It began with the shrieking: indistinguishable at first, then rising up into the shrill sound of her own name. Then the vicelike grip of cruel hands and coarse rope burning angry red brands on her skin as she was torn from Josie's frantic arms.

Oh God. What had she done?

Her own words echoed in her head like a death knell: I will go. I will go in her stead, her body heaved between men like a sack of flour, hoisted carelessly onto a horses back. Head swimming. Ribs aching. So rough, why were they so rough? She had come willingly, wasn't fighting. But the others were. She saw the smoke rising, the blows falling, mute and slow; smelled charred wood, the iron tang of blood on the air. She had not wanted this. Stop. Stop it. Her words were weak, lost under the erupting chaos, smothered beneath a leather glove clamped tightly over her lips.

"The Godking will see this city burn!"

Horses whinnying, hooves thundering across the darkening plains. The rider forcing his hips hard against her with sickening intimacy; the weight of her shame, when, craving warmth, she pressed back. Torches burning in the distance, marking the camp at the edge of the Wintermar woods. Prisoners huddled together like cattle. No sleep. So cold.

"Stand in a line!"

Her body stripped, clothing discarded in place of rags. Hair severed to her shoulder with a dull blade.

"I said get in line!"

Fists cracking hard against bone. Prisoners crumpling and never rising. Loaded into a wagon, steel bars caging them like animals. The smell of unwashed bodies all around her, too many, too close. Soldiers always watching, always leering. Caravans trading in flesh. Nothing to eat but rotten apples and stale bread. Stomach heaving. How long had they been travelling? Duncaster. Southhaven. Woodchapel. Larkridge. Where were they now? Hammersmith, Portsmead, Ramshead, Wolfden.

Agraria.

"Hold the horses!"

Fawn's eyes flashed open, stomach lurching as the slave wagon heaved to a stop, its wooden wheels creaking in protest against the rough, uneven road. Though the darkness of early morning still pressed in closely around her, she could just discern the outline of a great wall rising up sheerly before them.

"What business have you in the Capital?" a disembodied voice rang out, echoing against the ancient stone.

"We bring tributes to the Godking! Raise the gate!"

There was a pause, then the slow clanking of rusted metal breaking the stillness of the morning.

They were here.

Fawn shrank back against the cold, steel bars of the wagon, the October winds whipping mercilessly through the frigid dark. Beside her, the other prisoners were huddled in an indistinguishable mass; she could hear them moaning and weeping in the night, the smell of dried sweat and fear acrid in her nostrils.

Her own fear.

It had been roughly 6 days since they left Windemere. Her body craved the oblivion of deep sleep, but in her terror, it refused to come. Every nerve in her body was tightly coiled, her mind buzzing with frantic exhaustion like a wasp in a jar. She could not seem to shake the brutalities she had seen; each time her eyes ached shut, the memories would unfold again and again like some twisted dream.

For the first time in her life, Fawn had witnessed true violence. Not vengeance, not hatred, not acts of desperation; these she knew, these she could understand. No, the horror of this violence was in its abitrary nature, its casualness, its utter lack of humanity.

Deep down she knew it had changed her. Irrevocably.

With sleep impossible, Fawn shifted her weary glance outside. The low, cold light of sunrise was beginning to stain the east a dull yellow-gray, gradually revealing the outline of the city around her. Here, in the outer town, the winding streets were narrow and crooked in their poverty, caked with mud and the filth of animals. The timber frames of houses leaned tiredly against one another, alehouses, butcher shops, and brothels all vying for precious space.

As the cart rattled onward under the dull sunrise, the streets began to broaden, widening into cobbled lanes and avenues. Buildings of brick and stone rose up proudly before them, their weathered doors and brightly painted shutters closed fast against the dawn. As the wagon entered a large square, Fawn could make out a few merchants gliding quietly through the pale light, readying their stalls or firing their hearths for bread. She dropped her head in instinctual shame. Despite the bitter cold, Fawn was grateful for the early hour; she didn't think she could bear the indignation of another crowd swarming them, screaming obscenities or peering inside with contempt.

