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: Thank you everyone!

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 pushed through the opening to burst out into the night. Even with the open ceiling of the venue the moon festival's nighttime activities were held in, the air had been much warmer inside than it was out here.

But he knew part of the warmth inside was his dancing partner.

A large part.

Chuck glanced around, looking for any sight of the long golden braid, the purple mask covering the top half of her face, the shimmering silken plum colored overdress she wore.

He saw none of it, as hard as he looked.

The young man, the idiot as he realized he must be as he stood there with shoulders drooping, didn't bother calling out her name. Where had she gone to?

And why?

Chuck pushed the mask off of his face, holding it in his right hand as he frowned, pushing his other hand through his unruly curls.

But then he heard stomping steps behind him.

"You bastard knave!"

Chuck turned, his brow furrowed in anger as he watched Shaw approach, his jaw clenched and eyes flashing dangerously behind his black mask, flames rising up around his temples.

"How now, sir? I beg your pardon—?"

"To dance with the fair maid not once, but twice! Thou art a bastard with balls, I'll give you that," he groused between gritted teeth. "But balls can be removéd."

Straightening his spine, he grit his teeth back. "Try it, I dare thee."

Maybe he shouldn't let dares such as that loose from his lips. But who in spirits hell did this man think he was?

"Be careful, knave, what thou wisheth for."

"How didst I offend thee, sir?" Chuck tried.

Just as quickly, Shaw's fist was clutched in the front of Chuck's tunic. It took everything in the younger man not to shrug Shaw's grip off of him and give the bastard a good shove. Only, he didn't want to have to leave Pinedeep in the same fashion in which they'd had to leave their other attempted homes.

So he stood steady, fists clutched at his sides, chin raised, jaw hard.

"Thou mistaketh the fair maiden Walker for a mere barmaid. Touch one of them as thou wilst, but ye will not make sully of her," he growled. Chuck felt ire rise but before he could respond, Shaw finished, "Thou coveteth that which belongeth to me."

The ire got the best of the young man, and he grabbed Shaw's fist, shoving it away from his tunic, away from him. He only stood taller. "Thou art mistaken, good sir—"

"Am I?"

"Aye. The fair maiden of which ye speak belongeth to no one; woman, child, or man."

"I traveled through hundreds of—"

"I care not from whence ye came to win thy suit. Sarah Walker is not yours."

"And she is thy—?"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting his hand through the air. "She is her very own!" This time he pointed his finger in Shaw's face. "Thou mistaketh the fair maiden Walker, sir," he spat out, leaning in even closer, speaking through a clenched jaw. "Thou mistaketh her for one of thy servants, or worse, the stool on which thou resteth thy feet at the end of the day."

"Thou dareth to break the rules!"

"I am not beholden to thy rules, or anyone else's for that mat—"

But Shaw grabbed the front of Chuck's tunic again, yanking him in.

The moment Chuck turned, he saw flashing anger, a clenched jaw, and the approaching fist. Before he could protect himself, it thunked hard into his eye and he lost his footing, clattering down into the dirt with a grunt.

He brought a hand up immediately to clutch at the awful stinging in his eye when he saw Shaw charging towards him to attack again. Only, he didn't reach him.

Chuck heard a wild snarling sound, followed by a hiss.

And as he looked up, he watched as a flash of black fur whisked past his one-eyed vision. It landed half on Shaw's shoulder, the other half hugging his head. It scratched him with both paws, causing him to scream out in pain, and then it gracefully hopped off of him, onto a tall ledge, and away it dashed again.

Summer's day! Had the cat just…protected him?

Chuck climbed to his feet as Shaw bent low, clutching his cheek. He pulled his hand away, looking at the red smear of his own blood on his fingers. She'd caught him diagonally from his nose down to his jaw below his ear.

But then Shaw realized he was standing right in front of him again, and Chuck was sure he blamed him for the fresh wound to his face, because he pounced at him again, roaring, "Bastard!"

Before he could reach Chuck, two tall, strong men were there, catching Shaw steadily, one man grabbing each arm respectively.

"Gads, Chuck! What'd ye do?" the prince asked, grinning toothily; maybe he was gritting his teeth from the effort of holding Shaw back.

"That dance's wot did it," Cole explained, also straining to hold Shaw back. "Both of 'em."

"Stop!" Bryce barked in Shaw's ear. Finally, Shaw quit struggling, ripping his arms out of the other suitors' grips and straightening his clothes. He snagged his mask from the ground where the cat had smacked it off and stomped back inside, giving them both looks of betrayal along the way.

