Private Tales The Fall

[Raziel]

Mansell was predictable. He was tall and spoke their language instead of his mind. He was the rock she needed to anchor too in dangerous seas. The familiar. He bowed and he smiled he acted as she would expect.

Rather than empathetic to her pain, he was merely polite about it. That was familiar too.

"I am so sorry to hear that, my sympathies," he said smoothly before moving on.

"My men are exceptional riders. There is no need to tarry," he said a little too quickly. He corrected just as rapidly: "Unless you need more time of course. I suggest we get going. Dunama can take you to fetch your horse."

He waved down the stairs to a stern, dark haired man standing there and watching the rest of the inn intently.

 

[Feyre]

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she nodded at his sympathies. Common courtesy at least, but he didn't know them, he couldn't bare her pain. It was hers and hers alone.

A slender brow arched in a fleeting moment of surprise at his urgency, but it was as she'd hoped even if it was not what she'd expected, and so she nodded. "Perfect. Thank you." she offered a soft smile and looked to the man at the foot of the stairs.

Feyre glanced down the hallway as she stepped out of the room, giving a moment's hesitation before she continued on down the steps. Epione was made ready for her at the stable and handed over by the stable boy with a tip of his hat, and she glanced back toward the inn as she pulled herself up into her saddle, wondering if he would follow.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel was not following. At least, not with his feet. He had an entire bottle of wine on his table and was intending to finish it.

There was no artistry in this parting. He had bound himself with his own magic to deliver her to the Baron. It just felt so mundane. Leaving her bathing in her own blood for the innkeeper to find would have stirred quite the frenzy around the place.

"Ah so little time, not everything is a masterpiece," he sighed to himself and brought the cup to his lips. It didn't finish the journey.

It struck the ground and shattered. Artistry found in shards of pottery and the burgandy splash. Raziel clutched at his chest, feeling a hand tighten around his heart.

"Bastard...magic..." he hissed. He had delivered her. It shouldn't have flared up before it ebbed away.

---

"Ride in the middle of the group. As order falls around here more bandits will be on the road. Don't worry, we'll restore it soon. Bletchley is putting together a form of men-at-arms to march before the end of the week."

 

[Feyre]

Had her life taken the nosedive that it had, had everything been normal, she'd have found the formation around her intimidating. The men surrounded her on all sides and rode close. Epione wasn't particularly fast on her feet, and nickered irritably to be surrounded by a ring of thoroughbreds used to a much quicker pace. Instead, she'd spent the past few days and nights feeling so afraid and craving comfort that this cage they'd formed around her felt safe.

"I wish I could repay your father's assistance and hospitality. I'm not quite sure where I'd have gone if not for his kindness, and yours, of course.." she called to Mansell over the sound of hooves, a hand running over her chest subconsciously, pressing at a dull ache.

She glanced behind her, each time meeting the gaze of the rider at her back, but she looked past him and when she saw nothing she eased a little more and returned her attention to the path ahead.

"Are you expecting company My Lady?" Mansell asked, having ignored her thanks and spared a glance over his shoulder himself.

"No." she answered with a small smile. "No I am not."

 

[Raziel]

"Good. Don't worry, there might be bandits around but they wouldn't last long against us."

There was a general murmur of laughter around the group. It seemed quite muted, probably because of the pace they were at. It wasn't that. It was because not all of the group felt entirely comfortable with the plan.

The leader rider slowed. The rest of them soon arrested their pace as well.

"Careful now, we need to turn off into the woods. Left some of my men to set camp incase we needed to change plans."

They would have set a camp by now. If they had done as they were told, they would also have found a strong branch and thrown a rope over it and dug a deep grave.

---

Raziel hissed and groaned as he scrabbled across the wine-stained floor for the door. The pain had lost its intensity but came in waves. If the pact was doing this to him then she was not safe.

If she died before reaching the Baron, then he might just die with her. Raziel found his feet on the stairs, shouting some promise towards the innkeeper to return as he ran for the stables.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre offered a stiff smile at Mansell's assurance, but she looked from rider to rider, noting how some seemed reluctant to look at her at all. Again she pressed at the dull ache in her chest, unable to shake the faint pain, nor the feeling of ill ease that seemed to loom over her like a dark cloud about to burst. Once more she put it down to the stress and trauma of her past few days, and carried on off road, still flanked by Mansell and his riders.

