Brian had stolen his brother's horse.

It was an old thing, a nag, really. Conn called her Freedom, and she had a gray-speckled chestnut coat and a coarse, wiry mane and tail. It had taken about an hour for Brian to get the hang of riding; he'd done it before, about twice, on another family's mule. There was something to the name, he though, nudging the animal into a lolloping, gamboling canter. She grunted rhythmically with each step, the tattered leather of Conn's ancient saddle creaking on her swayed back. Brian shut his eyes, and tasted the wind as it trailed past.

Freedom.

Dear God. Now that he didn't care about the yield of his land (the steward would, of course, before too long), now that he hadn't a care for his place in the world--now that all he cared about was their revolution--it was a feeling of lightness he'd never before experienced. Aye, if that was what his brother felt after he spilled Egon Botolph's cursed blood, he could well see why.

Brian wasn't constituted to be a killer, though, and that was what he feared.

For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

He was reading a bible Elena had given him. Reading. It was incredible to him, and it was sickening. He took a deep draught of the air, heavy with moisture, and pulled Freedom back to a jouncing trot. Nearby, he heard the gurgle of one of the thin branches of the Medi River. Not far from Lawley, and already he felt deceptively unburdened. Sliding off the horse, Brian caught himself as his legs, unused to this sort of exercise, trembled beneath him.

"Good girl." He leaned against Freedom's warm side for a moment--it was amazing how friendly the horse was--amazing proof of his brother's humanity, against all other evidence. He took off the sweaty saddle and rested it on the ground, then straightened up, easing his back, and brushed the hair back off his forehead. His whole body felt sticky and battered, and the water sparkling before him blinked as coy an invitation as any fresh-faced maid. With a sigh, Brian stripped off his shirt and trousers and set his shoes, worn through at the toes, atop his clothing so it wouldn't blow away.

Naked except for his braies and shivering faintly in the shock of a gust of wind, Brian headed for the water, and, when he'd reached the river's edge, jack-knifed forward into the lapping chill of it. When he came up for air, his hair plastered flat in front of his eyes, his skin dewy and cold, he didn't just shiver from the touch of the air. "Who's there?" he called sharply, paddling over to the bank again. Someone was--he could tell.

Elena had done some riding of her own.

Typically Aelf would be trailing along directly behind her, ready and waiting for an attack to come-but today he had taken one look at her face and shooed her outside. Like the second father he was, the Celt knew exactly when his charge had dealt with far too much for a girl of fifteen, and he of all people knew the virtues of occasionally being alone.

Not that he had left her unprotected. As always she had her dagger, but now she had the merlin perched on her saddle, and a horn to be used as a signal of distress. Aelf was there, somewhere--far enough away for him to not really be there, but close enough to swoop in for a rescue should it be needed.

The young lady could not quite supress her gratitude to the man. A loping run on Galahad's back was more than enough to let her forget her troubles for a little while, and if that canter was followed by a picnic and some time alone with Beowulf, well...

She could almost be happy.

Elena pulled up slightly on her gelding's reins and turned him toward a familiar 'quiet spot,' a clean branch of the river that never failed to be welcoming. There was something in the quiet of water and trees that was ultimately healing, and gazing out at the scene it was easy to imagine herself somewhere else. She paused a moment, then whispered aloud the last line she had read of her favorite book, savoring the way they fell off the tongue.

"...And a daughter, Onela's queen...and a balm in bed to the battle-scarred Swede..."

Ugh. Even in Beowulf, she couldn't escape. It was just as well that a man shouted at that moment, because her own self-disgust was given a chance to hide. Elena perked at the familiarity of the voice and nudged her grey forward, grinning towards the water. "It's only me, Farraday..."

And then she saw that he was practically naked. She froze, and blushed, and hastily turned her head to the side to avoid looking at him. Yet her curiousity could not be so easily ignored, and she had to ask a question. "You know how to swim?" Not many did. And even though the man she thought of as 'her' serf apparently could float like a fish, well, it was still surprising. After all, swimming had nothing to do with being smart.

Brian flipped his head back, tossing his water-soaked hair backwards, and blinked through the water that streamed down in its wake. Elena Lawley! She seemed to be positively everywhere. Who'd have thought he'd even find her here? It was enough to make a man paranoid, but he had to admit, when he really thought about it, what could be the danger of being seen with her out here? No one was around for a start, though he had his doubts about that Celt of hers.

No, in fact, he thought, realizing how things were for perhaps the first time--in fact, he was an older man, and she was a young girl, and she was blushing red just to see his bare torso. To spare her, he pushed off into the depths and trod water for a bit, watching her thoughtfully.

"Aye, I can swim," he called back at last, spitting a bit of water that had gotten into his mouth. It was a little chilly, but the motion of his arms and legs kept him warm enough. "M'brother taught me when I was small." One of the few things Conn had done. He'd figured swimming out on his own--just like he'd figured out killing, Brian thought uncomfortably. "So, ah, what're you doing here?" He flipped onto his stomach and started stroking for the bank. "Just let me get out and--put some clothes on--unless you'd prefer not?" He looked up at her and smiled slowly, enjoying this new feeling of ease.

He was definitely flirting.

Had the circumstances been different Elena would probably have enjoyed it, but as it was she was in no mood to be teased. So she shook her head and forced the blush down in her cheeks, already flustered with herself for letting him see a girl and not a woman. "No, you stay in...you're already wet. I don't mind. No sense in ruining your clothes." Especially considering how few he had already.

