Disclaimer: I do not own anyone. Universal, Sea Change,
Mr.'s Cassidy & Koslow, et. al. own them. Any characters you
do not recognize, I probably own. Please do not sue me.
WARNING: This fanfic contains lots of references to Episode 9 "Tash". If you haven't seen it yet and don't want to spoil the surprise, you may want to skip it.
PLEASE NOTE: This fanfic was started after I saw Traps and Tash,
but before I saw Daybreak, The Cage and Sweet Brigid. The story does
not take into account things that happened in the last three eps.
Conor surveyed the ruins that had once been his village. The land had already taken over in the year since Gar had burned it, and his family, to the ground. Wild grasses and blue heather grew in craggy patches, in-between where walls and houses once stood. The sun shown brilliantly. Here and there he caught glimpses of life: a grasshopper leaping from blade to blade, birds peeking through branches, an inquisitive rabbit searching among the stones for a sweet berry.
Could it have only been a year? He thought about the impatient boy he’d been. Always wanting to keep up with his older brother. In one fiery moment everything had changed. The man he’d become thought back and wished he had just one more day with those he had loved. And lost. An saol seo go dti an saol aile. From this life to the next. Good is as eternal as evil. The Father had taught him that. Again he felt a tinge of sadness as he thought of Glas, the boy with no choice. Much like himself. Even though the young leader was dead, his spirit lived on through the land. Conor knew his duty, his fight. When he felt the sorrow attempting to overcome him, he remembered those who had died. If he didn’t continue to fight, their lives and deaths would have been in vain.
He wondered what his father would think of him now. When he had died, Conor had been Derek’s unsettled son. He was never prepared to be a leader, that was Aiden’s burden. He wondered if his father would be proud. He knew Fergus, though he would never admit it, was proud of the work that they were doing. The big bald ox loved him like a son. He often times marveled at the depths of man’s loyalty.
The people in the Sanctuary had become his new family. People brought together in turmoil. Tully had never really known another family. He had lost his own even earlier than Conor did. The young man was tough and resilient and reminded Conor of his former self. Always wanting to go forward. However, Tully was less foolhardy than he himself had been. He had already learned the harsh lessons of survival.
Then there was Catlin. He sighed... Catlin. She knew Conor better than anyone, even Fergus. She understood his heart. She was his best friend, his conscious. Catlin was the only one who saw through the mask he had to wear as a leader. She knew his doubts and fears, his lingering guilt and sorrow. She knew because she had experienced so many of the same things herself. Conor could never know the horrors she must have endured as a slave, but he understood Catlin enough to help her through the painful memories. She could make him laugh, usually at himself. She was what kept him grounded, sane. He smiled at the thought of her and casually picked a few of the wild flowers that were growing in the remnants of the stable. As if by magic, he heard her voice.
“Conor?”
He turned around quickly. She stood at the edge of what had been his home. Sun shrouded her face. Her long hair rustled in the breeze. She glistened like an apparition, like something out of a dream. She was beautiful.
“Are you all right?” she asked worriedly walking over to him.
“I’m fine,” he smiled.
“What were you thinking about?” she said softly, her eyes full of concern.
Conor gazed at her face, lost in thought.
“What?”
“I said,” she smiled with a hint of sarcastic annoyance, “What were you thinking about?”
His gaze quickly fell to the ground. He suddenly seemed quite interested in the grass.
She was slightly puzzled. “No secrets, remember?” she said referring to the first time either had kept a part of their lives hidden from the other.
Conor looked back up at her. He took a flower and plaited it in her hair among her braids. A serious look cast over his face, warning her not to laugh. He lifted his hands to her face and looked her deep in the eyes.
“I was thinking about you,” he whispered.
“What?” she said softly. Catlin’s face began to feel warm.
“You heard me,” he smiled.
She returned his smile and looked into his eyes.
“Conor...” she started with uncertainty. He put a finger to her lips.
“Catlin... I need to tell you this while I still have the courage-” he stopped at the sound of horses.