The little camp wasn't too far off of the road, but in a thick enough copse of trees that it wouldn't be an easy find to any who hadn't known it'd been there. Another three men stood up as they wandered into camp, sharing glances and looking up at her. But there was no friendly smile or greeting as one of them approached to take her reins, his brow furrowing as he looked over over and looked to Mansell whilst the other riders slipped down from their saddles.

"Take my hand Feyre." she looked down at Dunama. There was no polite 'Lady' now, and Feyre's heart quickened as she realised that the atmosphere had taken a severe dip. Golden eyes looked from face to face, all now watching her, all now waiting, but as she turned to ask Mansell a question she caught the chilling sight of the rope that hung from the arm of an old sycamore, and the noose that had been tied into the end of it.

Her fingers tightened on her reins, before she was dragged from her saddle.

 

[Raziel]

A hand fell on her shoulder. Heavy and solid. Under other circumstances it would have been reassuring. Mansell let the others take her arms, but he stayed behind her with that hand in place as she was pointed towards the rope.

"Now let's just get this over with quickly now. No fuss," Mansell said. He believed that those with proper blood could look any situation head on and accept it with grace and dignity. Even walking to the noose.

---

"Cunting bastards fuck shit," he continued with his wicked tongue as he found her father's horse. It was liquid fire coursing through his veins. Magic threatening to tear him apart from the inside out.

Raziel found some strength to grip the reins as the horse tore out of the village at speed. He could follow that faint trail of the link, tugging at his chest. He would welcome death with open arms one day, but not this day.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre did not in fact accept the situation with any sort of grace or dignity. She thrashed, limbs flailing out violently to punch and kick whatever they could find and a scream tore itself from her lungs with a white-hot fury that scattered the nesting birds from the canopy and seemed to linger long after a strong hand cut it short by slamming down on her mouth.

Her screamed words of protest were dull and muted against the palm, her face gripped too hard to escape it's clutch. There were many hands on her, each trying to stop her frantic assaults, each carrying her toward that noose that swayed ominously in the frigid breeze, and the dark hole in the ground below it.

Not like this..

Tears flooded her cheeks as she continued to scream so hard that she felt her voice break, her heart rattling in her chest so fast it ached. Her body contorted, twisting and writhing to make it as difficult as she possibly could for them to keep hold of her. She bit down hard at the hand that silenced her, and tore at whatever skin she could find with her nails.

 

[Raziel]

"A bit of decorum gal," he said louldy. It was as if he was asking someone to stop crying at a wedding and not being dragged to a hanging.

His voice was clear and calm even as the others swore and shouted and cried in pain when she lashed out.

They didn't have a platform. There would be no blood by she would be dangling for a while before they let her down. Still better than making bloody work of this. He grabbed her by the back of her hair, trying to keep her head ever moving towards the noose, even as she flailed against them.

One of the group ahead of them held it up as she was drawn inexorably towards it.

"The Baron sends his regards."

---

Raziel had seen the riders coming. There had been a lot of them. The ground ahead of him was firm and covered in old and new prints from horse shoes. He could not tell the difference.

His pulse was racing now. Not just the pain, some of this fear was not his own. If Feyre hadn't screamed, he probably would have ridden straight on until he fell from the horse quite dead.

Instead he yanked the reins and turned off the road, quickly seeing the path the riders had taken through the undergrowth.

 

[Feyre]

She didn't make it easy for them, but it didn't take long for her to exhaust herself. The next scream she let out was agony, an aching rattle in her throat that was cut short by a solid, gloved hand hitting the side of her face. She wished it'd knocked her out, instead she was still conscious, her head falling back with dizziness as they held her up and pulled the thick knot of coarse rope around her neck, and tightened it.

Not like this..

She wrestled with it, with them. "No! No no no no no.. Please.." Such a pointless plea. The inevitability of death by hanging was crushing, robbing her of breath before the rope ever could.

"No!" she reached out as they were letting her go, suddenly not wanting them to now that she was being given over to the grip of the noose instead. They unfurled her desperate grip from their tunics and took a step back out of her reach. Feyre almost stumbled straight into the pit behind her, but with Mansell's words, the rope held her upright.

"Alright, hoist her."

"N-!" Two men pulled back on the rope, and Feyre felt her feet leave the ground, her weight only tightening the deathly grip on her neck.