Bryce turned back to Chuck and leaned in with a sympathetic hiss. "Seems he hit thee."

"Mm. Yea, sir. I was there for't." He still held his eye with a wince. And then he turned every which way. "Did-Didst thou see the—"

"Pray, have a seat, poor boy," Cole interrupted, taking his arm and sitting him on a crate that was pressed against the side of the wall. "He saw thee dance with the lady he deemeth to be his own. He lost his senses. Thou must understand."

"She is not his. She is not a piece of property."

"But she has one. Quite a sizable one. I crossed quite the distance after I heard about what kinds of opportunities lie on her property," Bryce of the Lark Kingdom said, unguarded, without even a small attempt to hide his greed therein.

"Do not mistake me, I appreciate ye both stepping in to keep my head from being torn straight from my shoulders. But—"

"Which of ye damn bastards didst this to my brother?!"

Ellie rushed outside, spotted the two men standing over Chuck, his hand over his eye, and she hastened to him.

"Hie, fetch me water cold and a cloth!" she snapped up at Bryce. Leave it to his sister to give orders to a prince.

He was grateful when Bryce seemed not to take much offense, waving for one of his attendants who followed in his wake everywhere he went to do it for him. They bowed and ran to do Ellie's bidding.

"Shall I repeat the question?!" she barked up at them, peeling Chuck's hand from his swelling eye.

"Bate thy rage, Ellie," Chuck cut in. "These good sirs are not at fault. They used their hands to prevent the fiend from doing more than this." He pointed to his eye as she leaned in and gently probed it. They hissed together, him in pain and her in yet more sympathy.

Ellie straightened to her full height, turning when the prince's attendant hurried back with what she'd asked for. She pushed the cloth against Chuck's eye. "Hold that." Then she turned to one of the two men. "I thank thee, good sir." She shifted to the other. "And thee. Accept my apology for the way I—"

"No apology necessary. Felt rather good to be put in my place by so fair a maiden," Cole of Barker said smoothly.

"Mark me grateful I received not a swing from thee before thy brother cleared our names," Bryce of Lark added, smiling in amusement. "Come. We must inside and be sure our…er…friend with his head hot like the fires of hell is not causing mischief therein. Take care of that eye, boy." He thumped Chuck on the shoulder.

Cole winked and followed Bryce and his attendant inside.

Chuck looked up at Ellie with a dark brow. "Boy? That prince is a handful of years my senior, if that."

"That is what ails thy mind, Chuck? A powerful fiend full of rage tried to kill thee and thou art worried about 'boy'?" She huffed, rolling her eyes.

"The bastard thinks Sarah belongs to him."

"Well, of course. He dost believe what his life hath shown to be true without fail. Everything he hath ever wanted, he hath received. That is how it has always been for men like that. But he is a slithering snake in tall grasses. Thou should have minded thy step better."

Chuck groaned. "And ye would say this to me as well, dear sister? Sarah Walker is not his!"

She sent him a royally offended look. "How darest thou?! I, of all people, know that not?" She smacked his arm gently with the palm of her hand and he sent her another dark look, only for her to send one back to mock him.

He couldn't help the light chuckle at that. He adored her even when she was letting him have it.

"Thou art a stupid knave. I love thee with every bone in mine body, and thou art a stupid knave." He frowned. "There are three—count them," she said as she held up three fingers, "—men who are seeking that woman's suit. Bryce of Lark Kingdom, a literal prince, the son of the King of Lark." She counted down the fingers. "Cole of the Barker Province, a literal knight of the Barker Realm."

"He was a knight," Chuck cut in glumly. "He is one no longer. An ex-knight. If that."

Ellie rolled her eyes, then stopped. "Really? Hm. That's amusing." She shook herself then. "And finally, third and worst of all, the son of one of the most dastardly lawmakers in any province, a man who would pick his teeth with the bones of people who have starved to death under his horrific taxation laws. Shaw Senior will protect his son from anyone who crosseth him."

"Wait, that means he is Shaw Junior?" Chuck let out a bubbly giggle at that, adjusting the cloth so that a cold side was pressed to his eye again.

"Yea, dear brother," Ellie drawled. "Jest now. Thou wilst cry anon, when he goes after thee and no one will hold him accountable else they face the wrath of his powerful, cruel father."