They quickly scanned all directions, looking for a place to hide.
“Cat, this way.”
Conor grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the trees at the eastern perimeter of the ruins. They reached safety in time to see a group of people ride through.
“Are they Longinus’ men?” Catlin whispered.
Conor searched the arms of the group as they rode through the square. He nodded a quick affirmative and squeezed her hand. He silently pulled her close to him, encircling his arm around her waist. They crouched in the brush as motionless as possible. The seconds ticked by like hours. Conor could only hear bits of the conversation between the leader and his group-enough to know that they were out looking for Conor and his people. After an eternity they rode on towards the west. Catlin and Conor waited until they were over the ridge and they could no longer hear the sounds of hooves before they emerged from their hiding place.
For a moment, neither spoke.
“Catlin, we’ve got to warn the others.”
She nodded. He grabbed her hand and they ran as fast as they could toward the Sanctuary.
~*~*~*~
Tully snapped his fingers. In theory, the pile of straw was to turn into a bunch of beautiful flowers. In his reality, nothing happened. He let out a frustrated sigh and let his head fall, the mass of ebony braids obscuring his face. There were so many times he wished the old druid still roamed the Sanctuary. After all, what good was being a magician’s apprentice when there was no one to teach you the magic? He thought back many years ago, when he first asked the druid to help him learn to be a magician. The old wizard’s face, care worn and wrinkled, lit up, as it always did when the boy approached. Tully was the closest thing Galen had to a son, and Galen, the closest Tully had to a father.
“Well,” the boy had said impatiently, “When will I be old enough to learn? As old as you?”
“No... Not that old,” the druid laughed.
Galen sat down on a nearby rock and motioned for Tully to sit next to him. The boy sat and pulled his legs up underneath him.
The druid picked up a handful of dirt and slowly spoke the ancient spell. He threw the earth into the sky. It glittered like starlight and gently fell down to the ground.
“Fairy dust!” the boy said with delight.
Tully was pulled back into the present by the rustle of approaching footsteps. Fergus, by the sound of it. He did not turn, he merely called out.
“What is it, Fergus?”
The big warrior stopped in his tracks. Tully hadn’t turned to look at him; he just seemed to know who was there.
“How’d you know it was me, lad?”
Tully turned to face Fergus and let a slightly smug look cross his face.
“Magic.”
~*~*~*~
Catlin was nearly out of breath. She and Conor had run the entire way from the ruins of his old home. Unfortunately, neither had made the journey out with a horse. Both had decided it was a nice day to walk. Both had had many things to think about. Now all Catlin could think about was getting back to warn the others. She looked at Conor. His face bore the serious cast of some impending trouble. The burden of leadership wore heavily on his face. Catlin knew he would alter his expression the moment they entered the confines of their cavern home.
Just ahead Conor saw the hill that partially shrouded the Sanctuary’s entrance. He slowed his all out run to a brisk walk, as did Catlin, following his lead. There was no need to start a panic. He glanced over at Catlin. She had momentarily closed her eyes. She was taking deep breaths to try to calm the signs of their run. He could also sense her worry.
Catlin felt his gaze, protective and concerned. She opened her eyes.
“I’m alright,” her hoarse voice cracked.
He gave her a quick smile and put his hand on her back. He needed reassurance, too. The thought of losing his second home-and his duty to stop that from happening, weighed heavily on his mind.
They entered the Sanctuary. Conor called the sentries to his side. He calmly explained their situation. Catlin stood by and watched the leader. He knew how to alert them with caution but not blind them with fear. The gravity of the situation was obvious, but the guards knew their important role and returned attention to the task at hand.
Catlin and Conor ventured farther into the Sanctuary. They passed the waterfall and stepped over the rocks across the stream. For a moment, Conor stopped to realize how beautiful this place was. Only now, when it was possible he might lose it, did he notice its magnificence. A few yards further along, they ran into Fergus and Tully. It was a scene they’d come across often. The younger man, trying to astound the older with feats of magic. The older man scoffing at the younger’s “nonsense”.
