Inspiration: Thanks to Rob Tapert, Missy Good, George Lucas and the Coca-Cola corporation for the wisdom, insight and caffeine. You made it possible, guys.
The acrid smell of burning leather filled her nostrils, and she gave a wheezing groan as the stench hit her. A vain attempt to rise to her feet left her nauseous, and she vomited yellow-green bile into the blood-stained soil. A hand reached down to her, and she glanced up weakly. The unbearable tumolt had clogged what was left of her senses; she could barely make out the words formed by his lips.
His lips. She focused her vision, startled when a red wash nearly left her blind, but strained her eyes, and realized there was a man talking to her, patting her, attempting to raise her to her feet. She shook her head, gasping at the painful pressure that rushed to her nasal passages, and blinked to restore her sight.
Yes, he was still there. She sighed inwardly, wincing at the pain, and struggled to her feet, despairing at the heavy crunch that followed.
Broken. Damn.
The last thing she needed right now. On top of which, he was still there, prodding her to stand, to walk, and circling his arm around her shoulders when she didn't respond. She jerked away, nearly crashing to the ground at the sudden lack of support, but grimly determined to walk alone.
"Here, let me help," he began. She stared at him hard, giving direct eye contact for so long she was unsurprised when he looked away first. "Don't do me any favors," she replied. He looked startled, and slightly hurt at her rebuff, but she ignored that. First thing's first, she thought. Now if only I can...
Pain shot through her ankle, coursing through her leg, almost up to her hip. She gave a low, muffled cry as spasms rocked her, ending in a half-sob. "Ok," she said, gritting her teeth. "Now you can help me." Without a word he picked her up--much to her embarrassment--and carried her to a fallen wagon, setting her gently inside. She propped her leg up on a broken beam, and examined it critically.
Blood oozed from a fairly serious wound, she noted with a grimace, and was pumping out the top of her foot. The ankle twisted at a sickening angle, with just the right hint of bluish grey for that extra-gruesome effect. Well, she thought, at least I can joke about it. That must say something about my constitution. She looked around for something, anything, to bind that foot in, at least to staunch the blood.
He had anticipated her, and when she looked up, had rolls of some fabric held out to her. She took them, with a flicked glance towards the source, amd muttered, "Thanks." She bunched them in her hand, and strained to reach her leg, but doubled over in pain. "Ohhh..damn," she winced. He silently took the fabric and began expertly wrapping the injured leg with, she admitted, gently hands. She squinted her eyes at him.
"You a healer? A medic of some sort?" she asked. He shook his head, lips curved into a wry smile. She pressed on. "Then what? I know they don't teach this in woodworking."
He looked at her, grey eyes reflecting the setting sun's light, and spoke for the first time. "I just do what I must."
The words sent a shiver down her spine, vaguely familiar in their intensity, but she shook it off. "Well, I think what we both must do is get some shelter. Where were you in that battle, by the way? I didn't see you there."
He merely smiled, and continued wrapping her leg in silence. It was so still, she thought. She could hear the rolling clouds building up the friction that signified lightning. Rain fell around them, lightly pattering at first, but grew heavier, dampening her legs. The man wrapped his arm around her waist, supporting her. She could feel his breath, warm against her neck, and she looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time.
"What's your name?" she asked, curious. She figured if she was going to be trapped in this storm, she might as well have someone to talk to.
A smile played around the corner of his mouth, but he said nothing for awhile. Then..."What's yours?"
"Serbindi," she replied. They had made their way across the torn field. Lying around were the remains of her gutted sisters, staring with open, unseeing eyes clouded by grey film. Situated in crooked, broken positions, many with arrow points lodged in their backs, dried blood crusted the faces. She closed her eyes, fighting back the nausea, when she noticed a young man, hardly past his sixteenth year, thrown out onto his back. His neck had snapped upon impact, but the enemy had slit his throat for good measure.
She noticed her companion stare in fascinated horror, with a touch of...understanding?...at the sight. Shaking her head, she simply said, "And that was the winning side." His grip tightened around her waist.
There was a long, awkward pause, as they walked in silence to a small shelter--one of the few things left standing in the raid--then he asked, "Why were you involved?"