Chuck frowned. "And so. Thou art telling me I should have let Sarah go without a single dance through the festival's entirety? No one was dancing with her. And I wanted to. Is that a crime?"

"Wanting is not a crime. And no, dancing with her was not either. But the reason why no one was dancing with her was because there are three very powerful men who are here specifically to catch her cat, take that key, and open the door to her home, thus becoming the master of said home." She knelt in front of him and put her hand on his knee, pulling her forest green mask off and letting it hang from her wrist. "None sought any reason to cross those very powerful men. …Save thee."

"None told me of this unspoken pact to leave that woman out of the festival's activities."

"And if they had?"

He pursed his lips, not answering. Because he would have danced with her anyway, and he knew it to be true.

"Mmmmhm. Come. Let us away. Before thou decideth to start another skirmish."

Chuck groaned at that, letting Ellie help him up to his feet. He slung his arm over her shoulders and leaned his weight against her as she let out a bubbly laugh. "Truly? Thou needth to lean on me? 'Tis just thine eye."

"Let me be. My eye is sick, as is mine heart."

"Oh, poor thing." She reached around with her opposite hand and pat his chest over where his heart was. "Let us get thee home. I will pour a stiff drink."

"Most dearest sister there is in all the land, that is thee."

She giggled and gave his hand on her shoulder a pat.

}o{

Sarah frowned as she wiped a thin layer of dust from the top of the dresser where her father's clothes still sat folded just as he'd left them. She hadn't known what to do with them. And she'd had no one to ask what to do with them.

Might she bring them to town for another less privileged man to find use? But whom? Which man? Where would she bring them?

And they were all she had left of him besides the land she lived on.

She finished dusting the dresser and stopped in the middle of the room. She did not use the main bedroom of the house. It had been his. And she hadn't moved into it once he had died and left her with all of this.

She kept her own room, still large but much smaller than his.

She had a woman come in to clean once a week, but sometimes it felt important for her to do it herself as well. To remember this was hers, when so many believed it should belong to a man.

Any man who would have it.

And all men would if they had the chance.

Two days ago, after the disastrous moon festival, she truly wished she had Jack Walker here with her. Her mother, as well. Her sweet mother.

But Emma would have tut-tutted at her daughter dancing with a handyman. Not out of spite for him and his station, but she had always been so steady in her belief that everything was as it was for a reason. That included this society's strict rules.

Emma Walker would have been disappointed at her daughter's behavior. She would have gently chastised her to know her place, and to know others' places as well.

Jack would have stayed quiet, only to find her later, and when the two of them were alone, he would ask her what was going through that quick mind of hers. He'd ask with that wily smirk of his. And when she wasn't truthful with him, he'd roll his eyes at her and ask the real question: did she have feelings for the curly-haired scamp she'd danced not once with, but twice?

Chuck had truly rescued her from a terrible fate—dancing with Shaw, having his wanton, dastardly hands on her body, having him look at her in that way that made her skin crawl right off her bones.

But then he led her onto the dance floor and every look, every touch, had made her feel as though she were dancing in a pit of fire.

That was the truth.

She could admit she liked the man. He seemed to have a warm heart. He was thoughtful; he actively thought of others consistently. He was talented. He seemed to care about people. And she thought she could include herself in that. And, truly, she would be lying to herself if she didn't also admit she found him handsome.

But feelings? That was going too far.

She had to repeat that in her own mind over and over again.

Most importantly, the poor man had apparently been attacked by Shaw after the fact. She had been beside herself with guilt over it for days now. She needed to build up her courage to see him, thank him for rescuing her from Shaw, and apologize for being the reason why he'd been hit by the vile fiend. But she wasn't brave enough, not yet.

And if she were honest with herself, she'd admit most of her reason for not making the short trip to the Bartowski property was her blatant awareness of how unbridled her enjoyment had been at the first dance they'd taken together earlier on in the festival, while the sun was still high above their heads…only for that second dance to steal the breath from her body. There'd been an intensity and she knew they'd both felt it. Shocks of lightning when their fingers touched. And his hands on her seemed to singe through the layers of silk and cloth she wore that night. When he lifted her and his chin pressed into her belly as he looked up into her eyes.

And then he'd broken from the norm of the dance steps, and he had oh so lightly stroked his fingers along her jawline. It was highly irregular. It was likely very inappropriate. She didn't know who had or hadn't seen him do it.

But spirits, she'd felt it.

In every inch of her body, she'd felt his feather-like touch. Like one of his hammers to her gut.