Lost in the bitterness of these thoughts, Fawn didn't notice when they passed beneath the great carved archway into the inner city, where the sacred temples and stately stone houses of Agraria's wealthiest nobles stretched leisurely outward, mingling with lush greenery and pleasure orchards. It was only when the wagon climbed to the top of the city and entered the inner courtyard that Fawn's gaze snapped upwards, startled by the booming of the heavy, steel-studded doors closing behind them.

What she saw knocked the breath clean from her lungs.

There, soaring up endlessly from the Alderdread mountains, was the sublime magnificence of the Godking's castle. As the golden light from the rising sun bathed its glorious peaks, Fawn could see that the structure was hewn straight from the living rock, looming over the entire city like some fantastical vision from the days of myth.

And somewhere deep within its walls, Thomas stood towering, master of it all.

Fawn's awe was short-lived; the vision fading as the sun was shrouded by clouds. The other prisoners around her began to shift, some waking in strangled gasps of fear as the shouts of soldiers and slavedriver collided across the courtyard. After some argument over payment, the wagon was unlocked, the captives dragged out roughly by merciless hands. Some of the weaker ones stumbled against the cold stone, unable to keep their balance with hands bound and legs numb from their cramped confines. They were seized back up to their feet and thrust forward.

Turning her head from the violence in disgust, Fawn's gaze wandered warily over her new surroundings. The courtyard was vast and enclosed, red and gold war tents scattered across the weather-beaten stone. Raw and traded goods were stacked or strewn about, weapons glinting in the sun as banners of the Godking flapped lazily in the breeze. She could smell the heat of the horses in the open-air stables, heard their wild whinnying as they pawed impatiently at the dirt. All around her, small cooking fires dotted the grounds, their warmth enveloping her momentarily and seeping deep into her damp clothes. Milling amongst it all were hundreds of soldiers and guardsmen in all manner of activity, the clash of metal and raucous laughter rising up into the morning.

As Fawn surveyed the scene, her gaze fell idly upon a passing horse and rider. There was something familiar in his proud and stately bearing, golden hair undimmed by the slate-grey skies. As her gaze flickered to his face, Fawn found eyes of the purest green sea-glass trained directly on her. His brows were narrowed slightly in discernment, as if fighting to place her.

Sir Garrick Wolfe.

Heart thundering, Fawn quickly dropped her head.

When she raised it again, the crowd had put a safe distance between them.

"Keep moving!"

Fawn was herded forward with the rest of the prisoners, her chest still heaving from the unexpected encounter. It felt like a lifetime ago since she had first met him in the sweet, dappled shade of the blackcurrent grove. Her hair had been long then, flowing and wild, her dress rich and her heart light. She pushed the painful memory from her thoughts; he would not have recognized her now.

Dragging her attention back to the prisoners before her, Fawn found that she had lost her bearings, the castle now far to the right of them. Seized with a sudden panic, she realized they were being led to the soldier's barracks instead. 

Wetting her cracked lips, she looked up towards the nearest guard in alarm. He had been quieter than the others, his dark face mild enough to risk speaking. "Are you taking us to the Godking?" she stammered, her voice raw in her throat.

The man pressed his tongue against his cheek as if debating whether to speak. His eyes never strayed from the line before him. "All prisoners are to be processed in the barracks. There is need for slaves on the outer wall. You will be put to work there in the next few weeks".

All the blood drained from Fawn's face.

"Please," she begged him, "I need to see the King immediately."

The soldier stopped short, grasping Fawn's bound wrists in his unyielding grip. He still refused to face her, his gaze fixed before him.

"Oye, Maverick. This one wants to see The Godking. Immediately."

One of the men ahead slowed his gait, motioning for the others to keep moving before he turned to face them. His skin was pale against his cropped black hair, the shadow of dark stubble spreading like a bruise across his wide jaw. Though his eyes were a soft blue, there was a heavy lifelessness in them that stirred a deep unease in Fawn's heart.

"I see." He replied slowly, as if tasting his own words. There was something unnerving about the way he spoke that reminded fawn of a predator, circling. "And why, pray, would that be?"

