Damn the woman. Teagan hated to travel, and it had taken some hard bargaining to get that dunce of an ox-cart driver to accept some of her jimson weed in exchange for the trip. She still had plenty left. And despite the anger seething in her gut, she'd refrained from using any herself. That was a promise she'd made to herself that she intended to keep. Not to abuse the drug she sold. Not to follow her drunken whore of a mother's life--into, now, the dank reaches of death.

The woman wasn't even in the ground yet. Dear God.

Teagan'd had to come in and pay the dam' priest a pretty penny for an engraved stone. And, looking at her mother's face--blue in death, like the underside of a mushroom--she felt nothing but bitterness and loathing for the woman who had to suck away her money even in death. And even in death, the woman--her features delicate and pale--was more beautiful than she was.

Not that Teagan cared about that.

Dressed in the black of mourning, a secondhand garment that was too tight for her but the best she could do at the time. She took her seat in the corner of a large, dark inn, nursing her third--or was it fourth?--pint of ale. She was no sot, but there were times when a girl just wanted to dull her senses and strike down her sorrow with the blunt hammer of liquor. Already, the world had begun to swim. When she got up to get a refill, noticing (vaguely) that the room seemed suddenly full of strangers, she stumbled and almost fell.

Bahadur had been drinking heavily since he had walked in and gone straight to the bar, ordering in accented Scalian three of their bottles of brandy from the back. A man tried to correct him and he simply gave him a death glare and replied that no, he did not want glasses. Just the bottles. And to keep them coming.

That was about an hour and seven bottles ago. Looking around the room, he had four lieutenants with him and they were all drinking heavily as well. But they'd all practiced and trained drunker than they were now. But there was a stirring in Bahadur's loins and a boiling in his blood. He had been at sea for too long, without a woman and without a real brawl. Either would do, but better would be both.

He saw a woman stumbling toward him, red hair and a tight black dress, the color of celebration. She also was heavily into the cups, he saw, and he walked up to her and bowed low, saying grandiosely and accented, "I am Bahadur Al-Hakim, previously of Arabia. I want to buy you many drinks."

Teagan backed up rapidly, almost tripping over her own feet, her protective reflexes dulled by drunkenness. She folded her arms tightly over her chest and tipped her chin downward, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger.

"Excuse me! I think I've h-h-had enough to drink." What a strange man. And he had, at least, been not impolite. "Arabia, really? I've never met an Arabian before. I'm Teagan--say--do you want something a little stronger than liquor? 'S all well and good, but--" She shrugged.

Maybe she'd make enough money off this one to pay her fare back. Besides--he was interesting enough--why not? She'd never even seen an Arab. What was he doing here? Trading? Perhaps he was rich--his clothing was of high-enough quality.

"No, I like liquor just fine and you like liquor too. We drink now, we celebrate. What are you celebrating, you wear black? Come, come to the bar and sit with me!" he shouted happily, grabbing her hand and dragging her to the bar.

He looked her up and down and enjoyed what he saw. This was a beautiful Western woman before him.

He looked at the bar man, looked at what she was drinking, and said to him, "I want the bottles that her drink comes from. We celebrate! To you, beautiful woman, I toast the best thing I've seen since I've come to this island and for a while before."

Teagan would not have hesitated to smack him across the face if he'd been Thiasan. Still, at the moment, she thought--why not? Why the hell not. He was possibly the most attractive man she'd ever met. Ciaran had just gotten married. She didn't need to oppose her mother any longer. All of these thoughts were--well--ridiculous, jumbled, illogical.

Free drinks were free drinks. She wanted to feel nothing.

"Fine," she said shortly, taking a drink from one of the bottles offered, which burned its way down her already-numbed throat, and hopped up onto a barstool. "But touch me an' I'll... pagh." She took another drink, looking away, and propped her elbows on the counter. "Ugh, I don't care. What'm I celebrating?" It seemed like an odd word choice to talk about mourning but maybe it was true. "My mother's died."