How did she stand before him again without blushing like a little girl?

Would he be forward again when next he saw her? Would he continue to romance her the way he had during that dance? He had romanced her. And she had to admit—at least to herself—that she had romanced him back.

And perhaps if her father were here, asking that question, she would have to admit the beginnings of some…feelings.

What ever did she do about them?

She set to dusting again, rubbing the cloth over the would a bit more vigorously than was perhaps warranted, when she heard the loud clanking of someone working the knocker on her front door downstairs.

Sarah froze.

Who…?

Without thinking twice about it, she draped the cloth over her shoulder and hurried downstairs, brow furrowed in confusion, perhaps concern as well. Had something happened?

She unlocked the door and whipped it open, only to gape openly.

"Oh," she breathed. "'Tis thee."

Chuck Bartowski stood on the uppermost stone step that led to the door, one hand on his knee bent by his foot propped on the stone, the other tugging shyly on the vest he wore over a white tunic. "I beg thy pardon for intruding with no notice, my lady…" Sarah realized belatedly that the cloth was still on her shoulder. She snatched it, blushing as she haphazardly threw it to land on the entry table where he wouldn't see it, patting at her likely disheveled hair and tugging on her own day dress to straighten it. "Only I wished to make sure ye were well."

"Me?" she asked quietly, squeezing out onto the small uncovered porch and shutting the door behind her carefully.

"Aye. After we danced, ye…ran right out into the night and I thought…perhaps thou were ill. I sought to ask after thee yesterday, but I had jobs piled up after everyone was wrapped up in the revelry of the moon festival the day before." He let her have a small, shy smile.

In the light of the afternoon sun, without the torches and the moonlight, without the beguiling red rose mask over the top half of his face, he was somehow even handsomer.

And his care for her, out in the open, his worrying after her, made him all the more handsomer.

This was truly unfair.

"Wilst thou walk with me?" she asked quietly.

His smile widened and he nodded his head once. "If thou wouldst have me, yea, my lady."

She smiled back, turning to lock the door with the key at her belt, before joining him, letting him take her hand to help her down the handful of steps and onto the path that led around the house, deeper into her vast property.

"I am not ill. Thou mayst set thy mind at ease," she said after a few moments of rather tense silence.

"Oh. Oh, good."

She decided not to address why she had run, instead turning to look at him. Only she hadn't been paying attention when he first arrived, with the way his cap tipped just slightly over his face, perhaps the shadow had obscured it. He had a purple welt over his left eye that was closest to her.

Sarah grabbed at his arm, awash with concern. "Sir, thine eye! Did that bastard Shaw do that to thee?" she demanded, squeezing his bicep. "Art thou well?" He furrowed his brow in confusion and she sighed, shaking her head. "I went to the marketplace yesterday morn. They were all a'flutter, talking about the skirmish outside of the venue the night before. Shaw attacking the comely handyman after the latter danced with Sarah Walker. Certainly none dared to say as much to my face, and yet I heard it." She squeezed him again. "Good sir…Chuck…I feel responsible. Thou were'st attacked for my benefit, and I am very sorry for my part in it." She gestured to his eye. "The discolor…it…"

"Unsightly?"

She shook her head. "No. I am concerned about thee, that is all."

He smiled a little. "Please do not put the blame on thyself, my lady. Thou hadst no part in it. Ye politely accepted my invitation but I initiated both dances."

"Why didst thou ask me to dance?" she heard herself ask. She wished she'd bit her tongue, damn it. Only she'd wondered incessantly since that night.

A surprised look came over his face and then he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Ah, I, uh…wanted to dance with thee." He moved to clasp his hands together behind his back.

She smiled slightly, her eyes on his profile as he stared straight ahead, his eyes squinting in the sunlight streaming down through the leaves, dappling his handsome features with dancing shadow.

"Why?"

That answer hadn't sufficed.

There was a pained look on his face and she suspected it had nothing to do with his black eye. "Must there be a complicated answer? What if it is as simple as I wanted to? Simply for the sake of dancing with thee?"

She sent him her most dubious look. "Simple?" Sarah pursed her lips and glanced away. "Nothing is ever simple where I am involved, sir."

Chuck seemed amused by her response. But she had every intention of waiting him out, and he must've seen it in her face, for he let out a huff and ducked his head. "Aye. Fine. Sarah, thou art relentless."