 

[Raziel]

It suddenly became hard to breathe. Foolish and reckless fiend, all to find himself a bit of amusement on the road.

Raziel would not have had it any other way, nor was he going to learn some lessons today.

He caught sight of the horses through the trees, passing them as a group and slowing his approach. They would have heard him by now.

The full situation was laid bare before him as he rounded a thick bunch of trees. Feyre was already dangling, legs kicking. Her face was already bright red. She did not have long.

Mansell was already facing him, behind two of his men.

"You!" he cried out.

Raziel came to a stop. His right hand flicked out in a blur. A loud thud rang out. One of his knives had buried itself in the branch, severing the rope. Feyre would have to suffer the two foot drop into the pit.

Raziel breathed, the tightness in his chest finally leaving him.

"Well that is better," he said, grinning wide. He hopped down from his horse. There was a soft sound of swords being drawn.

"You make our life easier beast," Mansell laughed. "I've got men ranging all over to find you. Afraid the Baron would like you gone too."

"How about...a duel..." Raziel laughed, striding ahead of the group as if he felt no fear.

"What?"

"You and me. Swords, though unfortunately I will have to borrow one."

"You can't just call me out when there has been no..."

"You could decline, if you were a coward," Raziel replied with a shrug.

The stand-off had expanded now. Two of his men stood either side of the pit, watching Feyre, but uncertain what they were supposed to do. The rest were arrayed in a semi-circle in front of Raziel.

"Dunama, give him your sword," Mansell said through gritted teeth. He was already shrugging off his coat. Raziel started to do the same.

How absolutely fucking predictable

 

[Feyre]

She heard every slowing beat of her heart in her ears as it struggled to push her blood past it's constrictions. Her mouth was open, trying desperately to drag air into her starving lungs as her fingers strived to curl themselves under the rope to create room. It was all so much effort, and the edges of her vision darkened and blurred until her eyes had started to drift closed.

There was a brief blur of red, the thud of metal on wood, and suddenly her grave was rushing up to claim her. The air came flooding into her lungs so quickly that she coughed and wheezed uncontrollably in the bottom of the pit, her nails clawing at her own throat in attempt to remove the severed noose from her neck as though it might still try to starve her of air even here.

She might've believed herself dead had it not been for Mansell's men peering down at her with their weapons drawn, had it not been for the sound of the tiefling's voice, his laughter. Not unless she'd not ascended to a better place, and rather descended into the pits of hell. How poetic that he would be her saviour now, he perfect that he was the only thing she could depend on to keep her alive. How utterly fucking tragic it was that he was all she had.

Feyre threw the rope at the wall of dirt opposite her, her dirty hands curling around her burned and bleeding throat as she curled up in the corner of her grave and sobbed.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel took the offered saber. He clumsily cut the air a few times just to get a feel for the balance of the weapon. Decent steel. Not cheap though a little heavy for his taste.

"Terms of this?" Mansell asked.

Raziel bit back his laugher. "Hack at one another until someone is dead."

Mansell, bereft of sense as he was, took this to be a sign that he was facing an amateur swordsman. Raziel closed the space between them until they were just a stride apart. He waited.

Mansell brought his sword to his face as some kind of salute to begin. Raziel did not salute. He simply darted forwards and stabbed the man in the heart.

 

[Feyre]

"What about her?.." she heard one of the men above her calling to Mansell, the sun glinting on his blade as he pointed it down toward her. Feyre pulled her knees in against her a little tighter, fear pinning her trembling body to her little corner of dirt, out of their reach.

Her eyes closed as she drew and released long, shuddered breaths and silently prayed. There were many of them, seven or eight, she was sure. Last night she had spent the night praying that they'd come for her, that they'd save her from the hell she was in. In the hangman's noose she'd found herself praying that he would come for her, and now she spoke to her Gods, her lips moving in silence as she prayed for his survival and Mansell's demise.

A pile of soil came down on top of her, jolting her from her forced state of calm, and as she looked up another hit her face. She coughed and let out a whimper, seeing that boots had started shoving the piled soil down on top of her, trying to bury her whether she was dead or alive.

 

[Raziel]

There was a collective intake of breath. None of them had seen it coming. Inbred morons, the lot of them. Mansell himself looked down in shock. A blade wedged three inches deep below his sternum.

Raziel drew the blade free. A splash of crimson from one of his heart's final beats followed it.

