Chuck versus the Positively Medieval
by Steampunk . Chuckster
Summary: In the provincial town of Pinedeep, everyone knows: The only way to secure the hand of the heiress of the Walker fortune is to catch her black cat and take the key that hangs from its collar back to the heiress Walker's home where it will unlock the door and unlock her fortune. When enigmatic siblings from afar settle in Pinedeep, will the shifting winds they bring prove fateful? Medieval AU.
A/N: I am grateful to folks still reading this fic. Thanks!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Medieval Times-though if I did own Medieval Times, I'd make the chairs in that place a little more comfortable and there would be better options for my vegetarian sisters and brothers to eat while enjoying the show.
He had been dreaming.
No, worse than that, he had guzzled too much beer with the three suitors. No, it had not been with the three suitors, had it? He had guzzled alone, sitting on a barstool, at the bar, in a tavern. Bryce, Cole, and Shaw had already left, and his misery over knowing his oh-so-brilliant plan would fizzle as the three men chose to work together? Well, it had gotten the better of him.
His brain had conjured that cat, just as the soothsayers would soothsay. Aye, and the beer had worked its hallucinating wonders so well that it made the cat appear before him seemingly as a spirit. Then it had crawled close and then sidled in even closer, and still he had not sneezed. And so, he had to have dreamt it or the beer had put the whole situation together, lying to the rest of him.
So it was with utter shock that he finally cracked his eyes open to the mid-morning sun coming through the shut curtains in the corner of the room, and there it was, the key to Sarah Walker's home, the end to the game.
The beginning to a new adventure, perhaps?
Chuck knew his triumph would register as less of a triumph with Sarah Walker herself. A man entering her home with the key she had hoped no one would ever obtain would mean something very different to her, to her future.
He stretched, feeling things in his body pop, and he gingerly pulled an arm from the covers to pick up the key where he left it on the nightstand. Honed from silver, 'twas. Beautiful. There were intricate engravings on the bow of it.
It was only just starting to settle in him.
This was the key.
For Sarah Walker, it was the key to her home, yes, but depending on how good her cat was at keeping away from her suitors, it was either the key to her freedom or it was the key to her being entrapped in an unwanted marriage.
He hoped he could make her see it as the key to her freedom.
Chuck crawled out of bed, pressing his fingers to his forehead hard, trying to will away the lingering effects of the copious amounts of beer he had drunk the night before.
Key still clutched in his hand, he pushed out of his bedroom and moved through their home to the kitchen.
There was his sister, already dressed in the frock she wore to do work in the yard, sipping a mug of steaming something, sitting at the kitchen table with her hair pulled up behind her head, staring down at one of her medical tomes.
He stood at the entrance to the kitchen in his drawstring long undergarment and a loose night tunic, the key in his open hand.
When she finally looked up at him, she smiled. "Well, someone came home quite late—What?" she asked, the smile dimming. He must have been wearing a stunned look on his face, because he felt stunned. "Brother, something is wrong. What is it?"
Chuck held out the key towards her, lifting his palm even more, the silver glinting in the morning light spilling through the window.
She didn't seem to understand. "Didst thou find someone's key on the ground? Someone has a hole in their pocket. I bet the blacksmith would know who it…belongs…" Finally her eyes went wide. He had slowly been shaking his head, the shocked look still on his face, and she finally realized…
She knew.
He could see it in her face as she pushed up to her feet, leaving her coffee and book behind as she wandered closer to him, her movements quick and jerky. "Chuck, that could not be…"
"But 'tis exactly it." He held it out towards her even more and she slid her fingers over his palm, the cool silver trapped between their hands.
"How didst thou—How?" She looked up into his eyes.
"I scarce know, sis. I went to the tavern after a job last night on invitation of the prince, Bryce. The three suitors were all together, sitting around a table. They were plotting."
His sister's green eyes were still wide with awe, having plucked the key from his hand. "Plotting? Against Sarah Walker?"
"Aye, and her cat. They wanted to join our strengths, work together."
"Together?"
"Aye. And when we outsmart Sarah's cat, we would draw lots to decide who would keep the key and use it at Sarah's home, thusly blessed with the privilege of a future with her."