She was, wasn't she? She spared him a rather smug look and he snorted. But then he ran a hand down the front of his vest, tugging on it nervously.

"I did want to dance with thee. That much is the truth of it. Though the why of it is…complicated."

"Thou wilst try to explain it to me," she only partly teased.

Furrowing his brow, he tugged his vest one more time. "Yea, my lady. I will try." With one more pause, he set in. "The whole of that day, throughout the festivities, everyone was dancing, switching partners. Revelry abounded. And y-ye stayed on the outskirts of it all, it seemed. Relegated to the watching of it. And I know not why. I knew not then, just as I know not now." He shook his head. "Save for the first dance, the dance of the maidens."

"Indeed, 'tis customary for unmarried maidens to start the festivities off with the first dance in Pinedeep's moon festival. As yet unmarried, I was beholden to the custom. And so. I danced."

"Thou didst," he breathed, his eyes soft. "And I had never seen in thy face such a light, Sarah Walker." Her eyes widened as she shifted to face him more, even as they continued strolling through her property. He seemed intent on not looking back at her, his cheeks tinged with pink. "Thine eyes and thy grin sparkled with joy. It was everywhere in thee. And perhaps it is more simple than complicated, for I simply wished to see that joy in thee again, in thine eyes, thy smile. And so… I asked thee to dance."

When he finally turned to look at her, she faced front quickly this time, staring straight ahead, her own cheeks burning with a blush. She felt it. She squinted, pursing her lips thoughtfully.

He'd wanted to dance with her so that she would feel joy again, the joy he'd seen in her when first she had danced with the other women.

The man was playing a very dangerous game, indeed.

Only she did not know how to respond to that.

"The second time, I saw one of thy suitors making his way towards thee, and I felt—by the way ye seemed to be looking for an out—that it would be best if I hastened to thy side and arrived there first. Before he did.

"You were successful, thank the spirits."

He sighed. "Mmm. I was."

"It was all very foolish." He winced audibly. "I know not whether any of it has been explained to thee—why it was foolish of ye to ask me…?" she asked then, trying to move away from the undeniable sensations roiling through her gut at how honest he'd just been, and what he had said…

She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, watching a frown cut through his features. "I merely wished to ask someone to dance—and who thou art as a human being had everything to do with it. Not who thou art as the owner of vast beautiful lands."

"I have three very powerful men after my hand. They all have royal ties, are supposedly great warriors, or are simply from very rich and corrupted families in equally corrupted kingdoms." She shook her head. "It is an unspoken agreement that I not be asked to dance at the moon festival by any save the men attempting my suit."

"Hear me, I suggest I am less foolish than this unspoken agreement is. A woman should be welcome to accept any dance she so wishes."

Sarah couldn't hold back her laughter. He looked at her in surprise and she shook her head wryly. "Dost thou truly believe that?" But she could see he did. The wry look on her face dimmed slightly. "Thou art so strange, I can scarcely understand it."

He seemed not to know how to respond.

Then he cleared his throat cutely.

"Anyhow, no one told me anything about it. Am I bound to immediately guessing the customs of this place I've only lived in for three months?"

Shrugging one shoulder, she asked, "And if someone had told thee—oh, say I told thee for instance, when ye asked me for a dance—what wouldst thou do then?" He didn't respond. "Thou would turn and walk away to find another fair maiden to dance with?"

Chuck merely smiled for a moment, and then he shook his head adamantly. "No. I daresay I wouldd ask thee to dance just as surely as I did without knowing about these rules but at least I would have been warned."

She snorted softly.

He continued to knock her back on her heels with the things he said. "Hmm." She smirked then, crossing her arms in front of her chest and ducking her head. "And if ye knew it would result in a black eye?"

"Ah, don't forget the pain that goes with the unsightliness." He prodded the purple next to his left eye and winced.

Sarah pouted a bit at that. "Poor thing. Yea, the pain too. That most of all. If thou knew asking me to dance would get thee discoloration around thine eye and a steady round of pain as well, wouldst thou still do't?"

"Fair lady, even if it had just been the one dance, the black eye and pain would have been worth it. And so, what dost thou think mine answer would be at two dances? Blacken them both, I would care not."

Her feet stopped of their own volition for a moment, and she folded her hands together in front of her, slowly turning to look up at him. When he glanced over his shoulder at her in question, she kept walking, sidling into the space beside him again, twisting her fingers. Her breath was coming in quick puffs, her heart racing again.