“Ah,” Fergus said turning to face the new arrivals, “it’s about time the two of you showed up.”
“Fergus...” Conor said dejectedly, “Catlin and I came across a group of Longinus’ men…”
“Are you alright?” the warrior asked worriedly.
“They didn’t see us... But they’re looking for the Sanctuary.”
“Sweet Brigid.”
~*~*~*~
The four set off to work. Conor called a quick meeting and explained their situation to everyone. Again, he was able to calm what could have been panic. The faces of their friends bore the look of quiet resignation. These people had all known fear, loss, pain. They had also, recently, known happiness, security and pride. A little girl Niamh walked over to Catlin and gently tugged on her sleeve.
“Do we have to leave, Calin?” she said missing the ‘t’ in her name completely.
The woman kneeled down and looked the youngster in the eyes.
“No, Niamh. We just need to be very careful...”
“And quiet?” the big green eyes peered at her.
“Yes, that too.” She smiled at the pink-cheeked cherub.
“I’ll make sure we’re quiet,” the little one said fiercely.
Catlin leaned over and whispered in her ear, “With you on guard, there’s nothing to fear.”
The girl beamed proudly then walked back to her parents.
~*~*~*~
Later that evening, the four sat down at supper. The gravity of the situation covered the room like a cloak.
“Are we canceling the journey North?” Tully finally asked what was on their minds.
“I think we’d better,” Conor said, “Now that Longinus is hunting for us.”
“Maybe we should still go,” Catlin proposed. “Longinus is gathering more troops every day. We need to get there before he does.”
“She’s right, lad,” Fergus agreed.
“We can’t leave the Sanctuary undefended...” Conor said, “I’ll go alone.”
“Conor, that’s madness,” Fergus said.
“Well, do you have a better idea? Because I would love to hear it,” he said in frustration.
“You and Catlin go. Tully and I will stay here. We’ll post sentries along the perimeter and lie low for a while.”
Conor looked at the big man and smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to be leader?” As much as he hated to admit it, the old man had a point.
“Then it’s settled,” Catlin said as she got up from the table.
“Where are you going?” Tully asked.
“To get some sleep, “ she smiled. “I’ll need all my strength to put up with him for three days journey.”
She casually nodded her head toward Conor. He smiled at her and watched her leave the room. A slightly dazed look spread across his face. Three days. Alone. With Catlin. This should be interesting.
Tully laughed and stood up. “I’ll go help pack your supplies.” He slipped out of the room.
Conor sighed and glanced over at Fergus as he tore a piece of bread.
“I hope you’re right.”
“Ah, don’t worry about us, lad. You have to figure out a way to get Ian to join the Confederation.”
~*~*~*~
Catlin sat on her bed surveying the items laid out before her. She aimlessly packed: folding, bundling, rolling, tying but her mind had wandered elsewhere... to earlier that day when Conor had held her face in his hands. She knew it was pointless. He was still in love with Claire-he was still in mourning. Catlin would never be anyone but a friend and a warrior. A hint of a melancholy smile touched her face. After all, she was happy. The girl who had lost her parents, her sister, her freedom had finally found a life. She was important, she mattered. Conor, Fergus, Tully, every person in the Sanctuary had given her their friendship, their love. They never pitied her - never looked down at her. If she never found love, she would still be content. Time had taught her that life was cruel. Time had warned her to be thankful for what she had. There was no reason to expect more, she was already more blessed than she had hoped or deserved to be.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Fergus approach. He walked into her bedchamber and stood staring. A few moments went by, but the girl didn’t notice the tall warrior.
“Catlin? Lass are you alright?”
She looked up suddenly, her eyes losing the misty, far off look of moments before. Her mouth hung open for a second.
“Fergus... I didn’t hear you come in.” She smiled up at the man.
He sat down at the edge of her bed, pushing aside the supplies. Fergus could be a brutal warrior, deadly in his skill and strength. Usually, though, he was about as brutal as a lamb. A booming baritone chuckle filled the silence.