Ellie frowned hard. "'Tis underhanded in some way."
"Yea, I thought the same. I refused to be part of it."
She smiled at him. "And so. Thou art a good man, brother."
Chuck shook his head, not looking for praise. "The way they spoke of the lady, it felt crooked. I was disgusted, Ellie. And I refused. They were furious and left me to drink alone. But then I found myself in the dark." She moved in closer, reassuring hand on his arm. "And the dark became…darker. And I continued to ask the barmaid to fill my tankard."
"Chuck…" His sister gave him a flat look, amusement in her features.
"Sis, I was plagued with thoughts of these men—They are stupid separately. They think they are not, and they are. But working together, I fearéd they might corner the cat and be successful. Then they would draw lots for Sarah as-as though she were a horse. Dictating her future by drawing lots! It drove me to madness and-and then to…drink. Too much. By the time I wandered out to find my horse, I, erm…lost my footing. And as I lay there…contemplating everything, wondering if my plan to win the key myself and use it to preserve the lady's freedom was ruined, I heard a sound, and there she was, the little black cat. She had found me, and in so doing, she found a desperate man, a drunken man, looking for a willing ear. I ran my mouth to the creature as she sat staring at me, likely not knowing what the spirits I was saying to her. Then she wandered in close and nudged me, as-as though she was…"
"She wanted ye to take it."
"I was drunk, so I know for sure not, but…it did feel that way, aye."
"And thou didst take it."
"Yea. She ran off once I had it. I rode home, set it beside my bed, and I slept."
His sister nodded, her eyes darting to the side. "First, thou needst a bath."
Chuck frowned, slightly offended. "I smell?"
"No," she giggled. "But ye shall not arrive at that lady's home looking in this state."
He blushed. "Fair. I will not."
"Draw thyself a bath and I will make some food. Thou wilt feel much better." Excitement shone in her pretty face then as she grabbed his arms just over his elbows, squeezing. "That cat allowed thee to handle the key because the sweet little thing sees thine heart. She trusteth thee."
"What if the cat is simply tired of running?"
"Perchance. But she chose thee." Ellie patted his chest. "She chose rightly." She paused, a strange look on her face, and he met it with a dubious look of his own. She smiled a little. "Chuck. Brother…" She nibbled her bottom lip. "What is next? Wilt thou tell her thy plan?"
"Yea." He nodded.
"Do not be surprised, Chuck, if thy lady believeth thee not." Chuck frowned. "'Tis not unwarranted." She shrugged. "Not because of thee, but…men. 'Tis pretty talk, indeed, granting freedom when thou hast the power in thy hands to do what thou wish. Wilt thou keep thy promise?"
"Of course!"
"I know that, Chuck. But I know thee. I know thine heart and what driveth it."
"And she knoweth not," he said with a nod. "Thou art in the right of it, sis. I shall try patience with my lady."
She cupped his face in her hands, pride in her face. "There is no man better than thee, Chuck Bartowski." And then she moved to the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek.
}o{
Chuck laid his hand on the gate in front of the Walker property, separating the sloping front yard in front of the sprawling stone house from the road.
The same road he had taken by foot instead of horse in spite of Ellie offering to saddle the mare for him as he put on the nicest, least threadbare tunic and trousers he owned, shrugging on a dark grey jacket, pushing his curls down with water and his fingers to look as put-together as he could muster.
He had needed the extra time as he strolled down the path, walking for almost half an hour, stopping, talking himself through what the conversation might be if she was immediately upset or angry with him. What would he say? How would he assuage her fears? And then he continued, only to stop again minutes later, talking himself through what the conversation might be if she was frightened.
By the time he arrived at her gate, he felt a strange amount of calm.
Chuck moved into the yard, shutting the gate behind him, the key clutched in his palm. He'd had it clutched in his palm this whole time, not wanting to put it in his coin purse, or his pockets. He had wanted to feel it against his palm, feel the cool metal on his skin. It gave him energy. Power.
