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Dark Towers: Chapter Five (Mycenaean Queen) « Result #5 on Dec 18, 2007, 9:01pm »
Rating: R Word Count: 2642 Work in Progress Genre: AU, Angst, H/C/ darkfic. Friendship. Warnings: Violence. M/M slash. Summary: A twisted, dark medieval fantasy. Nigel is the last surviving son of a vanquished monarch. Derek Lloyd is the Captain of the Guard charged with making sure that he is killed, quickly and quietly. However, an unlikely bond forms between them.
Warnings: This chapter contains dark themes, scenes of violence and refers to non-consensual sexual situation. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS DISTURBS YOU.
Chapter 4.
The faceless man stepped slowly forward. Nigel could hear his laughter rasping from the beneath the visor of his helmet.
‘What do you want of me?’ demanded the prince, his voice firm even as he backed towards the niche in the wall. It was his only vague hope of shelter in the otherwise featureless cell at the top of the tower.
‘What do I want of you? What don’t I want of you!’ The guard laughed again, loud and salacious.
Nigel understood him well enough, but denied it anyway: ‘If it’s my life you want…take it. I’m not afraid to die!’
‘Really?’
Nigel felt his knees waver and barely smothered a cry as the guard began to draw his sword from its sheath. He daren’t move now. All he could do was stand, his back to the empty space, and wait.
‘I’m not afraid, man! I’m not!’
With one swift, fluid movement, the guard had the tip of his sword at Nigel’s throat – then, unbeknownst to his victim, he smiled.
He hadn’t been expecting such a treat when he was given his orders!
The prince, mused the predator, was quite delectable. He had been a prisoner for three days, his family had been slaughtered and yet his hair and clothes were scarcely ruffled, and his skin, currently bathed in white candlelight, was as perfect as fresh snow.
But it was the prince’s stubborn dignity, despite his boyish looks and frame, which had kindled the guard’s compulsive desire to defile. He had been given no orders not to touch him – so why shouldn’t he take his share of the spoils of war? He skimmed the blade lightly over the young man’s skin until it rested portentously on the side of his neck.
‘You are afraid,’ he said solemnly. ‘And you have no idea, do you? No idea what pain is!’
Nigel’s sea-green eyes were iridescent with terror, his breath ragged. Yet still he had to say something - anything, even a lie – in order to vainly negate the inevitable.
‘I’m not afraid!’
The guard gave a lusty roar, and slashed the weapon towards Nigel’s throat. At the last instant, he stilled the blow and instead sliced the sword into the top of his victim’s arm.
Nigel gave a guttural moan of shock, clutching towards the wound; blood oozed between his fingers and he fell to his knees.
He scrunched his face against the sickening pain, which seared through his shoulder and spine, overwhelming his whole being. Dark voids veered up in front of his eyes, and he was sure he was going to faint. But he didn’t - as much as he prayed for the release.
The guard had been right. He’d never known what pain was – until then.
He hardly registered the hand seizing his hair. He felt it hideously enough, though, when something – a gauntlet? a boot? he knew not what – smashed away his bloody fingers, and bit into the raw wound on his arm.
Nigel finally screamed, but his cry faltered as he was jolted forward. Suddenly, his face was pressed against cold, hard stone, and his frame crushed into the floor by a far larger one. Harsh, damp breath burned into his neck from close range.
‘You’ll know the meaning of pain now, you arrogant, spoilt brat,’ spat the guard. ‘I’ll teach you the meaning of pain, and make you understand what it really is to want to die…’
Then Nigel felt the hand mauling at the back of his clothes, tearing at the waist-band of his breeches…
‘No….please God, no!’
Derek braced his arms tightly around his companion, for fear he would burst the stitches in his arm. Nigel’s sleep had been restless at best, and now it was quite evident he was lost in the hellfire of nightmare.