"What the..." went Dunama.

He was cut off. Raziel wasn't finished. He knew they would turn on him as soon as they had their wits back. Dunama had no sword in his hand. Raziel cut him down first, a single slash to the side of the neck.

"Get him! Fuck!"

 

[Feyre]

The dirt covered her, she choked on it, it clung to her hair and clothes and caused her vision to blur as she blinked it into her eyes. But suddenly, it stopped, and Feyre dug her fingers blindly into the wall of the pit and pulled herself upright to cough and breathe, shaking the earth from her as much as she could.

She peered across the floor to where Mansell's body collapsed into a heap, her gritty eyes wide as she glanced around at each of the dumfounded men, at Dunama as he too was cut down. They each forgot about why they were here, forgot about her, but she didn't dare run. She didn't dare move at all.

Feyre didn't want to watch. She'd seen enough bloodshed, enough death. She let herself slide back down into the corner of the hole and curled herself up to wait it out..

 

[Raziel]

He was still outnumbered. If Raziel had any intention of fighting fairly then his fate would have already been sealed.

A good night's sleep, full meals and an incredible determination to not die today let him tap deeper into his magic. The shadows cast by the trees lengthened. The entire clearing seemed to fall into darkness. The air stilled.

As they slowed fanned out to surround him, several of those shadows rose from the ground and took form. A flutter of panic as shadows of men rushed at them. Panic that Raziel took advantage of.

His tail flicked out a knife that buried in someone's gut. Raziel didn't even use his strength to conjure shades that could do harm. They were distraction enough for him to move through the group in a flurry of steel.

A thud of the last body hitting the ground was followed by silence. Then Raziel's silhouette appeared at the lip of her pit.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

 

[Feyre]

She couldn't stop her trembling, even as she gripped her own arms and squeezed until her nails pinched at her skin through her shirt, she couldn't force them to stop. She cast her gaze up through the skeletal boughs and heaven-bound branches of the tree above her, and the severed rope swaying from it's branches. She felt sick as she stared at it, as her mind replayed every terrifying moment, and then drifted on to an even more horrifying thought..

What now?..

Her thoughts were disturbed by the shadow that fell over her, her honey eyes widening to take in what light they could whilst her brow knit with confusion and fear. She flinched and shuddered at the sounds of death above her. A sound that was now becoming all too familiar. Her eyes closed until it was over, until the sound of his voice caused them to snap open and dart up at him, wide and fearful as she loosed a breath.

She wasn't sure if she could stand, but she wanted nothing more than to get out of this grave, the hole in the ground meant for her, that nobody would ever have mourned at. That nausea wasn't going anywhere fast. Her fingers dug themselves into the wall of earth to drag herself unsteadily to her feet, and there she swayed for a moment before lifting her gaze back to him and reaching a tremulous and filthy hand for him to take.

 

[Raziel]

Raziel didn't make any overt display of sympathy, but he did provide a firm grip and anchor to draw her out of the hole.

It was all very amateur. A rope and a shallow grave. Certainly not a good way to keep the murder a secret, he thought with his professional eye.

Raziel hadn't come out of the scuffle unharmed. Another coat was torn, a bright line of red across his belly. He had blocked the blow, but the saber had still drawn blood.

The other difference was the sword he now wore. He'd picked the lightest blade carried by the group and buckled it to his waist. Less obvious was the bulging coat pocket. He wasn't above taking heavy purses from rich, dead morons who tried to kill him.

"Ride with me. We need to get some distance from this place."

Her own horse would follow along without much coercion.

 

[Feyre]

Feyre, near catatonic, could barely meet his gaze as he pulled her out of the ditch and to her feet. Soil tumbled from her hair and clothes, and her legs buckled underneath her though she managed only just to keep herself upright.

She gazed wildly around at the litter of dead men and she felt her heart tremor in her chest. But the ache was gone, and she looked up at him with a brief and silent nod at his words. Her lips thinned and trembled as she tried her hardest to maintain composure, but what she did next was hardly within her control.

Her arms opened and threw themselves around him, dragging herself to him to hold on for dear life. It was a need for anchor, for something steady. As much as she loathed him, it wasn't the first time he'd kept her alive. The fact that he had no other choice hadn't crossed her mind, and for now she just wanted to savour each breath and cling to that safety as tightly as she could.