It did give him quite a bit of power. He had control over his future. It could be anything he wanted it to be. He could make this whatever he wanted. He could move into this large stone house, have all of its comfort and warmth, and commandeer every last inch of the land that the Walkers had owned for generations. He could have the woman who had owned the land since her father's untimely passing. The most beautiful woman in Pinedeep, surely, but also the most beautiful woman in the land. Certainly of any woman he had ever seen, no one came close to her effervescent beauty.
As he stood at the door, key in hand, he knew he was in love with Sarah Walker.
He had the power to make her his wife in every way.
But he did not want to exert any power over a woman who did not love him back. He did not desire complete power over the lady or her family's realm.
He did desire the freedom and the happiness of the lady in question. He would create the space for Sarah Walker to choose her future for herself, to chart her own path forward, whatever it meant for him and his own future.
No one would dictate his future, and Sarah had many men attempting to dictate hers.
He held her future in his palm.
And as he slipped the key into the lock, turning it and pushing the door open, shutting it behind him and stepping into the home, he didn't hear anything. Had he come in while Sarah was out training?
Should he call her name?
But then he heard the shuffle of bare feet against the floor and he turned on his heel to see her standing at the doorway into the kitchen, a cleaning cloth hanging over her right forearm. She wore a simple frock, her feet bare, hair hanging down her back loose.
Her eyes were wide as she dropped her arms to her sides, the cloth falling to the floor beside her. Her shoulders slumped as the realization must have struck her. And her eyes lowered to the key still clutched in his fingers.
Chuck Bartowski held Sarah Sarah Walker's future in his palm…
And he crossed the distance between them, reaching out to gently curl his fingers around hers, turning her hand over, and putting the silver key there.
He was giving her future back to her.
With the downcast look on her face, her path unknown, she just did not know it yet.
"So…" she said quietly, finally, after nearly a minute of silence, both of them looking down at the key in her hand. "'Tis you then."
Chuck swallowed hard. And he nodded.
"I might have known when I heard ye had joined in on the contest that 'twould be the handyman who would walk through that door. If anyone…'twould be Chuck Bartowski."
"Did ye? I surely knew that not for myself. I was a'feared the others would get to it first. They banded together to try to outsmart thy cat."
Her eyes quivered.
"They succeeded not. Thou didst." She looked away from him and he saw sadness in her eyes, as though she knew this would be the end of the way she had been living her life for as long as she could remember, as though she knew she would lose her land, her freedom to do with it what she wanted.
Did she think he would exert power over her? Take everything he had built for her away and start digging on her land for its priceless resources? Everything she admitted to fearing from a man getting hold of that key once while they sat eating bread together under the shade of one of her many trees on the Walker property?
He hoped she did not think him capable of that, but he remembered Ellie's advice, and he did not blame her if she did think him capable. How well did she know him really? And with how vast her wealth was, was there anyone alive who—even if kind at first—wouldn't take advantage of that wealth eventually?
He had seen in his and Ellie's travels what newfound wealth was capable of doing to a person.
Chuck was determined to prove himself.
And he wanted to set her fears to rest.
"There is a reason why I pursued this key, and I…should have told thee. Only, I fear thou wilt believe me not." His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I wish I could say just the right thing, whatever it is I need to say to lessen the fear thou art feeling in this moment. Thou feareth a loss of freedom. I have no intention of stifling thee. Not in any way, but certainly not in thy freedom."
She furrowed her brow. "I…don't understand."
"'Tis true, thou hadst every reason to distrust me when everyone discovered I would also go after the cat to get the key. Just as the others made clear their suit, I did as well. But whilst they sought ownership of thy land, of thee…I had a great fear of what might happen to thee were one of them to get his hands on the key, and so I wanted to get the key to keep it from those brutes."
She widened her eyes this time. "Ye took the key so they could not?"
"Yea, my lady." He nodded once, gulping. "I am not a perfect man. I know not the sort of husband I would make. But ye need not worry, because I-I have no intention of pushing myself onto thee."