‘Ooomph!’ The elbow of Nigel’s uninjured arm hurtled back into Derek’s stomach, momentarily winding him. As he loosened his embrace, however, Nigel only began to struggle more, kicking and thrashing so wildly that Derek had little choice but to restrain him completely.
He pushed Nigel onto his back and then lowered himself on top on him, heedful not to place weight on the prince’s injury.
‘It’s alright,’ he whispered. ‘Whatever it is, nobody will hurt you now…’
‘NO!!! GET AWAY FROM ME!!!’ Nigel’s shout was so loud, Derek cringed. The last thing he wanted was the attention of the whole house – or the whole neighbourhood. Very carefully, he patted Nigel on his cheek. The skin was moist to the touch. In the dying fire-light, Derek could see it was streaked with tears.
‘Wake up,’ he said, firmer now. His fingers slipped over Nigel’s lips, pre-empting another outburst. ‘Nobody will hurt you, but you need to calm down.’
As Nigel’s eyes stretched open, Derek pressed down harder. He sensed Nigel draw breath sharply, thrust hard with his hips and knees to dislodge the larger man and, on failing, go limp. Resignation misted his eyes; then recognition dawned.
‘It’s me,’ stated Derek. ‘Your friend? You were dreaming, but I can’t have you shout out. Do you understand?’
Nigel remained silent as Derek removed the covering from his mouth and rolled off of him. Nigel was panting hard, his breath stilted and shallow, but what concerned Derek was the bandage over his freshly stitched wound. It was spotted with blood.
‘Damn him!’ Derek’s thoughts thundered angrily. ‘Damn him! Why does it still bleed? I did the job well, as good as any surgeon.’
His faculties slowly returning, Nigel peeped sideways at Derek. The Captain was leaning on his side, peering over him. As shock-waves of memory continued to wash through him, the appearance of Derek’s hang-dog face and athletic, bare torso seemed both intimidating and huge, and strangely comforting.
‘Sorry,’ breathed Nigel, after a moment. ‘It was just so…oh God, I don’t want to…’ He ran his fingers wearily across his eyes. ‘It hurts to think…I…I can’t…’
‘Don’t then,’ said Derek plainly. Nigel’s nerves tautened as the Captain’s hand closed over his and lowered it carefully to his chest, not letting it go. ‘What worries me is you shoulder. Does that hurt more or less than last night?’
‘Um…’ Nigel frowned, concentrating hard. It still hurt like hell, but he had almost got used to it. Was it worse or better? He couldn’t tell; rather than the sharpness of yesterday, it felt dull and bruised.
‘A little better?’ he offered, partially through an innate politeness, partially through a desire to please. ‘Did you stitch it up?’
‘Yes,’ said Derek, and although the notion pained him, he added: ‘You’ll have quite a scar – a real warrior.’
Nigel’s lips curved into a humourless smile. ‘Believe me, Captain, it was hardly won in a brave battle.’
‘Yes it was.’ The Captain squeezed his fingers, gently caressing them. ‘More brave than any of my own. Now,’ His final release severed the crippling build-up of emotion between them. ‘We have to go.’
Nigel glanced towards the pale moonshine that seeped between shutters. ‘Now? It’s still night!’
‘Yes, and at dawn when I do not report that my duty is done, the alarm will be raised – if it has not been already after your carelessness last night.’
‘That was hardly my fault! I was…’
Derek, who had already risen from the bed, cut Nigel off as if he weren’t listening. ‘We’ve taken too much time too rest already,’ he reprimanded, reaching for his heavy armour. ‘Now we must ride!’
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Derek crept as silently as possible down the stairs, his arm coiled tightly about Nigel’s waist, whose face was carefully concealed.
When he saw that the Innkeeper still in the main chamber of his ruined alehouse, the Captain’s hand drifted towards the hilt of his sword. Nevertheless, the man was hardly ‘with it’. His head was slumped forward into his arms on a bare, trestle table. Three empty wine jugs told the tale of his drowned sorrows.