Warning bells rang in her head. "Why? Are you asking because I'm a woman?" she retorted icily. He shook his head, not looking at her. "No. I was just wondering."
Abashed, she answered wearily, "I'm an Amazon. That's just what we do." A pause. "Though not as gleefully as some, I assure you," she added bitterly.
"Oh," he punctuated. Another long pause...so long she wasn't sure he would talk again...then he cleared his throat and said, "What's an Amazon?"
She laughed, though not hilariously. "Funny, I was wondering the same thing myself." They had arrived at the shelter--he insisted on holding the door for her, she noted in amusement--and she collapsed onto the nearest bed, not even caring about the virtual stranger standing quietly not ten feet from her. Hell, I'm trained, she though. If he tries anything, I'll make him sing soprano for the rest of his days. She doubted he would, though. Helping injured women, holding doors open, "doing what he must"...at any rate, chivalry's not dead, she mused wryly.
She rested for a time before answering, gathering the spent strength employed in defending her sisters...my sisters, she mourned internally. Blocking the pain...for the time being...she forcibly turned her attention to his previous question.
"Well, we're a group of all-female fighters, see...'no boys allowed.'" This was not stated without some pride. "We live together, eat together, hunt together, fight together," die together, her mind finished for her. "...tribes are scattered everywhere, though not as many as before," she added wistfully. "It's my life. Or," she reflected bitterly, "was." She ended on that.
He seemed satisfied with that answer, and lowered himself gracefully to the floor, sitting cross-legged, with his palms facing down, resting on his knees. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, and seemed to be meditating...or praying. That worried her, and made her wonder if he belonged to a cult.
But he had seemed pleasant enough, and most importantly, he had bandaged her injured leg, which already felt better, especially for such a severe break. After awhile he opened his eyes and gazed at her, features breaking into a gentle smile. She crooked an eyebrow, but couldn't help smiling back. Things could be worse.
He drew closer, reaching for her hand, and she smiled weakly, allowing him to take it. Clasping his warm hands around hers, he absently ran his thumb over her index finger in thoughtless patterns, and she returned the pressure, expecting him to remove it any minute.
But he didn't, and they sat in silence together, her lying on the bed, him resting at her side on the floor. She spoke, the words sounding strange in the echoing stillness. "We should probably go find something to eat," faltering at the "we" in the sentence, and its implications.
"Yes, probably," he repeated in a distracted fashion, but continued the gentle motion on her fingers.
She hoisted herself up onto her elbows, blew a sigh, and said, "Come on," breaking the brief contact with a measure of regret. But if they were to accomplish things, they needed to get moving, and she could see he wasn't going to initiate anything. Swinging her legs onto the cracked, dusty floor, she let out a hiss of pain as the injured foot struggled to support her weight. He was promptly at her side...ready as always to help, she thought...but she gently waved him aside, insisting, "It's Ok, I should learn to do this anyway."
They walked outside into the twilit field, scattered with mist winding down from the forest overlooking it. The thick air was laced heavily with dew, and soft hoots and chirps marked the presence of nocturnal creatures. As he gazed out at the mist-laden view, she removed a small dagger from a pouch tucked at her waist and slid it into her boot with a metallic click. At his raised eyebrows, she responded, "You can never be too prepared." He turned away. "Hey, I'm an Amazon. There could still be raiders out there who are more than willing to slit our throats, and you sure as hell haven't demonstrated anything beyond basic first aid. I'm not taking my chances."
He shifted, turning to face her, and met her eyes. Seeing the chagrin and frustration, her voice gentled. "Look, I'm sorry. But facts is facts, and I'd rather not, but if push comes to shove, I'll do it. To protect us," she added, unconciously placing slight emphasis on the "us".