“You’re probably thinking about having to deal with Conor on a long trip... Better you than me.” Fergus smiled at Catlin.
His eyes questioned hers with a measured stare. “So,” he said conspiratorially, “What did you find out?”
Catlin smirked then turned away from the rugged face. Only one man in her whole life had been worthy of her total trust. Now, she felt as if she were betraying him.
“Fergus... I’m sure he’s fine... we didn’t even get a chance to talk before the riders came through.”
The downward gaze was all Fergus needed to surmise the girl hadn’t even asked him.
“You didn’t ask him, did you?”
The question came out like an accusation. Fergus immediately regretted the tone. A flash of defensiveness, then a spark of anger lit her pale blue eyes.
“Fergus... I know he’d tell us if something were bothering him... He’ll tell us when he’s ready.” She stood up resolutely and continued packing. “And I am not going to spy on him. He means too much to me.”
Catlin couldn’t catch herself before speaking the last thought aloud. Traitorous crimson lined her cheeks. She continued to busy herself with her work and didn’t dare look at Fergus. The big man smiled. Over the past year it had become plainly evident to him that there were unspoken feelings between the archer and the prince. If it were that apparent to him, as thick skulled as he tended to be, why wasn’t it obvious to those two? Ah, he thought, maybe this trip will clear the air. He stood up and clapped Cat lightly on the shoulder. She turned back and smiled at him as he left the room. Fergus had just stepped out the threshold when he turned and leaned back in.
“Catlin?”
She turned and faced him. His eyes darkened slightly and a look of seriousness clouded his face.
“Conor doesn’t always remember that he’s a leader... that he can’t go taking foolish risks.”
Fergus hesitated for a moment. Before he could finish the thought, Catlin’s voice sounded with a determination and calm strength he had never heard before.
“I’ll die to protect him.”
~*~*~*~
Dusk had turned to a black and ominous night. Conor walked along a gentle stream in the woods near the Sanctuary’s entrance. The temperature was dropping fast and he hugged his brown cloak closer around him. What am I doing out here? He couldn’t seem to remember what he had been searching for so late at night, so far away from his bed. There was mist in the woods and the sounds of crickets were muffled. He heard, no, felt the approach of thundering hooves. He walked toward the sound. In a shallow valley clearing he saw Catlin. Bruises lined her cheeks. An arrow was imbedded in her shoulder. Blood streamed from cuts in her face. She stood surrounded on three sides. To her fourth a rocky path leading back to the woods. Conor urged his feet faster, but they were moving as if through mud. He drew his sword and locked his gaze on her, urging his legs still faster. Catlin let loose an arrow, toppling the only remaining archer in the guard. Conor slashed to his left, felling the centurion like a tree. Discarding her bow a metallic slither filled the night as Catlin drew her sword. Still moving closer - the prince slashed through guards as if they were ghosts. Not one attempted to fight back. 100 paces to her. Almost there. She finally turned and saw him. His eyes widened in horror as he saw how brutally hurt she was. She looked at him, her eyes gleaming with fire.
“Get back!” She yelled, gesturing toward their only escape to the East with a nod of her head.
50 paces. A guard approached quickly from the South. He ignored Conor who speared him in the side. Catlin’s attention went back to Conor.
“Conor, go!” she commanded.
10 paces. Lead weights still bound his feet. Then he saw him. Pallid face. Wavy hair. Death. He stood right behind Catlin, pulling back with a long stick. Conor’s mouth shaped the words but no sound escaped. Not even breath. 5 paces. Longinus thrust forward with the stick, sending it through Catlin’s back. Her face twisted in a sudden violent grimace and her agonized scream filled the night. The force of Longinus’ thrust sent the stick out through her stomach. Precious blood splattered across Conor’s face. He looked at the object sticking out of her torso... it was the burnished black head of the Spear. The Spear he had destroyed. Catlin’s face clouded with a hazy look as blood spilled from her lips. Longinus pulled the weapon out and pushed Catlin’s body toward Conor. Still barely standing, she struggled forward and fell into him. His arms went around her wounded body and her head rested on his chest, limp and lifeless. He sank to the ground sobbing silently. He let loose a voiceless scream.