 

[Raziel]

"Yes...well..." Raziel went. He sounded genuinely uncomfortable. Not just for the weight of her arms clamped tightly around his neck. He knew it was desperation rather than affection, but it still did not sit right with him.


Raziel slowly wrapped an arm around her. It snaked under her arm and around the small of her back supportively.

"Come on then," he hissed impatiently. He slowly turned, making sure she could find her feet but keeping close and taking some of her weight.

She had thick rope burns around her neck. Her clothes were dusted with dirty. Raziel didn't know what they were going to do next, but he was going to get them away from these woods.

He reached for the reins and offered them to Feyre, remaining to help her up into the saddle first.

 

[Feyre]

Thoughts accelerated inside her head. She wanted them to slow so she could breathe but they wouldn't. The panic was like a deluge of ice water surrounding every limb, creeping higher until it passed her mouth and nose, and her breaths came in short, sharp gasps so quickly she felt she might pass out. The wood around them spun, and her eyes closed for a moment as she focused on balance, holding firm to him and knowing he was the only thing keeping her upright.

His arm around her back still managed to cause a cold shudder to march across her spine, but without it she'd succumb to her stumbling and be far too quickly reunited with the earth that had just moments ago intended on swallowing her.

The silent tears that fell washed tracks through the dirt on her face, but she had stopped sobbing and given into that numb space between shock and rational thought for now. Feyre accepted his help up into the saddle, her fingers curling into the dark mane of her father's horse as she waited for him to climb up behind her..

"Where are we going?..." she croaked out, her broken voice barely a whisper that she winced to use.

 

[Raziel]

She was going to shut down again. Fate's dice were not being kind to her and he almost - almost - felt sorry for her. Feyre needed to learn how to cheat the odds, but he didn't think she had enough fight in her left for that.

"Away from here, not back to the town. Need time to think," he said. Raziel pulled himself up behind her.

The bodies were spread. Raziel had kept moving, kept using distractions to keep more than two form closing on him. Mansell had favoured himself so much that he might have killed Raziel alone in a fair fight. Which was why Raziel had stabbed him in the heart before they could start.

His petty theft extended a little further before they left. The riders had good equipment for travelling quickly. Dried meats and biscuits, waterskins and bedrolls.

He rode them back out of the woods, back to the hill towards town. He turned away from it, heading east at a relaxed pace once there was no sign of pursuit.


"We will stop and eat soon," he told her, breaking the silence. He wasn't sure if he would even get a reply

 

[Feyre]

Feyre remained silent. She rested back against him, not caring of his closeness, knowing she'd fall if she didn't make use of the stability his body offered. The more her muscles eased, the more they stung, and every ounce of pain was so perfectly pronounced in her mind with each thud of the friesian's hooves as they beat into their path. She realised she could still taste blood on her lips, could still feel skin underneath her fingernails. The bruise on her cheek throbbed and her stomach churned a reminder of the dizzying blow she'd taken and how her body had slumped.

The breaths she was drawing were long and deep, as though afraid that her throat might constrict at any moment, robbing her of air. Her head still pounded, and she found her eyes drifting closed, her head half turned to rest against the crook of his neck, leeching his warmth to mollify the bouts of shivering that wracked her body every minute or so.

His deep, rolling voice was met with nothing more than a deep sigh. She didn't want to eat, she couldn't stomach it. She wanted to sleep, an escape from the hopeless misery that darkened with each passing minute. She had no idea where they were going. She didn't care. Everything around them was a blur of greens and browns, greys and blues, and so she lost her bearings entirely.

"Did you know?..." she asked with a furrowing brow. Had he known they were going to kill her?..Had he been aware he'd been leading her to her death this entire time?

 

[Raziel]

"No," he lied succinctly. He took the time to carefully choose the way he replied

"The Magistrate I was working for was killed. It sounded as if they were looking for me too. Someone - I assume the Baron - wants this nicely wrapped up."

Raziel had always known who was behind the money, even if he had not met him in person. The notion that - despite his personal reputation - the Baron would try and double cross him on the very night of the extermination of Feyre's family made him very, very angry. He let some of that real anger slip into his voice, whilst not going over the top on protesting his own innocence.

Deciding there was some distance between them and any search, he turned into the woodland again. They fell into the shadows of the trees and he drew to a halt when he felt they were out of the open.

"You need rest and I need to plan."