"We must marry," she insisted, shaking her head. "It is what I have sworn and I cannot, will not, go back on th—"
"Nay, Sarah." He shook his head as well, and he clasped her free hand with one of his, squeezing it reassuringly. "I know. I ask not that of thee. But when the ceremony is over, thou oweth me naught. That is…what I am trying to say. We will be husband and wife, thy suitors will leave Pinedeep, and not another man will come this way again—'least not for thee, not to seek thy hand. And thy cat will be free to come and go without men chasing her about town."
Chuck looked down at their hands clasped, and he allowed himself a moment to feel her soft skin on the back of her hand under his thumb. He stroked her there, and then he let her hand go, feeling an ache in his chest.
"I will leave thee to live thy life the way ye see fit, Sarah Walker. I wilt not impose my own will upon thee. Thy path forward will be dictated by none other than thyself." He met her wide blue eyes earnestly. "Thou wilt be free. Still."
She frowned up at him, and he saw the disbelief in her face. "'Tis not possible. When we marry, I am thy wife. Surely no man who marries me will expect me to follow every last rule that passeth his lips, but I am still obligated to…be a wife to him," she emphasized. "And the laws state that everything that is mine will pass to thee. My land, my house," she gestured around them, "…and myself."
"The laws state that I may do as I choose when we marry, Sarah Walker. I do not desire thy land or this house, as breathtaking as the Walker property is, as breathtaking as this house is…" He met her gaze. "…as breathtaking as thou art. All I desire is for ye to pick thine own path."
Sarah Walker pulled in a deep breath. "I…know not how to respond."
He saw it in her face. "Thou believeth me not. Still. I understand. I harbor no ill feelings o'er it. It sounds kin to madness."
"It does," she said immediately, looking up at him through her lashes.
"I shall prove it to thee. And…in the meantime… I know not how we proceed."
}o{
She took in Chuck Bartowski's shy and unsure look, the sincerity in his face, his eyes especially, golden brown in the morning light coming in through the front windows.
Sarah only half believed him. He seemed like the sort of man who meant the things he said. Perhaps now he believed himself capable of keeping to what he had promised her.
Perhaps now he believed he simply wanted her to be able to forge her own path, as she had before. He likely believed himself capable of stepping back and allowing her to make those decisions. He likely believed himself capable of not seeing her family's estate as his own once they married, the grounds and the home…even her.
But she knew she was not being unreasonable to fear that sincerity would fade once he had a taste of the power and the wealth.
She knew she stood before a good man, certainly the best one she had ever met. But as he said, he was not perfect, and even a perfect man was not impervious to the lure of power and wealth.
One thing she knew for certain, it was so much better that this man—her handyman—had gotten hold of that key than the other three who were keen on obtaining her. He had much of goodness in him, his heart big and warm. He was hard-working. He was thoughtful, polite, kind. And there was an honesty about him that was not practiced.
Sarah would not even pretend she did not think him handsome. His smile was not always symmetrical, and yet that crooked tilt to it, so natural and sudden and genuine, made her heart race. His eyes drew her in, his hair looked silky and it made her want to push her fingers through it, and his height made a certain warmth pool in her stomach.
She thought about those dances she shared with him more times a day than she cared to admit. The fast dance in which they twirled and clapped and he made faces so she laughed, yea…but at night, when she lie awake in the dark, she would think of the slower dance they had shared that night of the moon festival, the way his hands had felt on her body even through her dress, his fingertips on her face, his back pressed tight to her back, long arms around her, embracing her against him, his breath playing with the wisps of hair near her ear.
Sarah swallowed hard and ran a hand down the front of her frock.
She knew she could have been stuck with significantly worse than the handyman, and she also knew just as surely the rest of Pinedeep would not see it that way. Only, she cared not what they thought of this man.
Or what they thought of her marrying him.
"We make the announcement in the Pinedeep marketplace," she said, her voice sounding steadier than she felt. "There is going to be a wedding." She pulled in a deep breath as his eyes went wide, nerves in his face. "Sarah Walker, heiress to the Walker fortune and property, to Charles Bartowski…"
"Mere handyman," he filled in when she paused just slightly.
He looked to the side and she gently tugged on the lapel of his jacket, feeling some strange sense of affection for the man in front of her. Yea, this could have been so, so much worse. And she thought this often. Often enough to have done something…
His eyes darted back to meet hers at the tug of his jacket. "Thou art a handyman…and a good man. Those are not mutually exclusive."