A mysterious smile edged his lips, but he said nothing, and she continued her exploration of the area. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, and her damp hair hung in her eyes, clinging to her shoulders in erratic patterns. Her leather skirt had darkened, with a faint trace of the grass stains she bore from the fall evident in the hem. She brushed the water-tipped hair from her face, attempting to get a better view of the field. Movement in the corner of her eyes caused her to draw her dagger, but it was only a squirrel, and she relaxed visibly. Sighing, she slid the dagger back into the pouch, and resumed searching for food. I guess if I need to, I can collect berried and sassafrass leaves, she thought reluctantly. But she really didn't want to do that. Fish? Nah. Rabbit? Hmm...and with a bit of mint and lavender...She began mentally preparing lists of all possible food sources in the area, counting double for her guest. Sizing him up, she reconsidered. Maybe a bit more than double...he's fairly good-sized, she thought appreciatively. She re-ran that thought. Good grief, I'm losing it. Snap out of it, Ser. You're a freakin' Amazon. Get a grip. She drew a breath, collecting herself, and jumped when a large hand clapped on her shoulder. She instictively gripped her dagger, then remembered.
"Are you out of your mind?" she yelled. "Never, never approach an Amazon from behind if you value your life. Good gods, are you insane?" Her voice echoed through the trees.
He examined her meditatively, expression unchanged. She gave a ragged sigh, throwing up her hands in disgust. "Never mind, never mind, it doesn't matter, I don't give a damn." Bemused at her irritability, he cocked his head and absorbed her body language, taking in the tense posture, shoulders hunched, hands clenched and white-knuckled. She even had a twitching vein standing out just above her collarbone, the space between her eyebrows creased with a permanent worried mark. She was in short, he mused, a classic case of repetitive stress syndrome. He briefly touched on how someone as young as she appeared could have such obvious marks of stress on them.
She was sitting now, her back facing him, her fingers tracing her temples in a circular motion. Hesitating, he slowly came up to her, shuffling his feet a bit to subtly inform her of his presence. Placing hands upon the back of her neck, he gently worked the knots out, lowering himself onto his knees to reach her better. She attempted to push his hands away.
A soft voice in her ear. "You're quite tense."
She bristled. "Yeah, well, I'm used to it; I'll be fine."
There was silence for awhile, as he ignored her unspoken request and continued his ministrations on her neck. "Why didn't you have these attended to before?" he finally asked. A corner of her mouth quirked. "It's not that big a deal," she dismissed.
"Apparently is it," he replied quietly. "Some of these knots are so deep, I can barely reach them." His movements lowered to her shoulders and upper back.
"It's not," she repeated brusquely. She abruptly stood up. "I'm fine. See?" She wiggled her fingers. "So long as I can use these, I'll be fine. Don't worry," she added.
He gave her a searching look. "What about your coordination? Your reflexes?" he countered. She blinked. "I may not know much," he continued seriously, "but I am aware that once one's health is endangered, even rudimentary self-defense is difficult."
She looked at him, then started chuckling. "Gods, you're good. Baffle 'em with bullshit. Where are you from, the Academy at Athens? I've never heard anyone talk like that outside of books." He smiled and ruffled her hair, eyes twinkling.
"Ok, Professor, you win," she sighed. Brushing the hair from her neck, she exposed her tan shoulders. She was clad in standard Amazon gear--short leather skirt, small leathere top allowing movement, hair twisted into random sections of braid, with a few feathers scattered among them, and soft calf-length boots. He was close enough to get a good view of the intricately woven necklace she wore, tiny beads glittering among the leather twists. Fine workmanship too, he noted appreciatively, as he continued relieving the pain in her shoulders.
She released a hissing breath when he came upon a particularly hard knot. "Oh, I'm sorry," he murmured worriedly. "No, it's Ok," she replied, wincing. "I'll live, and believe me, this is actually helping." His features relaxed into a smile.
She could actually feel the tension of the past day slowly leeching from her upper body, as his fingers danced on her spine. When she was absolutely, completely melted, he discontinued the contact. "I think you'll be all right now," he proclaimed.
And how, she thought, but simply replied, "Thanks." To her surprise, he gave a slight bow. "It was no trouble, I assure you." Giving a wry smile, she rose to her feet, dusting off her skirt. Sighing, she glanced around. "I think those green leaves are dewberry...they can be boiled for tea...and, let's see, there's some dandelion, we can have salad from that...a few wild blueberries, a nice fat rabbit and..." She trailed off, eyes gleaming, and stalked off towards bushes downwind from the field.