A treacherous creaking floor-plank betrayed the men’s presence, and the landlord looked up groggily. He gulped with terror at the sight of the Captain.
‘My Lord, my master,’ he slurred. ‘How can I serve you?’
‘Bring me the best vitals that remain in this shack,’ demanded Derek. ‘Go on, move! I need them NOW!’
The man raised himself shakily, although as fast as he could, and hurried to the kitchen. Derek eased Nigel down onto a bench, with a stark reminder to remain hidden. They waited in silence until the man returned with a cloth full of bread, cheese and a hunk of indefinable meat.
‘You’re a good man.’ Derek pulled from his belt a bag of gold coins, and slammed in down on the table. To his surprise, the Innkeeper shook both his head and hands in an ill-co-ordinated gesture of refusal.
‘No…I can’t accept it! I do not do this for you. I do this for my Prince!’
Derek’s heart clenched like steel. The man had seen Nigel! Intoxicated although the Innkeeper was, the memory would still be imprinted on his mind in the cold light of day. He had to die.
In a flash he had drawn his sword. He saw the wan-looking daughter as she appeared at the door, but shut his ears to her scream. He was on the verge of running the man through, then, when Nigel grabbed the tail of his chain-mail.
‘No! Please…I…I command you not to do this!’
Derek turned on the prince, his eyes blazing with fury – only to be met with a gaze of equally steely resolution.
‘You command me?’ he seethed.
Wavering a little, Nigel backed against the table, supporting himself with his good hand. ‘Yes…well, no. But what are you going to do? Kill them both? You’d…you’d best kill me!’
The daughter had rushed to the father and was now sobbing in his arms. Still overcome with fury, Derek yanked the sacking back over Nigel’s head, shaking him roughly. ‘It would have been fine to kill the father alone, now you force my hand!’
‘Do you really believe they had not already spoken of me?’ hissed Nigel, slumping back onto the bench as soon as Derek released him. ‘And what of the other daughter? Will you seek her out in her bed and slaughter her too…and who’s to say there’s not other children, a good lady, or a chambermaid hiding somewhere? There’s clearly only one solution!’ Swiping off the hood again, he lifted his chin proudly. ‘You kill me, here and now, in front of these witnesses!’
Derek virile façade disintegrated into that of a man defeated. A muscle in his jaw clenched with impotent anger.
He couldn’t do it – and Nigel, deep down, must know this too.
The prince was the master once more.
‘Damn you!’ he spat, and turned on the Innkeeper again, jabbing his sword. ‘If a word of what you have seen tonight leaves this house, each of your children shall suffer worse than a thousand deaths before your very eyes! You understand me?’
‘Yes, oh yes, my good lord, God bless you and bless Prince N…’
‘Never mention his name again,’ growled Derek, still aggressively brandishing his sword. ‘He is dead, remember! I kill him today – HE IS DEAD!’
With that, he grabbed the food bundle, heaved up Nigel, and departed the Inn.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
No word passed between them as they rode out of the yard, and through the streets of the ruined town.
One arm clasped tight around Nigel’s chest, Derek felt him flinch at the sights that greeted them. In front of the charred shells of building, bodies lay bloodied and unburied on the street, emitting the noxious stench of burnt and rotting flesh. Yet all were dusted with a thin icing of snow, which shimmered in the pale, morning light, a mockery of beauty.
Derek, perennially dogged by invisible eyes, avoided the main gates of the city. Instead he headed straight for a section of the wall that had been completely destroyed by siege, and where he knew only six or seven weary men, huddled up against the rubble for shelter, would stand on watch.
Just before they came in sight of their place of escape, Derek whispered in Nigel’s ear. ‘Lie down over the horse like yesterday – and do not move!’
Nigel obeyed, and they trotted onwards.
‘Who goes there?’ asked one of the soldiers, not bothering to conceal a yawn.