~*~*~*~
Conor sat up straight in his bed with a muffled cry. Shallow gasps escaped his mouth as he tried to control his breathing. The chill of the night had no influence on him: he was sweating from head to toe. Trying to shake the dream away, he got up and walked out into the crisp night air. It was just a dream. Catlin was fine. But the blood... he had felt it on his face. He had felt her lifeless body cradled against his own. His feet followed the familiar path to her chamber. He softly walked to her bedside and sat down. Catlin was still. A wave of nausea coursed through his stomach. She couldn’t be dead. Hastily he reached down and stroked her cheek with his hand. She was warm. He then noticed her rhythmic breathing. She was just sleeping. His panicked heart started to quiet. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
“Conor?” the slightly disoriented voice whispered.
His eyes sprang open to see her sitting up and questioning him with her eyes. There were dark circles under his soft brown eyes. His blonde curls were rumpled into tangled knots. His skin was pale and he was breathing shakily.
“Conor, are you alright?”
He gave her a half-hearted smile and tried to gain his composure.
“I’m fine... I... I didn’t mean to wake you... Goodnight.”
He stood up and started to leave. Catlin pulled back her covers and got up to follow him. She rested a hand on his bare shoulder and gently spun him round to face her. His skin was warm to the touch. Too warm. Sticky beads of perspiration clung to him.
“You’re burning up,” Catlin marveled as her hands wandered to his cheeks and forehead. She pulled him back to the bed. “Sit down,” it was an order.
Disappearing into the darkened corner of the room, she soaked a tattered strip of cloth in her washing bowl. Conor heard the trickle of water as she wrung it out. The sound shocked him back into the dream. A vision. Catlin’s blood pooling on the hardened earth. The hollow sound of dripping. Violently shrugging off the sensation he closed his eyes and let out another shaky breath. It had all seemed so real. The smell of the wet grass. The sight of her blood. The feel of her form as she fell lifelessly- No!
Without him noticing it, Catlin had returned to his side. Wordlessly, she pressed the cool cloth to his forehead and down his cheeks. Here he was, barging in on Catlin’s sleep and she was consoling him, caring for him. He felt weak and foolish. Had his father ever been so scared so easily? Perhaps he was going crazy. Maybe he was just a raving lunatic. Conor placed his left hand over Catlin’s right and pulled it away from his face. Slowly, his eyes opened.
“Catlin... I’m fine.”
He tried to smile. Was he convincing her? Or himself? A measured stare studied his face.
Catlin recognized the hollow look in his eyes. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong... but she knew he wasn’t going to tell her.
“Are you sure?” she offered as he stood up.
He turned back to face her and gently tucked some wayward strands of hair behind her ear.
“It was just a dream... I’ll see you in the morning.”
He touched her lightly on the shoulder, smiled and left. For a moment she contemplated following him, but thought better of it and stood inside the doorway, watching him leave. Conor walked several paces, then turned and looked back at her, as if expecting her not to be there. Blushing slightly, she smiled and waved at him. It was dark. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the colouring of her cheeks.
Conor walked into the night. Hopefully she hadn’t been able to tell how worried he was. This was Catlin, however, and she knew him too well. He cast a backward glance to her chamber and found her inquisitive eyes staring back at him. His face reddened as she waved. For a moment, he paused, smiling back at her. If he dreamt of her again, he hoped she would look as he had just seen her: smiling, happy, safe.
~*~*~*~
Diana stared blankly into the hearth fire. Red-hued light lit her face in an ominous glow. Her mood matched the smoldering embers within. Longinus had been gone for nearly a week. Gone. Without so much as a word to where he was going. It seemed like more and more his plans didn’t include her. She often wondered how much longer she would be any use to him. Is that how she had once felt about him? Just another person to use? She had felt nothing for Gar, to whom she had married, manipulated, killed. She had felt nothing for the countless men whom she had invited into her bed. Just stepping-stones. Just means to an end.