Chuck Bartowski had crossed a powerful man, a man who could lay quite a lot of trouble at his doorstep. And he had done so for the pleasure of dancing in Sarah's arms, while also rescuing her from having to dance in the arms of said powerful man. And he hadn't understood what he was doing then, surely. But he knew now, and still he was doubling down. Because apparently the black eye was worth getting to dance with her.

There was no guile or ulterior motive in his words. He was not trying to seduce or even romance her, though she wondered if she'd be entirely opposed to it if he was.

Like much, if not all, of what he did, he was speaking in complete sincerity. Would he truly take punch to the eye again if it meant another dance with Sarah Walker? She thought he would.

She didn't know how to process that information.

"S-Sir." She wavered for a moment, then soldiered on. "Thou art not a poet, and still I find myself hearing things from thy lips that sound as poetry so sweet."

Chuck smiled down at his feet. "Hmm. No, a poet I am not. Fie, I'd be a failure of a poet if I'd tried. I am afeared I do not know pretty words so well as the ones I tend to use in my daily life."

"Just so, young sir. If it is pretty words I seek, I shall stick to my books."

They exchanged a smile at that. She got a good look at that eye of his, though, and a pang of guilt wracked her. It must have shown because he gently reached over and laid the tips of his fingers against her arm. She felt his fingers against her acutely, in spite of the blouse she wore.

"Art thou all right? After that night, I mean?"

Damn, she didn't want to talk about that night especially. She didn't want to try to explain the way she'd spun on her heel and ran away from him, startled by the intense sensations roiling behind her belly button, in her chest as well.

"Oh, yea. I am. It was overwhelming, the…day's activities. I spent most of my time here, on my land. Being with people for so long, that day and into the night became…" What? Too heated? It had too many implications? It made her blood pump like mad and her heart race?

"Too many people and for too long?" he offered, rescuing her yet again.

"Far too long," she groused, making him let out a giggle that sent a thrill through her chest. "I can survive being with people in short bursts, but that many people? And through the whole day and night? It got to be too much. I am not…one for crowds of people. Not even my people, here in Pinedeep, where I've grown up and known them all for so many years."

He nodded. "I, on the other hand, thrive around others. Even strangers. To be amongst people is to learn about them, to talk to them, to know what it means to be…real and alive."

"Even people like Shaw?" she asked in amusement.

"No. Not him."

She laughed this time. "Oh, I really am sorry that our dances brought thee this pain. What a despicable man he is. And not a lick of consequence will come to him for't." She shook her head in ire.

"Some did."

She furrowed her brow and looked at him curiously.

A secret sort of grin spread over his face. "After he swung at me, connected with my eye, and knocked me down…" He winced, seeming embarrassed that he hadn't held his own in the short skirmish. "He meant to keep battering at me. Only he could not. Thy mysterious cat sprang from the shadows, landed on him, scratched him, and darted off again. It was just enough for two of thine other suitors to fall on the fiend and grab hold, keeping him from continuing his attack on me."

Sarah's jaw fell open. "Did she?"

"She did."

Sarah was glad when they found themselves at her training grounds again. And something occurred to her then. She blindly grasped for his hand, and she pulled him further along. "That system ye built for my target practice is working like a dream, handyman. I would like to replicate it. Maybe a few set up behind it, move them all in different directions? Is that possible?"

"I could figure it out," he said, excitement in his face. "Methinks it would be fun to try."

"No, no. Ye won't have to be the one to do it. Just tell me how ye did the first one and—" She giggled when he sent her a pout, his brown eyes sad. "Oh, that is a dastardly look. How often dost thou get thy sister to fold to thy whims with that one?"

He scoffed, hands on his hips. "Not as often as I'd like. The woman's spine is made from the strongest of steels."

Sarah laughed, feeling more at ease now that they'd moved past the topic of the festival, his warmth and sweetness, the implications of what he'd said, and yet the simple kindness of it, too.

"If thou insisteth on helping me outfit my training grounds with whatever contraptions ye can think up in there," she tapped her forehead with the tips of her fingers, "I insist on at least paying thee."

He grinned. "Or ye could give me a lesson or two," he chuckled.

She could see it in his face, and she heard it in his tone; he was being facetious, trying to make her smile or laugh. Because apparently he enjoyed her joy, and that was something she could scarce wrap her head around.

But she moved away from him, letting go of his hand, smirking and backing towards the shed where she kept her less expensive weaponry, her arrows and her bow, staffs. Her blades were locked away inside of her home, save for a few dull, older training blades.