Upon reaching the edge of the forest that curved around the field, she bent and began picking succulent green leaves, keeping track of the moon's position overhead. A wave of exhaustion dragged over her, and she suddenly remembered the scant amount of rest she had recieved last night. She really didn't feel like hunting, but she was hungry in addition to being tired, and figured she shouldn't try to sleep on an empty stomach.
A rustle in the woods alerted her to a large rabbit, hopping complacently a few feet from her. She drew her dagger from the pouch, aimed, and...
Thump. She ran up to the lifeless body. A clean kill; the animal hadn't even known what hit it. Picking it up by its furry feet, she walked back to the shelter. If she was lucky, there would be a stove nearby already, and she wouldn't have to bother making a fire. She wasn't holding her breath, though.
Pausing a few times to snag some berries off their bushes, she made her way back. He was standing, arms folded across his chest, just outside the door. She held up the rabbit. "I got one," she announced unnecessarily.
"I see," he replied, equally unnecessarily. She brushed past him and opened the door. Thank the gods, there was a stove, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not much else...two beds...cots, really, she reminded herself...a small woven rug, a teakwood chest displaying intricately carved scrolls on the sides, a few lamps with a meger supply of candles, and a table set with a lace doily draping gently over the sides. How the hell did that get here? Oh crap...musta been Rhalesa...she had issues. The soft-spoke Amazon had never cared for the mandatory weapons training, and chose to indulge in creative decorations for the tribe. A bit loopy...nice kid though...always liked her work. Closing her eyes, she shoved back the memories. She had a stove. She had a rabbit. Cook, dammit.
He was behind her again, but she was growing accustomed to the sudden appearences, and refrained from mentioning it. Not turning around, she said, "You know, it's not polite to sneak up on people."
"Ah. Point well taken," he acquiesed, and moved further away, sitting down on a chair situated a few feet from where she was skinning the rabbit in preparation for their meal, the first bit of food she'd had for awile. To prevent herself from succumbing to the exquisite torture, she had a small bowl of berries placed nearby at arm's reach, and nibbled occasionally.
"Hey, Professor, do you mind making yourself useful for a minute?" she asked suddenly. "Grab some plates, willya, and set the table. We'll need forks and knives too," she added as an afterthought. She was unused to cooking, and rarely did so in the tribe, but could whip up a few basic recipies in a pinch...and this is certainly a pinch, she mused, an ironic smile gracing her lips. She waited for the expected motion behind her as he rose, eager to help as always, but when none came, she called over her shoulder, "Hey, did you hear what I said?"
Dead silence. "What did you just call me?"
"Well, you won't tell me your name, so I gave you one that fits," she replied easily, as if the answer were obvious.
More silence. "All right," he said slowly. "That's fine, I suppose."
She smiled warmly, eyes twinkling, though her back was turned to him. Raising on her tiptoes, she attempted to reach the ceramic dinner plates shelved far above. A warm presence approached her, then his hand reached to lift the plates, and handed them to her.
"I suppose you do have your uses after all," she teased. As usual, he remained silent, cocking an eyebrow at the remark. She swatted him on the arm. "Ok, Professor, set the table. This rabbit's almost ready, and I need to make the salad; I daren't trust you near the food."
"Then how am I supposed to eat it?" he inquired wryly.
She chuckled. Despite the circumstances, she was beginning to like him; he was pleasant, easy-going, and possessed a dry wit she found particularly tolerable. And he could reach those high shelves, she reminded herself with a secret smile. Not that she was short exactly, no; at five and a half feet she towered over more than a few of her petite sisters. But it was nice having him around to do stuff she would have otherwise found difficult. Plus, she admitted, just having another person around was comforting. She would have dreaded eating alone tonight, not just because there could still be stray raiders, but also the distraction helped.
She lifted the lid on the pot, the delicious odors eminating from the meat causing her mouth to water. Five minutes, she thought, and replaced the lid. She took another handful of berry, wolfing it down. The moon streamed into the kitchen window, providing the only light, as she was reluctant to waste candles just yet, and gave her natural deep auburn hair a silvery tint.
