that she truly was done here. That they would end it here. She recognized the grating sound of the cage's gate being hoisted. Wilderin.
A twitching snout appeared. Followed by the giant wrinkled body. Plump as he was, this creature was famished. He bared his buck-tooth fangs and let forth a shrill squeal. Guinevere's scream matched—and even surpassed it. The rat turned a blind (literally) eye on her and stalked towards the couple.
The heel of Raivierra's right boot found the sensitive toes of the man holding her upper arm. The moment he keeled over—the moment his grip loosened, she let fly a wild back-elbow. It connected with the man's nose. The angle of impact sent him stumbling backwards, holding his leaking injury… and then collapsing in a heap.
So close to being free.
With a quick jerk of her unfettered arm, the knife strapped to her forearm slid down into her grip. The man still holding her had yet to react. And he wouldn't get the chance to.
The blade of her knife flashed across his neck, leaving him sputtering and clutching. Her leg spun out and around her, tripping up Hengist and the others that stood in her immediate vicinity. A running start. A leap, and she was on the cage. Pulling herself up along the cold steel bars.
Something struck her in the back. Just below her left shoulder blade. A strangely biting… punch?
Whatever it was, it didn't matter now. Undeterred, she hauled herself to the top of the fence, her left arm going numb. Taking a moment before her descent, she tossed the knife in her hand in Lancelot's direction. Drawing her swords from their scabbards, she gathered her legs beneath her, and…
Fell.
Something—or someone had shaken the fence with a tremendous force, upsetting her balance. Something soft and leathery cushioned her fall.
Before the startled wilderin could shed her, she planted her swords in the creature and held on for dear life. Her strained muscles resisted buck. After buck. Twisting her blades deeper into the vermin's hide, her mind resisted Cowardice as the giant head twisted violently around, snapping at her.
Someone shouted her name. A thud meant someone else had dropped into the cage. Another yell. A scream. Guinevere was still alive.
The beast's blood painted her face. Slickened the hilts of her swords. Made her lose her grip on one furious throw. Then she was in the air. That was over quickly. A cry erupted from her mouth as the whole of her backside slammed into the bars of the cage. The concussing blow to her head sent her mind reeling.
She propped herself up on her forearms and rose to her feet defiantly. Ready to face the beast that now advanced on her. She'd fight this bastard bare-handed.
At least, in her mind, she was up and able. In reality, she was blinking rapidly and shaking her head, trying to clear it. Hands scrabbling on the stone floor—searching for weapons that weren't there. But she'd gotten one thing right.
The wilderin was coming at her.
"Hey!" An unfamiliar voice called out, clanging steel (most likely a sword) against the flooring. Drawing the creature's attention.
Two arms hooked under her armpits. A lanky form with a thin face loomed over her. Saying something. After struggling a bit with her weight, they dragged her out of harm's way. Down the ramp that led into the caverns. Their escape route.
Someone sprinted past her. Their boots stirring up the dust by her face. A man. Then another. Lighter steps. Guinevere.
"Is she alright?" Lancelot's voice rang through clearly to her.
"Just splendid." She intended to reply. What she heard was slurred blubbering. Lovely.
Then the black smog engulfed her.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Cold embraced her. Chilled her. Her body quivered independent of her will. Crackling and spitting warmth lapped at her from one direction. A fire. Dewey blades of grass caressed her back. Jagged twigs and broken stones prodded it. The scent of tangy steel filled her senses. Quiet voices nursed her sore head and bruised ego. Prickly whiskers tickled her nose. Then her forehead. And eyelid. She groaned and raised her arm—finally having regained control of it, and pushed away Loki's curious muzzle.
A whinny of protest forced open her bleary eyes.
Still daylight.
Rolling onto her side, she gave a hiss. A sharp pang radiated from her shoulder. Looking down, she found cotton bandages hidden under her sleeveless linen top. Wait. Where was-? Ah. There. Her frantic eyes spotted her leather armor a few yards away, nestled by an unnamed man.
She caught his gaze. Blue and proudly gleaming under tousled blonde hair. Strong chiseled features. Hard-set jaw. Well-built, if his clothes weren't too deceiving. Handsome in every right. And now he rose, walking towards her.
"Easy now. You've been wounded," it wasn't him that spoke. This voice was far too boyish to suit him. She craned her neck around to find another man cautiously adjusting the dressings over her shoulder. Thin-framed and cropped dark hair settled over a pair of dark blue eyes and a narrow, pale face. He had to be the one that saved her.
"I noticed that, thanks." Raivierra scoffed out a sarcastic reply.
"A crossbow bolt. Close range." This voice was deeper. Stronger. Assertive. Swiveling her head around, she found that the blonde had approached her. He offered a tight-lipped smile, "You're lucky."
