DISCLAIMER
Though the characters in this tale may physically remind you of people that you
know, they are in no way affiliated with, or based upon, the characters of Xena
and Gabrielle as used in Xena: Warrior Princess. It may shock you; nay,
disgust you to know that I have watched barely three episodes of your favourite
TV series (perhaps four years ago?) and so would not be able to draw upon those
characters even if I wanted to. Not my fault, mind you, but that of the broadcasting
authorities in my country. However, I am aware of certain physical similarities
and therefore invite you to employ your own wild imagination to make the leap.
None of that. Well, maybe a little. What, am I
under interrogation here??
PS. There’s no sex happening here. Lots of fondling… actually, no. But lots of
kissing… oh. No. It’s subtext!
COMMENTS
You are most welcome to share them with me, as long as
you adore me madly. No, but really. Please don't waste time with pettiness or
snotty comments - karma will pay attention, but I won't. Constructive criticism
will be welcomed with open arms. As will the second series of Xena (to make
sense of it all), flavoured microwave popcorn, a book on levitation and a
sturdy rope to tie around my waist. Find me at: kalexy@webmail.co.za
AND FINALLY
I hope you’re having fun!
CHAPTER EIGHT
She reconsidered her reasoning the
moment she walked into the courtyard. There they were again, the evil duo,
fewer ale mugs between them this time, but still the rollicking air of hilarity
that enveloped them. It was so infectious that even Kate the Innkeeper sashayed
by more than once, apparently flirting with the giggling prince. Or so it
seemed to Helena, who almost bit her tongue when she noted the large woman
winking at the knight rather saucily as she refilled their drinks. Lifting the
mug Crispin clanked it against Eric’s, pausing fleetingly as she spotted Helena
over his shoulder. The princess was about to steal away upstairs when she heard
her name being called.
“Helena! Come here!”
Though usually she would have
taken the bellowed words as a command and immediately refused, Crispin’s tone
this day was warm, and that in itself drew her closer without thinking. Taking
a sip from her mug the knight slid over to one side of the bench, a swift
strange flinch on her face before she reached down under one thigh with her
hand and pulled out a wicked splinter. Throwing it into the flowerbed next to
her she patted the open space. “Come. Sit with us.”
Ever the gentleman Eric rose as
Helena approached, sketching a slight bow in the air, and again she found
herself wishing that he had rather come to her tower. And then,
inexplicably, she felt guilty. Especially when Crispin motioned one of the serving
girls closer with a languid wave of her hand and ordered an ale for Helena.
Sipping it demurely she listened thoughtfully to their current conversation (a
deep and profound discussion about knife throwing) before she established that
they were in all likelihood not intoxicated. All that much. Yet. Deeming it
thus safe to join the discussion she started with short comments and reactions
(“yes”, “uh-huh”, and the more advanced “naturally”) before easing gradually
into full sentences.
“Of course it had been six years
since I’d last thrown a knife…” Crispin paused to take a sip of her mead, “but
I had made a promise. Though the result attracted rather more attention
than I would have hoped.”
“Uh huh.”
The knight gave Helena a slightly
perturbed look before she continued. “Naturally, with the said appendage sliced
off, he attracted rather less attention than he would have hoped.”
“Naturally.”
It was muted under Eric’s muffled
giggle, but Crispin’s ears were remarkably sharp. Raising her eyebrows at the
equably mead-sipping princess she paused for a moment, but when nothing else
was imminent she continued. “And that is the reason why I am banned from the
Goodwin Forest Games. And also, to a lesser extent, why John Thwaite has moved
back into his mother’s cottage.”
Eric let out a very loud roar of
glee. “You wicked creature!”
“Quite.” The blonde’s tone was
dry. Affably avoiding the handsome prince’s jovial fist Crispin leaned towards
Helena, her eyebrows raised enquiringly. The princess attempted to ignore her,
but considering that the dark eyes were only a few inches from her own she
abandoned her effort after a time, peering over the rim of her mug at the
knight innocently. “What?”
“Yes. What, indeed.” Crispin
cocked her head to one side, studying Helena with interest. “Did you find a merchant
with brevity for sale?”
“Ohh.” It was an exhalation of
annoyance. Slamming her mug on the table Helena folded her arms tetchily and
shook her hair in a noble, yet universally fractious manner. “I am merely being
agreeable, Crispin.”
“Quite.” The dry tone mimicked the
blonde’s earlier answer. “When last you were being agreeable you medicated me
considerately with poison ivy. No, wait, when last you were being agreeable you
had just turned me into the object of the greatest comedy in town. Forgive me,
consequently, if I become slightly apprehensive when you become
agreeable.”
“How rude!” The princess leaned
closer, her nose almost touching that of the knight. “I had very good
intentions, you oaf. Perhaps not so much with the story, I’ll allow… But you
complain when I am challenging, and then you complain when I’m agreeable. Which
is it to be, Sir Crispin?”
“Perhaps she would prefer your
mouth otherwise engaged?”
Receiving a sharp kick (and a
quick flash of amusement) from the knight for his helpful comment, Eric
returned to rubbing his ankle and observing the argument raptly, his head
swivelling between the opponents like that of a spectator at a jousting match.
Both parties in point of fact seemed to be perversely enjoying the quarrel.
“I prefer you obstinate, your
highness. Then at least I know myself to be marginally safe from everything
life-threatening - except your tongue.” From the corner of her eye the knight
caught sight of the prince’s mouth opening. “Eric.” Placidly he shut it again.