That earned her a small but warm smile. "I thank ye for saying't."
Sarah nodded once, emphatically. "And so. This is done. We move to next. I hope thou wilt mind not if I take a day or two for…" She tugged on her frock nervously. "I may need time to come to terms with what has happened. 'Tis maybe not usually done this way, only I…"
He stepped back, away from her, nodding aggressively almost. "F'course, my lady. Sarah," he added with emphasis. And warmth. Always his unfailing warmth. "Take all the time that is needed. However long that may be."
"'Twill not be long. I promise. A day, two at most."
Chuck gave a respectful bow, and then he took another step back. "I will leave thee to…process. This must have been a sudden shock."
"It…was. But do not away just yet." He sent her a surprised look, slowly straightening to his full height again. "Have tea with me. In my kitchen. Soon, 'twill be thy kitchen." She tried not to blush at that. She wasn't sure how she felt about it besides the prick of fear deep inside of her.
She knew this was coming eventually; and still it was hard to process.
He bowed again, just his head this time. "Of course, if ye insist, Sarah."
"I do. Come."
Sarah turned on her heel, shutting her eyes, taking a deep, strengthening breath, and she led him into her kitchen. She had him sit at the table as she prepared the tea, watching the leaves clump together as she poured the steaming water through them into each cup.
They stayed silent throughout, as the minutes passed, her back to him. But she felt his gaze on her back, and it was unnerving and at the same time, it felt…good. She did not know how to deal with any of this.
More preparation for this moment would not have helped any.
She finally turned to face him, both cups in her hands. They met gazes, and she tried to smile. But her insides were crumbling.
How long would his good intentions last? And could she blame him when they at last faltered? She knew with everything in her, as their fingers brushed while he took his own cup of tea from her, their eyes meeting again, this man would not do anything to mar her family land. He would not steal its natural resources to fill his pockets. That simply was not who Chuck Bartowski was.
Sarah knew she did not know this man well, but she did not need to know him better than she did now to be certain he would not use this land for his own gain the way the other suitors would have.
And what he had done by taking that key was make it so that she never had to worry what some other man might do were he to take the key from the cat. He had freed her from the subjugation of another man. And now she would have to trust him not to subjugate her in some other way.
She did not think he would.
She was relying on it.
But she was still afraid to trust fully.
Sarah sat down across from him and sucked in a deep breath. "We must see a notary once the announcement is made."
It was second nature for her to launch directly into business. It felt less terrifying, talking about what must be done rather than focusing on her own emotions.
Chuck squirmed, as if less than comfortable. "Ah. Yea. Notary. For the…marriage. Indeed. How-How long will the betrothal last?"
She looked down into the amber liquid in her cup, watching the steam rise up from it. "I leave that to thee, sir. Pinedeep will want to make an occasion of the wedding itself. Which may take time. Preparations and such."
"Aye. F'course." He sipped the tea, but it appeared to be too hot for him because he coughed slightly and winced, blowing out between his lips and then pursing them, sending the offending liquid a small glare. "Hot," he muttered.
Sarah bit back a smirk, not wanting him to think she was laughing at him.
"As soon as possible." She looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. He blushed bright, his mouth opening and closing, a quiet squeak coming from his lips. "The sooner the marriage takes place, the sooner the gambit is over. Bryce, Cole, and especially Shaw will leave this place from whence they came and thou wilt be free of them, as will thy cat."
She pursed her lips, finding his comment about the cat interesting. "Seems as though ye care what happens to my cat…"
"I do," he insisted without even a shred of embarrassment. "I know not whether she holds me in any regard whatsoever, but I consider her a friend. The thought of that beautiful creature being free of the burden of that key, being allowed to wander where she ought without interference from her owner's suitors, makes me happy indeed."
Sarah watched him closely. He was truly sweet. Where others would treat an animal as a lesser being, a mere beast, a pest, he clearly held the cat in high esteem, respected her, and cared about what happened to her.
"Thou art kind to think of her as ye do, sir."