‘Captain of the Guard!’ barked Derek. ‘I’m taking a body for burial without the walls.’
The man nodded, and let him pass – nobody questioned the Captain of the Guard but the Emperor himself! But Derek read the guard’s thoughts even before they evolved into mumblings. ‘Why bury that body, when those of even our own men still lie on the streets…and I’m sure I saw the ‘body’ move!’
They were half a mile from the walls, but the time Derek yanked up Nigel by the collar.
‘You moved!’ he spat. ‘You did it deliberately!’
‘I didn’t!’ protested Nigel, doing his best to scramble into a more comfortable position, while Derek slackened the horses pace only a little. ‘But you try to not sneeze when your nose is pressed into the shoulder of this coarse beast! I did my best, honest!’
‘Not good enough!’ growled Derek; and rammed his spur into the horse’s flank urging it onwards.
Nigel’s nervous glare danced between Derek and the animal before, beyond the swathes of destroyed farmland, he glimpsed the grey walls of the city as they faded rapidly into the morning mist. He couldn’t bear tears again; he turned away, denying the finality of it all, as the bitter wind licked against his face
‘Are…are you very angry with me?’
Derek said nothing in reply. His eyes were fixed on a new target– a dark smudge of trees, which stretched right across the horizon.
‘We’re going there?’ asked Nigel, his pulse quickening.
Derek drew a deep, calm breath. ‘We’re passing through, yes.’
Nigel was silent a second, then asked: ‘Oh…um, if you don’t mind me asking, do you believe in the spirits of the Great Forest?’
‘Do you?’
This time the answer was too quick. ‘No! It seems ridiculous, like all the other tales! That the good spirits hide there, keeping evil at bay from the city? After everything, of course I don’t believe any more!’
‘Then why are you shaking?’ Derek chuckled knowingly. ‘I think you are lying!’
‘Its cold,’ grumbled Nigel, glancing back with the hint of a scowl. ‘And surely you don’t believe in them?’
‘I might just be starting to,’ murmured Derek, and hastened his steed onwards to the vast and glowering woodlands.
Therapy: Part Five (katia1) « Result #6 on Dec 18, 2007, 8:53pm »
Title: Therapy Rating: T Warnings: extreme silliness and spoofiness. Ongoing semi-nudity.
Chapter Five: De-briefing
'I'm sorry Derek, it's nothing personal and it’s not because I don't respect you greatly - as a friend, of course…’ Nigel averted his eyes from Derek’s highly-buff body to Sydney's more enticingly comely curves. ‘But it's going to have to be Sydney. We've been through so much together and...and…’
Nigel’s heart lurched unexpectedly as Derek raised the machine gun, but it was merely a gesture of resignation.
'It's okay. This won’t change anything between us. I'll still call an ambulance when you need one.’
‘You're not helping,’ moaned Nigel.
'It's a joke,' retorted Derek, far too seriously. 'Honestly, I’d trust Sydney with my life, too. Not as much as I'd trust me, but I would.’
Meanwhile, Sydney had commandeered the axe and was now swinging and swaying it through the air in a way that Nigel found slightly alarming.
‘What are you doing?'
‘Trying to get the ‘feel’ of the weapon, so I can channel all my positive energy through it - in the right direction.'
'Err, lovely. But I'd, personally, feel more comfortable if you opened your eyes.’
Sydney had been concentrating so hard on the ‘flow' of her energy, her eyes were indeed shut. She opened them.
‘That better? Well, I think I'm ready now.’
'Are you sure you don't need a practice swing?' asked Derek. Nigel looked back at her over his shoulder again, forcing a lopsided grin of support for this suggestion.
‘No. When you're directing the horizontal Kei forces, the first strike is always the cleanest. You still trust me, Nige?’
‘Uh…yes?’
‘Great. Now don't move a muscle, and I'll have you free in a flash!’
She raised the axe. Nigel scrunched his eyes shut, trusting in the best but unable to prevent himself from fearing the worst.