"You wear black. You celebrate. That is how we do. Of course. Now more! We need more liquor. I don't understand this place, those bottles on the back there, is that all the bottles they have? That is not enough for me, let alone the four others I brought. I bet it's not enough for you either. And why is this place so quiet?!" he shouted to her above the din of the crowd. It actually was quite loud, but he had meant that there was no fight, no conflict. Everyone was just talking. He didn't understand, didn't these people want a good time?

"It is not good your mother died, for you. But it is good for her. Of this, I am certain. Beautiful creatures come from beautiful creatures, and beauty is always rewarded."

He placed a hand on one of hers and clinked his bottle before draining it completely. What once was half full was now completely empty. He slammed it down and shouted at the barkeep, "I need another!"

"Beauty," Teagan said acerbically. She yanked her hand back from Bahadur's and took a long gulp of her drink, finishing the bottle. The room spun dizzily around her, and though she really ought to have smacked the man for touching her, she couldn't muster up the requisite will. Or coordination.

"I give you beauty," she said sourly. "'S all any man care about, innit? I have you know, 'm also a good cook. And if I'd were... if I was... if I was a man I'd be some kinda leader. Because. People do what I tell 'em to. They know 'at." Teagan wasn't usually a braggart, but the alcohol increasingly lowered her resistance to making confidences to strangers. She had never been so drunk before in her life.

"You," she went on, squinting up at him, "you seem like a leader, but what're you doing here, anyway? If beauty is--is rewarded. You've got none, or what? Why're you in Thiasa... criminals, mercs, and dealers, all." She glanced at him blurrily, taking in his weaponry. "Merc, 'at's it, right? But you ain't always been."

"I was a Prince in Arabia. One of the last born to the Caliph. I never had a chance at the throne, but I burn for it. My mother was found with another and killed. I was exiled. I will return for my vengeance eventually. For now, I garner money and troops through mercenary work. Do you know of any wars?" Bahadur said, uncorking the next bottle that came to him and drinking down long gulps.

"I am glad that you give me beauty, we can rent a room or my camp is not too far. Perhaps there you can be my cook as well, and boss around the staff to make me good food?"

He laughed, and his hand went to her arm, his palm cupping her elbow and he pulled her close to kiss the top of her forehead.

"A--a prince? Are you having me on?" Teagan tried, rather feebly, to wrench out of his grasp, but she was too distracted by the temerity of either his lie or his truthfulness to try very hard. "There's a war, and sure, between us and the barbarians, down 'at the border, a couple days from here. But what d'you want wivvat? They--is a Christian thing. I thought."

She shook her head, trying to clear it. "I dunno what yer doing here... not... come to kill us?" Come to fuck, most likely, she didn't add. "I ain't coming with you. I ain't some shh..." Her words were slurring. She let him kiss her forehead--but that was absolutely as far as...

But it felt nice. Why shouldn't she? She didn't need make the same mistakes as her mother. She could be careful. "You'd best treat me righsh." She tossed her head, letting the straggling curls of her hair settle down her back.

"There's a war just between your people and the barbarians to the South? I thought I heard talk of uneasy peasants around here...peasants that want to fight against their masters? In any case, I don't care who or what the war is about as long as I get my gold. Conquering these barbarians is not an issue for me, personally, but I will do it if the reward is good.

And I told you, I will treat you right. I will give you the kitchen you claim you want. Perhaps you will merit a bed too, if you give me all the beauty you have about yourself. And we can always go upstairs before you decide, you are a free Western woman, after all. You know best, don't you?" he said to her smiling, his hand still holding her arm, his other holding a bottle as he stared into her eyes. He took another swig, drinking a third of the bottle and grinning at her, lifting her up by her elbow and walking them away from the bar,

"Come, we dance! I know a few of your dances, and maybe you learn some of mine!"

She wanted to tell him I don't dance and I wouldn't anyway, with you, even if I did--but her tongue was simply too tired. Her resolve was too tired. There seemed, really, little point in resisting. His mentions of larger events--war, a peasant revolution--broke over her like stormclouds letting loose their burden of rain, and it dampened the fire of her customary anger. Her customary fear. The cool novelty of it even cleared her drink-addled head a little.

"Sure," was what she said instead. "I ain't heard of a revolt--save--save there being some word of something in Lawley fief. I wouldn't mind!"