Fawn cursed herself internally, her mind frantically searching for a reason she should not be taken for hard labour like all the others. Her panic made the buzzing in her head grow louder. "I - I have been promised to the Godking as his...personal slave" she lied. "He is expecting me today...he will not like that you have kept him waiting." 

He seemed to consider this for a moment, nodding toward the other soldier to move on. Fawn prayed desperately that the veiled threat in her words would be enough to deter him. 

"Is that so", he sucked in his cheek, gaze raking over her leisurely as he stalked closer. She felt her stomach tightening as he leaned in towards her face. "You're not lying to me are you?"

The long, blunt line of his mouth lifted then, slick lips widening into a smile that sent a visceral shiver of disgust snaking down Fawn's spine.

"You see, I've been told that the Godking is tied up with courtly matters all day and is not to be disturbed. Isn't that so, lads?" he called out casually to the soldiers loitering nearby.

"Aye", several of the men agreed, some leaving their posts to saunter closer.

Fawn turned her head, her heart quickening as she found herself loosely encircled.

"Now Maverick" another rejoined, his voice buyount and amused. "This eager little slave just wants to perform her duties."

Their low laughter barreled into her, a sickening dread rooting Fawn to the spot.

"Well, we don't like to keep a lady waiting, now do we lads?"

Before Fawn could scream, she was pulled backward into Maverick's chest, her mouth smothered under the rough, hot leather of a glove. It was like hitting a stone wall: though he was not tall, every inch of him was solid, hardened muscle. She could feel her body seizing up, her eyes dilating in terror.

"What the hell is happening here!" A deep voice cried out, hoarse in its anger.

Fawn was immediately released, her body trembling as she gasped for air. Though her hands were still bound, she dragged them fervently across her lips, trying to rub out the vile memory of Maverick's hand.

"Get back to your stations!" the voice bellowed, the force of its authority unquestionable.

Then softer: "Are you alright?"

Raising her shaky gaze, Fawn found herself looking up into the entreating face of Sir Garrick Wolfe.

For a brief moment, the steady composure of his face fell.

"It is you..." he uttered incredulously. "You're...you're the Godking's slave."

She dropped her head again, unable to bear the shame of him seeing her brought so low.

"Forgive me, my lady..." he faltered. "I spoke hastily in my surprise. You are Fawn, of course."

Fawn felt her heart clench as he spoke. It was the first time since her capture that someone had spoken her name, spoken to her with some semblance of humanity. She craved the kindness of it so strongly that she almost let him believe in her nobility, fearing that as soon as he realized his mistake, all that warmth would vanish.

Still, she could not lie.

"Sir Wolfe..." she began, "I thank you for intervening on my behalf. I am greatly indebted to you. But please, let there be no pretense. I am not a lady...I think that much is quite clear."

A brief flicker of surprise crossed Garrick's noble features, which he quickly veiled.

"That is not what I see."

It was Fawn's turn to be taken aback, her eyes flickering toward his for any trace of irony. She found none.

"You are from Windemere, yes? They say the prisoner there volunteered to spare another's life."

He reached out then, tilting her chin up gently. "Nobility is not just in the blood, Fawn. There is great bravery in what you did."

For a long moment, Fawn let her gaze linger on his face, her eyes delving into his. Something stirred in her chest then, something she had almost forgotten.

"I know few others who would have willingly sacrificed their lives to the Godking" he continued, his hand dropping from her face. "And what's more," he shook his head, "after finally escaping him."

Pulling his knife from its sheath, Garrick gathered Fawn's hands up gently in his own. 

"Come," he smiled kindly. "Let us free you from these bonds. Then we will see what can be done."

Author's Notes

Well, well, Garrick, we meet again! Thoughts on our golden boy? 

For those who are only here for the g/t, you can rest assured it will be back in full force as of the next chapter! Though I wish those folks did enjoy the rest of the story as much, I made a conscious decision not to write a bad plot just for g/t content.  I appreciate all your support and hope you continue to read!

In other news: who's excited for Fawn and Thomas' reunion?! 

Don't forget to vote, comment, follow, or fund (ko-fi.com/auroraboreale)

xx