Adding blueberries to the salad, a sprinkle of rosemary and fennel to the rabbit, and all that was left was...aha. She took a pitcher, and trotted outside. After a bit of searching, she found her target: a nest of daisies huddled together, ripe for picking. Which she did, carrying them back into the small shelter. Filling the pitcher with water, she artfully arranged the daisies as a sort of centerpiece for the table.
She paused to admire her handiwork. What the hell has gotten into me? Daisies? But she had no compulsion to throw them away, so she left them in their spot. Then she turned back to the rabbit, still cooking in the pot. One glance told her it was done, and she removed it, still steaming, and began spooning portions onto the plates. She flicked her gaze back to the table. He was still sitting there, hands folded across his lap. Waiting. Well, I'm damned if I do the dishes myself. And he better not expect this as routine, either. Before she could move to place the dishes on the table, he jumped up, taking the platters and setting them down in front of their seats. Then he led her to her chair, pulling it out for her and actually holding it for her. What is up with this guy? she wondered, puzzled. Does he actually get his kicks doing this stuff?
Still eyeing him suspiciously, she slowly sat down in front of her dinner. The rabbit had turned out better than she expected, tender and juicy, and she was pleased at the result. She noticed him staring at the daisies. Oh shit.
"I thought we could use a little color," she offered lamely. He said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow, and resumed eating.
She cleared her throat, and decided to attempt conversation. "So, where are you from?" she began politely.
He shook his head, chewing. Upon swallowing he answered, "I would rather not bore you with the details. Needless to say I am not familiar with the area." He paused. "Where are we located, anyway?"
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. "East of Thrace, bordering the Pelopennese," she informed him dryly. His face remained blank. "Near the Strymian river," she added helpfully. "You have no idea where any of these locations are?" she wondered.
Shaking his head in affirmation, he said, "As I told you, I am unfamiliar with the area."
This stumped her. Her interest piqued, she prodded for more information. "How did you end up here?"
He lifted his hands in a noncommittal gesture, seeming uninclined to give an answer. She stared at him. "So, you're lost and, by accident, somehow wandered into the middle of a battlefield, and decided to help the first injured person you see because, what the hell, you don't have anything else better to do?" she stated incredulously, her voice lifting at the end in question.
Folding his arms across his chest, he gazed up at the ceiling and replied, "That pretty much sums it up." He flicked his gaze back to her. "So why are you here?" he asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him and snorted. "I don't think so."
He appeared puzzled. "Don't think what?"
"I'm not going to pour out my guts to a stranger I just met a few hours ago who just happened to have a few rolls of bandages and a talent for a nice backrub," she replied irritably.
"But you just asked the same of me," he reminded her quietly.
"I did no such thing!" she exclaimed, vexed.
"Didn't you now?" he said in an amused tone. She thought back on the conversation. "Oh, damn." She gave an embarrassed smile. "Sorry. Truce?"
"No need. There's nothing to apologize for," he said, smiling back. They ate in companionable silence for awhile, then he asked, "You think I give nice backrubs?"
She froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Eh..." she countered, hand wavering. Then she turned serious. "Actually, it's nice having another person around," she admitted. "Keeps my mind off stuff." She took another forkful of greens, and bit down, savoring the crisp, juicy flavor.
"I'm glad I could be of help," he said quietly. She looked at him closely, and believed him to be actually sincere. He was sitting, with his head bowed over his food, carefully picking apart the rabbit with intent. She smiled wryly, one corner of her mouth lifting at the sight of a grown man playing with his food, noting the salad remained untouched. Oh well, she sighed internally. At least I tried. As if reading her mind, he took the fork and dug into the salad as well. "Thanks," she said suddenly, surprising herself.
He looked up at her, eyes bright. "For what?"
She shrugged. "I dunno, for being around, someone to talk to..." Her mouth quirked. "For being the first man who hasn't pulled a dagger on me within an hour of meeting me." She waved off the sympathetic response. "Hey...it's Ok, I'm fine."
He decided to let the issue lie. "How did your foot become injured?" he asked.