‘Stop moving,' hissed Sydney.
‘I can't help it! I think… I think must be trembling. Oh hell, I'm sorry!’
He felt Derek’s firm hand on his shoulder. 'It will be okay. Trust in Sydney. She is very nearly the best.’
Nigel shut his eyes again and held his breath. The blow - and possibly the gush of pain and blood and an enormous explosion - would come any second. But it didn't.
'Derek! What the heck are you doing?’ cried Sydney.
There was a loud thud.
Hearing a grunt and a cat-like snarl, Nigel pried one eye open to see Derek and Sydney rolling across the bedroom carpet. Fortuitously avoiding the broken glass, their naked limbs intertwined as they wrestled for possession of the axe. Derek’s team began cheering him on - and offering Sydney encouraging wolf whistles.
'I'm sorry,' panted Derek. 'I couldn't let you do it! This is not just anyone… this is Nigel!'
‘Believe me - I am completelyaware of that!’
Derek, having taken the advantage of his superior body weight, now pinned her to the floor. His eyes flitted between her face and her heaving, lace-clad breasts… and then up to Nigel, who had fixed them both with an exquisitely anxious stare.
‘He's my best friend,’ whispered Derek to Sydney. 'My only friend, if truth be known, apart from maybe one other…heck, I don't even know him that well, but…but…’
‘I understand,' replied Sydney kindly. 'But you’ve got to realise that I love him even more than you do…and so…’
‘Ooomph!’
She kneed him swiftly in the groin, freeing herself and jumping to her feet. 'I'm the only one I can trust to free him. Okay, Nigel, hold on….oh!’ The axe was still high in the air, when she froze.
‘Yes!’ Nigel cried out in just and sat up abruptly, the cuffs no longer attached to his wrist. 'They just sort of fell away! I'm free!'
Even as he threw his arms around Sydney's neck, there was an ominous buzzing sound from the handcuffs that now dangled, Nigel-free, from the bedstead.
'Is that good?' asked Sydney over Nigel’s shoulder, a single eyebrow arched in concern.
‘Uh….NO!’ yelled the special Ops man. ‘I don't know how you did that, Nigel, but I think you might have triggered the explosive mechanism.' He grabbed Nigel, tearing him from Sydney’s arms and dragging him towards the door at a breakneck speed. 'Come on, people. Let's go, go, GO!’
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
Sydney, Nigel, Derek and the bomb squad thundered down the fire exit staircase and into the street, where a large black Mercedes pulled up straight in front of them. Nigel was intensely aware that he was now parading himself in his underwear down a crowded London thoroughfare, and that it was somewhat damp and chilly in the autumnal air. Thus he was immensely relieved when Derek threw open the door of the Mercedes backseat and said: 'This is my ride. Get in.’
Nigel didn't need telling twice. Sydney, however, hesitated. She was apparently oblivious to the crowd of curious - and not unhappy - onlookers, who wondered if they'd stumbled across a walking advertisement for Calvin Klein’s new lace and khakis range.
‘I'm not getting in there with you unless you tell me where we're going. I'm a busy woman, and I’m about to start a new relic hunt.’
'It's 'need to know', Syd. But you won't be disappointed. I'm going to take you to see the same person who gave me the tip-off about the doggy collar at the health farm.'
'Really?’ queried Sydney, still suspicious. 'Well… okay then. But I hope it doesn't take long.’ She climbed into the car next to Nigel, followed by Derek who slammed the door. As they pulled away, there was a muted BANG from the hotel.
‘Nah,’ said Derek. 'It was only a small device, and nobody was left in the room. My boys will sort it all out!’
‘In their underwear?' asked Sydney incredulously.
‘These are tough guys,’ growled Derek proudly. 'They train to work the most extreme conditions. They will take it their stride.’