Folding her arms coolly the
princess raised her eyebrows. “You should have let me know of this affinity of
yours sooner. I could have been a great deal more testy.”
“Curiously, I don’t doubt that for
an instant.”
They took synchronised sips of
their ale, a reciprocal truce for the time being. Noticing the blonde’s slight
pout the prince smiled to himself, admiring her tenacity in the face of the
knight’s infuriating air of utter nonchalance. Crispin was at that moment
studying Helena’s pleasing features with a slightly perplexed frown.
“Princess, I have a question.”
“Back to princess, are we?”
Helena’s full lower lip twisted slightly. “What is it, Crispin?”
“I thought that you wanted to
return to the tower once I had recovered. Why are you still here?”
Whether the knight was being
guileless or impolite was impossible to tell, though it wasn’t as hard to tell
which one the princess was voting for. Raising her eyebrows she bestowed a long
icy glare upon the dark woman. “I had not realised that you were so anxious for
me to leave, knight. If you had said so earlier I would have accommodated you
gladly.”
Her brisk lofty tone left no doubt
– she was incensed. Yet under all of that the prince could swear that he detected
a note of hurt.
“That’s not what I meant, Helena!
You’re welcome to go, or to stay, or whatever takes your fancy. I would just
appreciate being let in on the decision, seeing as I’m very much a part of it.”
The tall woman was attempting to be soothing, but in the face of her naturally
exasperated nature it wasn’t working so well.
“Thank you for your permission,
Sir Crispin.” Even Eric winced. “However, my decisions have nothing to do you.
And will continue to have even less to do with you in the future. Good
night.”
The princess rose stiffly,
maintaining just enough of her royal breeding to nod courteously to Eric when
he rose and bowed his head. To Crispin, however, she gave no more than a
horribly venomous glance before she strode back into the Inn. Both parties were
silent until her stiff back had disappeared around the doorway, and then Eric
exhaled with a loud sigh.
“Goodness, Crispin, I’ve never
known you to be so verbally… incompetent. You utterly and completely screwed
yourself there. Many happy returns.”
“Oh, shut up.” The knight took a
long drink from her mug, draining it completely before she slammed it back onto
the table with obvious frustration. “Damn it, Eric, a few days ago she could
not wait to abscond whenever I turned my back. I had to resort to absurd
threats just to keep her near the fire at night. And now, suddenly, when I want
to let her leave, she tears strips out of my hide and makes me sport them as
earmuffs!” Dropping her head into her hands in aggravation she chewed her lip
thoughtfully. “I do not understand women, Eric.”
“Well, I doubt that I’d be of much
help in that department. But,” he tilted her chin gently with his fingers to
look into her eyes, “maybe I can work with you on just this specific occasion,
Crispin. Is it unimaginable to think that she might not actually want to
leave you?”
“But why not?” Her blue eyes were
genuinely confused. “I forced her to accompany me here, Eric. When I return her
to her father for a reward she will most likely be forced to either return to
the tower or to marry a man in all probability suitable only in rank. That
would be good enough motivation for most people to go when they are granted
leave.”
“She doesn’t strike me as anything
akin to most people.” Eric shrugged loosely and took the last sip of his ale.
“You’ve managed to suggest to her that you were eager for her to go, dear
heart. It’s no surprise that she’s taken offence. The two of you invoke very
fiery reactions in each other, for some or other reason. The best course of action
would probably be to let her calm down for now, and placate her in the morning.
Here, let me order another round.”
“I should have let the dragon eat
me.”
It was little more than a petulant
mutter.
“I wish the dragon had eaten her!”
It was an irate snarl, delivered in the direction of the peacefully snoring
knight’s back. Pacing up and down Helena eyed the blissful bundle evilly, and
then stopped to deliver a monstrous kick to the pallet’s leg. The dark woman’s
head snapped up blearily. “I do like them apples,” she declared foggily
before she flopped over and began to snore again. For a moment silence reigned
while the princess studied the knight with a perplexed frown.
“What ap… you know what? I don’t
care! I do not care. I, princess Helena of Bernam, do. Not. Care. Do I
care? No. You can take your apples and do indecent things with them, you hear
me …” Muttering a few more things that would curl Crispin’s toes (if she were
awake and actually paying attention for once) Helena began to hurl her clothing
into her pack. “… fit that apple, no, any fruit, I wouldn’t be particular… and
then she asks me why I’m still here, the rabid fiend… got to write the dragon a
thank thee note, only polite… and mind you, I should have taken that poison ivy
and shoved …”
Giving the pallet one last kick
she stalked out of the room, ignoring the voice that suddenly piped up behind
her. “I was only shoeing her horse, honestly…”
When the knight awoke she had the
groggy thought that it was rather too quiet. The princess should have been
fuming loudly and pointedly in one of the corners. There should have been
stares as icy and spiky as daggers sinking into her exposed spine with zest.
Instead – there was heavenly peace and quiet.
It felt… odd.
Something was not right.
Rubbing at a clump of hair on the
back of her skull which had obviously exchanged pleasantries with something
sticky, she pondered the wisdom of lifting her head. It was readily apparent
when she attempted it that her rational thought had been affected. With a
muffled groan she pushed her face back into the scratchy pillow and gave a
half-hearted sniffle. No, still too silent. Turning her head slightly she
peered around the room with one narrowed eye, taking in the clear space where
there ought to have been parcels and other swanky effects.
Oh dear.
Oh damn.
Oh buggery dragon on a stick.