He blushed, shrugging one shoulder, glancing to the side. This time he seemed much more careful to blow on the tea before sipping it, only taking a small amount between his lips this time.
Something occurred to her then and she ducked her head, feeling shy. "May I ask…? This plan of yours, getting the key, marrying the maiden Walker, only to grant her freedom to live the life she wants… thy sister knows of't?"
"Ellie knoweth of my plan, aye."
"Doth she think ye mad?"
"Aye." He chuckled, but she couldn't find a smile in herself. "Ellie is certain I am mad. But she understandeth that when I make up my mind to do something, I find a way to get it done."
Sarah raised both eyebrows. "Yea, sir. I would say it be true, considering our current situation."
He wore that crooked smile of his. "May I tell thee truthful?" She nodded eagerly. "I believe she feareth for me and mine own happiness. I marry thee to allow for ye to carve a path of thine own. And truly, Sarah Walker…on that path, I see myself not. And still, I am satisfied, so long as it is my lady forging the path on her own. And no one else. Not even myself."
"And is that happiness for thee?" she asked, breathless, genuinely wanting his answer, his truthful answer.
"I know not. That is truth. But I think so." He leaned in closer and she found herself entranced. "It will have to be enough. Because I have made my mind up."
Sarah shook her head, reaching across the table to grab his hand and squeezing it. "I made these rules myself, Chuck. If thou want to back out of't, there is time."
"No," he said adamantly. "All I have ever wished for is my work, a roof over my head, and a home. A real home where I am free to stay without…persecution for being different from everyone else. Where my sister is free to stay without persecution, her own trade and knowledge respected. Peace. In those things, I may find enough happiness."
Sarah sighed, his hand feeling so good under hers. Good enough, she did not draw back from him. "And so…we shall be married then?"
"We shall. And thou wilt never be bothered by another suitor again. Thou art free to shoot thine arrows, throw thy knives, and slash away at men of hay with thy swords." He grinned at her. "Just as I wrote it."
She drew in a deep breath. "So it shall be."
Could she truly trust him to keep to his word? She did not know.
But she was marrying him anyway.
There was no other choice in front of her.
}o{
He played the part well.
She had to admit.
The announcement was made in the square, Charles Bartowski standing shoulder to shoulder with Sarah Walker beside the town cryer. Pinedeep's notary stood a few feet away, the scroll they both signed rolled and in his hand.
He had an unmoved smile on his face.
People of Pinedeep had erupted, some with shock, others with dismay, but still others rejoiced the prospect of another large celebration, this time one of union, one of love.
And now her betrothed stood nearby, receiving the pounding thumps of other men's open palms on his shoulders. They hit him with things such as, "Who thought thou had it in thee?" or "The town handyman besting princes and knights for the fair lady's hand! Miracle!" and "Spirits have certainly blessed thee!" And in spite of much of it being condescending, patronizing, even offensive towards him and his station, he wore a constant look of pride and happiness.
"If I were ye, Mistress Walker…" She turned away from him back to the barmaid who was a few years her elder, spying the dubious look the other woman sent her soon-to-be husband. "I would take that cat of your'n an' stick it in a pot for supper." Sarah's eyebrows shot into her hairline. "She let a handyman with dirt under 'is fingernails take the key and not the handsome prince? Those beasts truly are stupid."
Sarah followed the barmaid's gaze to Chuck—the handyman with dirt under his fingernails. "He must have done something to earn the cat's trust. I find it best not to argue with her."
"Thou shouldst argue with the beast."
"Grizel!" The barmaid turned as Missus Naughton stomped over, a storm cloud look on the older woman's face. "Get thee gone! Puttin' doubts in the head of the lass! Rules are rules. Go!"
The barmaid curtsied to Sarah, blushing with embarrassment, before she dashed off, leaving Sarah alone with the baker's wife.
"Always up to trouble, that one. As if none of us knows she found favor enough in the visiting knight during the moon festival, sneakin' off together, disappearin' into the dark. Not a one of us saw either of 'em again 'til the next morn'."
Sarah pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from laughing outright. "Did she? Hm. More power to Grizel."