Why did she still care about what Longinus said or did? He had shown nothing but contempt and utter lack of regard for her lately. It was a dangerous game they played. Twice she had almost paid the price, with her life. He knew she would never leave him. She knew it as well. As sick as it sounded, she still needed him. Even though he tried to send that girl’s spirit into her body. Even though he showed no concern for her life when Conor had placed her in the trap. To Longinus, her life was nothing more than a tool. Nothing more than a good bargaining position.
Lazily, she drank the rest of her wine and threw the goblet into the fire with a loud crash. She yelled at the broken shards of clay, willing their destruction even further.
The door opened with a flurry.
“My Queen?” The guard leaned in the room, military concern plastered across his face.
She turned to face him.
“I’m fine,” she snapped.
Puzzled eyes stared back at her. A slow realization emerged from the depths of her drunken thoughts. He was the guard she had taken into her bed last night. Did she even know his name? Had she ever bothered to ask? Perhaps it had been loneliness. More likely, she was trying to payback Longinus. What right had he? How dare he? Entwined with the guard she had hoped Longinus would return to find them. To know that she needed him less than he needed her. To know that he was easily and utterly replaceable.
“My Queen?” the guard asked again, pulling her back out of her thoughts. Her eyes softened as she walked over to him.
“Excuse me,” she purred, laying a silken hand on his arm. “I’m a bit tired and have had a little too much to drink.”
Slowly her hands moved up his arms, across his shoulders and down his chest. Leaning in to his ear, she gently whispered, “Draw me a bath.”
Bewildered and more than a little aroused, the guard quickly left his post. She shut the door behind him and sank into the pillows in front of the fire.
~*~*~*~
Dawn came quickly. Conor had slept, but thankfully did not dream. As the sun rose, he felt more and more convinced that he had imagined the whole thing. The dream was just that. A dream. He was worried about the Romans finding their keep. He was uneasy about the trip. Ian and his people were known to Conor. They were skilled warriors and not very trusting. In those days that seemed so long ago, Derek had spoken of that tribe with respect but caution. How he wished his father, his family were still here. Sometimes the job of leadership seemed so at odds with who he wanted to be. All of his life he had never been envious of Aiden’s role as eldest. He often times looked on his older brother with pity. His destiny was fixed. In the end, so was Conor’s.
Fergus poked his head into the room. “Are you ready, lad?”
“Are you that anxious to get rid of me?” He laughed back.
“Aye...” the big man smiled.
Conor got up and dressed. Again his thoughts drifted, although to a more pleasant thought. Three days might be just right to clear the air. Maybe in three days time he would know her feelings as well. Smiling to himself he grabbed his pack and headed out into the crisp morning.
~*~*~*~
“Tully!” Catlin laughed with exasperation.
How much more of his questioning could she endure?
“Just answer the question,” he ribbed her.
Blushing she looked away from him.
“Nothing is going on. He’s still mourning Claire... We’re just friends.”
“Well,” he said smiling, “I don’t believe you!”
She rolled her eyes and picked up her pack. On her way out the door Tully stopped her.
“Catlin...” his tone had changed abruptly.
There was a decided serious cast to the way he spoke her name. Looking into his eyes, the smile slowly ebbed from her face.
“What is it?”
“I have a really bad feeling about this trip... I just hope you’ll be careful.”
He looked at her for a moment, then impulsively kissed her on the cheek and ran out into the early morning. She followed him out, but he was already gone, disappeared into thin air.
Her gaze traveled across the distance to Conor. His spirits seemed lifted from the night before. A smile crookedly played across his face as Fergus slapped him on the back. Shaking off the foreboding feeling of Tully’s warning, Catlin smiled back at the two men and made her way to where they waited.
“Ah, lass. Did you sleep well?” Fergus greeted her.
Conor’s gaze shot to her face asking her to forget his strange visit.