She followed him to the floor, letting him take her hand, and to put his other on her waist. Why the Hell not? He was politer and kinder than most men she knew. And she wasn't about to let go a Prince, not--not because she wanted to catch him as most women did--but because he fascinated her. "Trying to take us over--are you? A fief at a time?"

"No," he said to her, pulling her in closer as he started the dance, leading her through the motions, "I am taking you over one heart at a time. One fief at a time is too tempestuous. I want your love and loyalty, and you'll want mine, and we will become a great nation. In the meantime, I will show you what I can do, and what I will do, for my people."

"But you, personally, you, I will show you other things not for others to see. I will "treat you right" as you say. I am not going back to my camp tonight. It is late, and I don't want to bother. Where are you to go tonight?"

"I've rooms," Teagan said blurrily, gesturing upstairs. "But not what you're thinkin'--I'm no whore." Though the way they were moving together... perhaps it was only the dances he knew. But she'd heard the Arabians were notoriously closed-off with their women. Oh well, she thought, the room floating fuzzily pat as she leaned into Bahadur. His body was solid, but not threateningly so, for all his impressive size.

"Things not for others to see," she repeated, eyes bright with curiosity. Now here was something worth something. If it took a little pawing about--here was someone with power. Here was something she could do to rise up in the world.

Who cared if she had to dabble about the edges of flirtation? "Please show me!" She stretched her eyes wide in clumsy coquetry.

Grinning at her, he smiled and said, "I know you aren't a whore, no worry there. But for me to show you all these things, we must be behind closed doors, you know. It is not for others, after all. Come with me, show me your rooms and we will see," he said to her, taking her by the arm and supporting her as he walked away, going up the staircase to the rooms above, waiting for her to lead the way.

He'd enjoyed dancing with her and that in itself had gotten him rather pleased to be with her. This was a strong woman, and he liked that. It made them more fun to bring to his will. She could drink, better than most, but her naivety about what he meant amused him. He couldn't wait to explain fully what he intended. The hallway of the place was dark already, lit only by a small candle, and he pulled her closer to him, on pretext of, "Perhaps someone stumbles out, I don't want you to fall. You're already quite unsteady."

Teagan thought nothing of his request. She thought nothing of much of anything at all, but leaned against the broad expanse of his shoulder. He smelled like smoke and leather. When had she last been so close to a man? Not for months--perhaps years. Beneath the smoke and leather was another smell she couldn't quite name, but it was oddly pleasant.

"I can hold me liquor," she mumbled, her hip sliding against his as they made their way down the hallway. The world was fuzzy and melancholic and bleeding around the edges. She cared about not much. She felt as though she were in a dream. This Arab mercenary... the long hallway...

"My room." She fumbled with the key and pushed it open, then slid inside, shaking her way out of his grasp, and stumbled inside, to sit on the bed. The room was small and dingy; there was but one stool, a small table with a basin, and the narrow bed. "What... were you going to show me?" She glanced up at him, and, suddenly, in the pit of her stomach, felt pretty sure of the answer.

Grinning at her, he began to unbuckle his belt and remove some extraneous clothing, standing before her in loose pants and no shirt quickly enough.

"I am Bahadur, formerly Prince. I do not reveal myself to many, but to you, I will. Lay with me, and we will enjoy each other for quite some time."

He looked down at the woman who had been able to go for many rounds of drinks with him, and had such fierce passion, at the outset. He wanted to make her his, just as he wanted to make the land his. To prove he could.

"No!" Teagan leapt to her feet, muzzily warding him off with one hand outstretched. She averted her eyes from the expanse of his bare flesh. The muscles of his chest gleamed in the scant moonlight--like a horse's haunch, she thought, revolted and aroused all at once. She brought a hand up to cover her face, and used the other to clasp the fabric of her dress, bringing the neckline up: protecting herself.

"No, you've the wrong idea--" It was so clear now what he'd meant. Sickeningly, puzzle-pieces fell into place. Daft bint, she told herself harshly. What in God's name were you expecting--heathen soldier, probably not even a prince--you idiot sod-- She backed away, not trusting her usual skill with a knife, until her back jarred against the doorknob. "Please don't--"