Taking another key from her belt, she turned to unlock the shed and stepped inside, emerging with a boy slung over her back, and a quiver of arrows in her hand.

"W-What are—?" he asked, the smile fading as she slapped the bow into his hand.

"Hast thou used one before?"

He looked down at it, then let out a nervous laugh. He thrusted it back to her and she slowly shook her head, refusing to take it. "What, me?" he asked. "With this? No, of course I-I have not."

"Ah. Yea, thou art a peaceable man. I remember." She winked at him, and then she pushed the bow into his chest. "And so ye shall use one today."

"N-No, that is—That is to say, ye do not have to—I was jesting."

"I know," was all she said in response. And then she stepped in and made him hold the bow properly in his hand, her fingers fiddling with his. "Straighten this arm as ye pull the string back with this one. Lock the elbow. Let go."

"Now?"

She giggled. "Well, thou hast no arrow nocked, so no, not now."

"Oh."

She gently peeled the bow from him, making him hold the quiver for her, and she took an arrow from it. Then she nocked the arrow and slowly raised the bow. "Hold the arrow in place with these fingers. See where I have the string? When ye let go, it propels the arrow."

"I do not think this sport is for me, Sarah. I am a handyman."

"Thou art exceptionally skilled with thy hands. This is the perfect sport for thee. Here. Watch."

She pulled up to demonstrate, shooting her arrow directly into one of the further back targets' bullseye. He let out a low whistle.

"I will never cease to be impressed by how effortless you make it seem," he breathed in awe.

She fought off a blush at his praise, passing him the bow. "There. Hold that. I'm getting thee a closer target."

"Yea, fair lady. Please do!" he exclaimed, making her laugh as she picked up and moved one of the simpler wooden targets, setting it down straight ahead from where he stood, and much closer.

Sarah took the quiver from his hand then and reached up to sling it over his shoulder. He let her, his body turning to stone for a split moment, and he seemed to ease again as she took her hands away from him.

She was sharp enough to figure out the deeper meaning in that. Especially after they danced together that night at the moon festival.

"Hold the bow up again."

He did. She smiled to herself and stepped in yet again to gently fix his stance. "Feet are not spread far enough. Thou needeth to brace them." She nudged at his boot with hers and he fixed his feet. "Good."

Sarah moved around to his other side then, her chest to his, and she lightly touched his chin with her fingers. "Chin up. Focus on the target."

"Oh. Focus." He gulped. "Aye…focus."

"Well done. Now take an arrow from thy quiver."

He looked at her in confusion. "Where is—Ah, yes." She wordlessly looked at the quiver on his back, which he must have forgotten was there.

He blushed a little and reached back, but she stopped him. "Focus. Keep thine eye where ye want the arrow to go, even when retrieving thine arrow from thy quiver. Focus is very important."

Chuck nodded, staring straight ahead, his brow furrowed, and he reached back, his fingers brushing against the feathered fletching. He retrieved the arrow and at least knew which end pointed forward and which he had to nock. Though she wouldn't say it out loud for fear of offending him more than making him laugh.

She silently wrapped her fingers over his, helping him nock the arrow correctly and hold it with the correct spacing between his fingers. "Now pull it back. Not so quick," she rushed, putting an easing hand on his forearm. "Slow, methodical. Keep thine eye on the target…" He did. "Straighten thy spine. Chin up, remember."

"Yea, chin up," he muttered, almost to himself.

The look of serious concentration and determination in his face, his lips pursed, brow furrowed, was disarmingly endearing. His tongue poked out between his lips then as he slowly pulled back.

"More…more…just a bit further back… Hold it. Is thine eye on the target?"

"Aye. 'Tis much harder than it looks, pulling this back."

"Mhm." She came around to his other side, moving her face up right next to his and looking down the line of the arrow's spine. His body went to stone again. "The tip of the arrow should be a bit higher than thy target. Arrows arc after one lets them fly." She arced her flat hand through the air.

"Arc," he muttered. "Yea."

"When thou art ready, let go."

She hadn't been thinking, and she placed soft hands against his waist and squeezed encouragingly before stepping back.

There was a thrummm and the arrow lamely flew about five feet before plopping into the dirt.

Chuck stood defeated, his shoulders hunched. He lowered the bow to his side and frowned down at the arrow as though it had somehow harmed him. "Confirmation. This is not a sport for me."