"Are ye happy, mistress?"
She sent a surprised look at the rotund woman. "Happy?"
"Aye! Ye'll be a wife soon enough and have broods a'plenty. Sons ta carry on the legacy of thy family." Missus Naughton seemed pleased enough with the betrothal, even if she had tried to push Sarah to the prince Bryce the night of the moon festival.
And then Sarah had to remind herself that it was not the business of anyone in Pinedeep, not even kindly but nosey Missus Naughton, whom she married. She had set the game with the cat, the collar, and the key…and now a man had bested the game. And he was going to be her husband.
Eventually, after the thumps on the back, the kisses on the cheek, the curtsies, bows, hand shakes, and well wishes, the couple was pushed back together in the middle of the square, Chuck's arm pressed into hers. She tried to find a smile from deep inside of her, even with the nerves she felt—and "nerves" was rather underselling the fear pinching at her heart.
She had not wanted to marry.
And yet, she had been drawn to this man from the first.
It wasn't until she spent more time with him that she realized he wasn't just intriguing, different from Pinedeep's men. He had made her laugh easier than anyone ever had, even her own father when he was still alive. And his delicious eyes sparkled when he made her laugh, as though it pleased him greatly.
And then they had danced together, and the apparent sensations she had in her when they stood together with a bow and arrow as she taught him how not to make such a mess of it, or when they sparred as she attempted to teach him the art of swordplay, were suddenly intensified, focused… And she knew that night that she was rather madly attracted to the man who had bent himself over backward to not only keep her secret of how she spent her extra time in the training grounds of her property, amidst the thick trees, but he spent hours and hours and hours bent over the task of improving her training equipment.
She was drawn to him as a moth was drawn to a flame.
Only she knew not whether he would burn her eventually the way the flame would burn the moth when it came too close.
Chuck's hand folded around hers then and she turned to look up into his face. She couldn't feel the way her heart thudded away in her chest, or the way an easy smile graced her lips, as focused as she was on the fear that this would hurt worse than if one of those other men had gotten the key. She knew what to expect with them.
She knew very well what they wanted.
And Chuck? She understood him not.
Even as he looked into her eyes with that soft smile of his, a reassuring tilt of his lips upwards just for her, she did not know what Chuck Bartowski was doing here. What was his goal? He told her that it was her freedom to choose on her own, her happiness. And yet…it was so hard to believe a person who scarce knew her, who she was, who she really was, could ever want those things for her.
He would have to care a great, great deal to want to gift her freedom and happiness when he would have all the power he needed to do with her, to her, whatever he wanted.
It was hard still for her to trust a man such as this could really exist.
And yet he did exist, because he held her hand in his, and he was flesh and blood. What he really was…was incredibly foolish. Big-hearted and foolish.
She needed to find some way to seek out the light in this very different existence she would now be plunged headfirst into. Perhaps his kindness was the first ray of light, the way he made her skin feel both warm and cold all at once, his smile, the sincerity of his attempt to make this pact with her, all of it more rays of light. Blossoms of color in the dark.
Tendrils of color, like the ribbons children danced with at the Pinedeep festivals, slowly weaving through her chest.
She needed the light, the color, else she would not be able to make it through this life. And if there was one thing she remembered vividly about her mother, even with the years' distance since she last saw her alive, it was the way she would brush her messy hair back from her face after coming in from a full day of play, and she would smile, her eyes glossy but aware, and she would tell her to live.
"Live, baby girl of mine. Thou wilt survive long after me, and thy father. And ye must find a way to live."
Chuck turned to furrow his brow at her. "Sarah? Di-Didst thou say something?"
She smiled up at him and shook her head, not realizing she had mumbled her mother's words out loud. And she was suddenly resolute, looking into his eyes. "Nay."
"…Art thou well?"
His concern was genuine. She felt it. And she was even more resolute. She would trust this was true, that it was real. He had given her no reason to believe otherwise, even if her heart still held its fear close.
"I am," she said with a nod. "I am well."
And somewhere deep inside of her breast, she was.
A/N: Announcement's made! Done deal! Sort of.
Please review if you can. Thanks for reading!
-SC