"Horse threw me," she replied matter-of-factly. He winced. "Yeah, panicked, threw me, and stepped right on top of my foot. Snapped the bone." She thought back. "I tried to get up, but I guess one of the men we were fighting decided to take advantage of my injury, and sliced the skin on top. Lucky he stopped a few inches from tendon, or I wouldn't be walking today--or ever," she reflected. Funny, the idea that she had come so close to losing that foot didn't bother her so much...she hadn't really even thought about it, just shrugged it off.
"Why didn't he kill you?" he asked, perplexed. "No offense," he added hastily, "but it seems, in the position I saw you in..."
A corner of her mouth lifted. "None taken. I dunno, maybe his reflexes were slow, maybe his heart wasn't in it...he looked like some villager pulled from his town, no career soldier...maybe one of my sisters stopped him," she finished quietly, wishing that were true. Death in battle, defending a fallen sister, was a far nobler prospect than anything else she didn't care to imagine.
He held her gaze from across the table. "I'm sure the latter is true," he finally said softly. She felt her heart clench, and sink to her stomach. Dear gods, she hoped it was.
She drew a shakey breath, and continued. "Anyway, he got what was coming to him...I noticed his body among the ones we passed. Arrow got him...one of ours, come to think about it," she added slowly, the realization throwing a warm wash over her. Not at the idea of his death...she disliked that anyone had to lose their lives, even in good cause...but at the knowledge her sister Amazons had defended their territory, their beliefs, and ultimately, her life. But why was I left? she wondered. She was uneasy at the idea of her sisters dying, all her friends, her only family sacrificed at her expense. It placed a tremendous burden on her, and a wave of guilt followed the sinking feeling in her gut.
He seemed to sense her mixed emotions, and reached for her hand across the table. She took it with a crooked smile, and squeezed tightly, returning the reassuring pressure. Now calm, she removed her hand and resumed eating her dinner.
Afterwards she took the dishes, soaking them in preheated water in the basin, then turned towards her bed. She fought the faint feeling of horror that threatened to overwhelm her, as she realized she would be lying vulnerable near the stranger. Ah hell. She shrugged, then began removing her necklace, followed by her boots, which she lay in a corner.
Standing barefoot and unarmed in the shelter, she felt a cool draft leech under the doorstep, wafting in the sharp smell of grass and soil. She paused, then unbraided her hair, setting the feathered ornaments on the floor next to her bed, watching the moonlight play off the unwound strands she held in her hands, lightly crimped from the braids. She sat down on the bed, letting her toes brush lightly across the floor, then sighed and lay flat down on top of the blanket, fluffing the soft pillow under her head. Clutching a corner of the pillow with the arm raised over her head, she heard the soft breathing a few feet from her, and closed her eyes to wait for dawn.
His voice cut through the darkness. "Pardon me for interrupting your sleep, but I was wondering who it was you were fighting back there."
Turning over and propping herself up on one elbow, she groggily replied. "It's Ok. Some assorted raiders from Gaul, who just happened to outnumber us twenty-to-one, and had the advantage of the latest technology. When you live off the land you don't hear much about the newest catapults and whatnot, so they licked us." She sighed wearily, the very idea making her tired all over again. Late at night was not the best time to be thinking of such things, she decided.
"Why Amazons?" he asked again. "It seems, if you are well-known as competant warriors, even a large group would not seek you out."
She smiled at his choice of words, slitting the darkness with a flash of white. "I don't know," she replied honestly. "Maybe their greater numbers gave them confidence...and sometimes high morale is all it takes to win a battle."
"Mmm," he breathed inscrutably. Then there was silence...all she could hear was his breathing, and her own, mingled in the cool night air. A peaceful serenity blanketed the room, as the turmoil of the day caught up with her body, and she no longer fought the waves of sleep that threatened to engulf her. She drifted off with a faint sense of a warm pressure covering her hand as it lay limply at her side.
So, what'd you think? E-mail me opinions. I was considering leaving it at this, but I may make this into a continuing story if it goes by well.
By the way, Circumstance is copywrite lock, stock and pickled herring barrel. So loverly.