“I’m ready to go,” she avoided him.
Tying her pack to the roan mare she turned back to face the two.
“Are you ready Conor?” she questioned pulling herself onto the animal’s back.
“Take care, old man,” he smiled, clapping Fergus on the back. “And remember, if you do a good enough job, you may find yourself the permanent leader.”
“Not bloody likely,” Fergus laughed.
Conor leapt into the saddle. In a moment, they were off.
Fergus watched them leave, wondering where Tully had gone. It wasn’t like him to not wish his friends well. Glancing up into the sky he noticed large dark clouds rolling in. Distant thunder rumbled. Feeling a sudden chill, Fergus pulled his gray cloak tighter around him. Never one to fearfully believe premonition, he was suddenly struck with the thought that he’d never see his friends alive again.
~*~*~*~
Longinus opened his eyes. In an instant he knew. The druid’s spell had worked. The nightmares had begun. A low laugh emerged from his mouth. The dusty light of dawn pressed through the cracks in the old wizard’s hut. A glint of sun shined on the object in his hand: a small, thin, silver dagger. Turning it over in his palm, he stared at the blade. How small, how insignificant had it been? And now the dried blood upon its blade had given him the chance for true revenge. The weapon had been thrown across the room and had stuck in the boy’s leg, wounding him slightly. Discarded with a small wince and left forgotten on the floor.
When all was said and done, the dagger’s owner was dead. Longinus remembered the words the girl had read from the scroll.
*****
“...But have faith, for there is no greater truth than the one that lives in you.”
From below, he heard the sound of Diana’s guards approaching. The boy looked towards the stairs with alarm, realizing their perilous situation.
“Come, this way,” the guardian of the tower had urged, ushering them to a door in the back of the room.
Conor stood and regarded Longinus with an uneasy stare, his young gaze fixed on the hollow eyes of the immortal.
“Go,” Longinus said, gesturing towards the door.
Casting another glance to the stairs, Conor disappeared into the small hidden chamber. Longinus began to leave when he caught sight of the dagger. It glistened red, the boy’s blood beginning to dry upon the blade. Impulsively, he picked it up and carefully placed it in his pocket, then started down the stairs to meet Diana. He would tell her that all had been destroyed and the prisoners had fled to the woods.
*****
Twice that night he had shown the Prince mercy. Twice that night he had saved his life. Longinus had only ever asked him for once small gift in return: peace. Eternal peace. He had begged Conor to grant him his one wish, but the Prince dismissed him and left him to suffer. Now it was his turn to make the boy pay. He wondered what terrible losses Conor would suffer in his sleep. What was it he valued most? The Confederation? His friends? His home? Perhaps it was a woman... The girl. That must be it. Again Longinus’ mind drifted to the past. Diana’s bedchamber. The boy begging for her help, his help to free his friend.
*****
“The question is... what are you willing to sacrifice in return?” Longinus posed.
“Everything.”
*****
It hadn’t merely been his answer, but the look in his eyes, the desperation in his plea. Later, when he had gone to the chamber, Conor had threatened him.
*****
“If anything happens to her... if you make it worse in any way... you’ll wish you’d killed me when you had the chance.”
*****
Longinus smiled. This was almost going to be too easy. Every night, Conor’s dreams would be full of her death. Every night Conor would watch in horror, unable to stop it. And every night her death would come at the hands of a man Conor had refused to kill, when he had the chance. Eventually, when the time was right, he would capture her and kill her. And so the game would go until he had succeeded in destroying all that Conor cared for. He would leave the boy to live, of course, for his existence, soulless and seemingly unending, would be his true punishment.
He was snapped back to the reality of the present by the sound of the old druid shuffling about. How interesting. Men of religion were supposed to be divine. Ordained by the gods to serve. Yet he could always find one who had his price. It was true on this island. It was true in Rome. The old ways as well as the new.
Anxious to return to work, Longinus slipped out the door and into the woods, leaving behind only a small bag of coins and a brand upon the arm of his host.
~*~*~*~
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