‘Very impressive,’ conceded Nigel, who had squeezed himself into the corner of the seat with his arms covering as much of him as possible. 'But, not being special Ops trained or anything, I have to admit that I’D REALLY LIKE MY CLOTHES BACK!!!’
'All in good time, my friend,' grinned Derek. 'My priority now is to get you de-briefed.'
‘What!?’ squeaked Nigel. ‘No way! I mean, they're all I've got left!’
Sydney patted his thigh reassuringly. 'It's okay. He means he needs to make sure that you know how to handle any fallout from the, uh, incident with the handcuffs. Right, Derek?'
‘Right,’ replied Derek, slightly uncommitted.
‘Okay,’ agreed Sydney. ‘But we’re still only going along with this to meet with your contact. Dr. Wendenhow has asked me to go after another royal pet relic, and I need a lead.’
‘Oh, I think she’ll be able to put you on the right scent,’ shrugged Derek. ‘I’ve told her all about you, and she's been keen to meet you both for some time.'
'Really?' asked Nigel. 'May I enquire who she is?'
‘Yeah,' grinned Derek, glancing out of the window to observe that the car was now queuing past the Houses of Parliament, edging slowly towards Birdcage Walk. ‘Its ‘need to know’ stuff, but seeing as we're nearly there, I think I can bend protocol. Brace yourself, Nigel. You’re off to see the Queen!’
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
‘Okay Nigel, think calm thoughts and try to take nice, even breaths…that’s it. Good boy... do you have a paper bag or something, Derek? I think he's hyperventilating.’
‘Will this do?’ Derek whipped a brown paper bag from what appeared to be a pocket in the back of his pants. 'It's amazing what you can store in a pair of special-ops trunks, there’s this surprisingly spacious compartment for… ’
‘Derek, surely that's ‘need to know’… and I don't WANT to know.’ Sydney snatched the bag from Derek and waved it in front of Nigel. ‘Try breathing into this. '
‘I'm okay,' gasped Nigel. ‘I just need to lie down.' He flopped down so his head was rested in Sydney's lap, and she began gently stroking his hair.
‘Sssssh, it’s okay.’
‘The Queen,' murmured Nigel. 'We can't… it's not possible.’
'Oh yes it is, buddy,' chortled Derek. 'I've known her for a couple of years now, since I was first brought in to advise on the security of her corgis. Now she won’t trust the ‘little blighters’, as she affectionately calls them, to anybody else.'
‘Really?’ gushed Sydney. 'That's great. I can't wait to find out what she knows about her ancestor’s furry friends. This next one is going to be a difficult hunt…’
‘You can’t just waltz in willy-nilly and talk to the Queen,' muttered Nigel. ‘Particularly not….when… oh God! Particularly not when you're wearing only your underwear!’ He buried his face in Sydney's lap, who continued to toy comfortingly with his hair.
‘She’ll be cool about it,' winked Derek. 'I figure that it would only be a problem if she wanted to give you a medal… nothing to pin it on, you see? Otherwise, she’s one pretty cool lady.’
‘Pretty cool?’ Nigel raised a flushed-looking face. ‘You’re talking about Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth and Defender of the Faith! There's nothing cool about any of that! What on earth do you mean?'
‘You'll see! Liz and I are pretty tight - ‘like that’, as you Brits would say. In years to come they might make movies about me and her, like they made about Queen Victoria and Billy Connolly.'
‘That was John Brown, Queen Victoria's beloved Scottish retainer,’ corrected Nigel. ‘Billy Connolly just played him in the movie… Oh bloody hell, what does it matter! This is all some elaborate setup – it just can't be true!’
Nigel gazed up in awe as the gates at the front of Buckingham Palace swung open at one nod from Derek, and the Mercedes swept into the forecourt.
'I hope she knows her stuff,’ retorted Sydney, far from over-impressed.
‘I can't believe I'm finally getting to see the Queen,’ murmured Nigel. ‘And I've still not got any clothes on!’
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