Sarah giggled. "I fear that was my own doing." She had touched him and it had been perhaps too much touching, too intimate. "Do it again." She would not touch him this time.

"Should I get that arrow?"

"Leave it. We will collect arrows after. Use another." He nodded, focused like she advised him to, but hunched slightly as he lifted the bow again. "Straight back, remember?" He nodded and straightened his back, then pulled an arrow from the quiver again. At least he was remembering about focusing on the target throughout the preparations.

He nocked the arrow and pulled. This time when he let go, it went about fifteen feet. He was defeated again, frowning, shoulders dropped. "I am quite terrible at this."

"That was only the second time in thy life thou hast shot an arrow from a bow. Give thyself more grace, Chuck. Go again."

"Thou art tiring not of watching arrows sail about ten feet and plop into the ground anon?"

"No." She shrugged. "Ye have to keep shooting. Look at those two arrows and where they have landed. Thou hast improved on the second shot."

Chuck sent her a small smile, crooked though it was.

But when he replanted his feet, his legs were spread much too wide and she giggled, moving in to put her hands on his waist again.

She used her boot to move his feet closer together again. "Thou art spread too wide. Thy boots should not have so much space that an entire wagon could drive through."

He sent her a flat look. "Haaaa. Very funny."

She giggled again. "There. Better. Go again."

"How long wilt thou hold me hostage? Just out of curiosity."

"Oh, please. Thou art enjoying thyself, I can see it in thy profile."

His smile was crooked again and he shook his head, seeming to decide not to respond verbally to that, thus confirming it in her mind. Then he nocked another arrow, and that third arrow plopped straight down to the ground beside his feet. "Wait!" he gasped as she laughed. He hadn't had a good grip on the arrow before he'd even tried to shoot it. He snagged it from the dirt and sent her a dark look, amusement in his eyes still, before he muttered, "Do over. That was a…test."

"Was it?" she asked, still chuckling.

"Do not mock me, fair maiden. Thou art cruel."

She held up a hand in apology and crossed her arms, watching as he tried again. He was so sweetly determined, trying so hard.

He let the third arrow loose…and it sailed up…up… up… Well over his target and somewhere far behind in the yard.

"That was rather good!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together once.

Chuck sent her a frustrated huff. "Didst thou see how terribly it missed the target?"

"Didst thou see how far that arrow went? Mind not the target for a moment. That was the power thou art looking for! The strength! The arc in that arrow was wonderful."

And the warm smile that granted her was enough to power her through the whole of the rest of the day.

But it was perhaps only an hour later, after shooting arrow after arrow after arrow, regathering them, and doing it all over again, when she found herself pressed close to his back, her hands reaching around him to help with the way he held the bow. She lined her face up beside his again, and she felt a sort of tension. She decided to let herself feel it. Because it felt quite good. "Remember where to point the tip of the arrow," she said in a soft voice. "But after ye pull back." He pulled. "Good," she breathed near his ear. "Let it fly."

She put a few inches of space there, watching him closely, trying to ease her rapid breathing, her heart thumping loudly in her ears.

He let it fly.

And there was a definite schooom sound as it…made contact? Had he hit the target?

Sarah spun from where she'd been staring at him. The arrow was somewhere on the ground behind the target…and yet, Chuck was celebrating, raising her bow over his head with a, "H'oooooooo! Didst thou see that?! I was much closer!"

She shook her head, squeezing his arm as she moved past him while rushing to said target. And then she squished her finger into the deep rivulet his arrow had put into the outer edge of the target. "Not only was thine arrow much closer this time, it hit the target. Come hither and see."

His eyes went wide and he staggered over to the target, leaning in to look. He pushed her hand away and slipped his own finger into the rivulet. "Oh… Oh! Sarah! Ha haaa!"

Sarah threw her head back with a cackle as he began to gallop about like a tall, gangly two-legged horse, waving his arms and her bow every which way, excitement in his features.

And this over grazing the outer edge of the target after an hour's worth of lessons.

Sarah Walker didn't want to move from this place or leave this moment ever, not for the rest of her life.

She preferred to stay right here, with this silly handyman, celebrating as though he'd just struck a bullseye in the contest for owning all the power in the world. She allowed herself to feel enamored, full of him. At least for the moment, she would let herself feel what he made her feel, everything else be damned.

A/N: Chuck being Chuck. And Sarah being Sarah. Nothing more beautiful than that.

Thanks for reading! I'd appreciate reviews if you can.

-SC