"Really?" Raivierra sat up; ignoring the other man's advise. "Strange how I'm not feeling particularly appreciative of it then."
This warranted a stern look from the blonde. And a stifled chuckle from the dark-haired fellow.
"But I suppose I should thank the two of you." She reluctantly admitted.
"Thank us? You were incredible! I mean, who leaps on a wilderin!" The pale-faced boy praised, his voice flooding with admiration. "That takes some serious cour—"
"Stupidity." the blonde cut him off. "You nearly broke your back." he observed, referencing her affair with the cage bars. Just the thought of having her bones crack and pop like they did… oh how it made her shudder. "Not to mention. You could've had your head bitten clear off."
"Well I think it was brilliant." The smaller man came to her defense before she could.
"Yes well…" the flaxen-haired man eyed her up and down thoughtfully. "You would think that, Merlin." He left the tease hanging in the air as he strolled back to where Guinevere was packing up camp.
"Don't mind him." Merlin's voice was soothing. "As a Prince, Arthur has to be a prat." He gave a toothy grin at that.
Raivierra's eyes went wide. "Prince Arthur?" She looked after the retreating Arthur. "As in, Prince Arthur of Camelot?" she queried in awe.
"That's the one." Merlin followed her gaze for a moment before looking back at her and extending his hand. "I'm Merlin."
"I got that." She replied curtly, dismissing the offering with a wave of her hand. Raivierra let out a short nervous laugh, "And why in all of Albion would a Prince run headlong into a clan of crooks that have a bounty on his head?"
"Boun…ty?" Merlin sounded out the word. It was clear he had clue as to the real danger they had placed themselves in. He shook his head, trying to decide how to respond, "It's ermm… complicated."
"Raivierra." She stated absently, watching Arthur through narrowed eyes.
"Yes… I'm sorry, what?" Merlin asked awkwardly.
"My name." She glanced back at Merlin and gave a wry smile. He was kind. And witty. And blubbering. Innocent would be one way to put it. Rare in this world. Refreshing.
"Ah, yes. I know." He nodded approvingly and continued fussing with her bandages. He jumped, as if something had given him a start. "Uh- I mean, we know." He made a gesture with his hands, encompassing the entire party. "B-Because Lancelot told us." He nervously stuttered over his words.
"And he left you with these." Two large, jingling pouches flew at her along with Arthur's interruption. Raivierra warily eyed the coin purses landed conveniently by her hand. "They're yours, he said." Arthur flashed a forced look of surprise.
Raivierra turned one pouch over in her hand. Heavier than it should have been. Fatter too. Wait. Her eyes went wide again and her lips parted. She looked back at Merlin in alarm, "What do you mean he left me these?"
"Uh…" The apologetic look on the man's face said it all. "Lancelot felt it would be to everyone's best interest if he were to…"
"Abandon me." Raivierra finished for him. Looking away at her cleaned weapons by her feet, her jaw clenched and she shook her head. She could feel Merlin's sympathetic eyes on her. "Everyone's best interest? He called on my three times in less than a day." She turned back to Merlin, her mouth hanging with restrained indignation. Well, frustration more than anything. "Three times, he needed my help—in less than twenty-four hours." She swallowed away some of her growing irritation. "How is his vulnerability in everyone's best interest?"
Merlin was silent for a moment, letting her quick temper simmer. "And that's why he made his leave while you were out." He pursed his lips and sighed. "Something about you trying to stop him?"
Raivierra stood, leaning on Merlin to steady herself. "And so what am I supposed to do with a bit of coin and a horse?" She ambled to Loki's flank, stroking his neck in an effort to calm herself.
"Eat well for a week and then buy another?" Merlin joked. His laughter choked itself off when he realized she found no humor in it. He cleared his throat and replied hesitantly, "Erm… well Lancelot thought…"
"He does do an awful lot of that for where it doesn't concern him, doesn't he?" Raivierra bit back her ire a bit too late. Come now. She'd keep herself composed.
"I suppose?" Merlin replied; more of a question than an agreement. "Yes. Well. He thought you might come to Camelot. With- With us." He flinched away at his last words, as if she might lash out at him.
Raivierra stared intently into Loki's unusually becalming brown eye. She let Merlin squirm, waiting for an answer. Lancelot was gone. Didn't want her with him. That page of her life was done and over with. It could be as simple as that, right? Patting the stallion's cheek, she turned to face Merlin. Resigned.
"Well, I do owe you."
Note: Well that's it for now, kiddies. And not-so-kiddies. Hope ya'll enjoyed. And if ya'll catch typos and mistakes (which I'm sure there are some. This is by far the longest chapter I've done), feel free to let me know so I can fix it up. Ya'll know, reviews may encourage me to devote more time to this thing… which means faster updates. If you catch my drift ;). Peace.