As to whether she actually preferred this....well, she wouldn't even let herself come to a conclusion on that. Elena slid out of the saddle and patted Galahad on the neck, taking a moment to hobble him so he wouldn't run away. She fiddled a moment with her saddlebag, utterly quiet and debating with herself. How much should she tell him? Brian hadn't exactly proved himself as a force to trust, but there was no one else, and the ache to confide in someone was proving stronger than she had thought it would be. At any rate, he had good reason to know that she was leaving.

The Lady drew a deep breath and stared at the burnished leather of her saddle, carressing its warmth in one pale hand before she spoke in a voice so low it was rendered nearly inaudible. "....I'm getting married."

Elena turned her head then to look at him, shaking her hair back over her shoulders as her mouth twisted into half a smile. "I mean, it's not official yet...but he's such a catch...well, I know. Unless one of us dies, it's happening." She gestured. "I'll be going to Newbury. I just wanted some...quiet...for a while. I guess." Another half smile. "Suppose I ran into the wrong person for that, though."

He hadn't expected this.

Oh, he'd expected that she'd get married one day to some nobleman. It was what ladies did, after all, and she was that age.

What he hadn't expected was the horrible wrenching feeling in his gut, as though the bottom had fallen out of everything. It was a wretched and bilious feeling. Almost without thinking, he'd stood up and walked up onto the soft mud and cold grass of the bank, water pouring off his body. With the new lightness came a feeling of heaviness and sinking sickness.

"Married?" he whispered. Not quite unconscious of his near-nakedness (his braies covered the vital bits), he took a few steps toward her as she stood by her horse, and then, surprising himself, he took her by the upper arms, his wet hands leaving prints on the silk of her dress. He searched her face with his eyes, looking for--what? "Sorry," he said abruptly, forcing his hands to unclasp, the whole one and the useless one. "That was--" His voice was choked. "You don't seem happy, that's all. I'd thought--" He glanced back at her from beneath the dripping fringe of his hair, feeling the muscles all along his arms and back clenching and unclenching painfully.

"Best to get out of this mess, anyway," he said, speaking from between tight-pressed lips. "On Newbury you'll be safe."

It couldn't be.

There was no way on earth that her hotheaded, proud, and mistrusting Brian would miss her, but there it was. He was looking at her like she had ripped the ground out from beneath his feet. The shock of it left her motionless and mute, and then he lifted his palms and rested them-one on each arm. Elena drew in a sharp breath, but she did not rebuke him for his boldness. How could she? Not when she was starting to feel tiny fires dancing under her skin, and not when he was so plainly upset. So she remained silent until he had stepped away of his own will, and then lifted her eyes and addressed him with a voice oddly gentle. "...Water ruins silk."

So don't touch. The wind hissed the implication, but Elena interrupted it with a single word. "Here."

She took the moment to slip off the heavy silken outerrobe he had touched, leaving her in the lighter layers of linens that made up the entire structure of her gown. Lady Lawley folded it carefully over her saddle, where it would be out of the way....and less likely to show waterstained handprints to give her away. Now that he had finally touched her again, with no worry that she was going to demand more, she would like to make it easy for him. Elena looked him straight in the eyes and wordlessly stretched out her hand to take his, letting her fingers wrap around the rough warmth of his palm. For a moment she second-guessed herself; not expecting the dull, throbbing ache that came from the touch...but at once dismissed it. He was grieving for this, against all expectation, and that had earned him more than an entire fiefdom had been able to buy.

"I won't be safe." At least she could remain matter-of-fact outwardly...never mind that her heart was doing flips. "If your...er...enterprise succeeds, it will spread. And I will not be safe at Newbury, or anywhere. But that doesn't matter."

What mattered was that he cared. Elena lifted her free hand to tuck a lock of ebony hair behind her ear, and gave him a wry smile. "As always, you are observant. I am not happy." She turned her head, then, and stared out over the water. "It's not as bad as it could have been. He is young, and not hideous, and I think kind, and he will let me read. He loves books as much as I do. But he's a boy." The girl spat the word out, and shook her head. "There is no man in him. One leg is twisted, so he must walk with a cane...this I could handle, except that he has no spirit. He reads, and is kind, and that is all. He does not notice me or my touch and I think he never will. And I will not..."

She choked on her breath and was suddenly aware that her chest had been heaving, trying to breathe too violently through her emotion. But she had to finish this; had to tell Brian everything. "I will not break my promise to Lawley to go and give myself to someone who will find me a chore. I won't. Wandering in empty rooms, waiting for a husband who will never be there or dance with me or even enjoy me." Perhaps it was petty to complain about this to him, but they both had her pride. "I'll be used..."

Elena trailed off in a whisper, then turned her head back to look at his face. Her own was white. "...I had hoped, at the very least, to give my maidenhead to a man. And now I am the breeding cow of a child."

She did not cry. Brian had suffered more, and he never wept...and she would not do so in front of him, even if her eyes were shining a little more than usual. Instead she straightened her shoulders and spoke even more briskly, attempting to seem nonchalant. "The real shame is that I've had some success designing things for you. Warmer huts, more land to work, different ways of irrigation, windows, livestock...and I found the jewels to pay for it all. But there's no time anymore."

Brian turned and searched her face, looking for something that would prove the falsity of her words. He found nothing, only pale misery. But why? Her husband-to-be didn't sound so bad; Brian had thought she liked books. Certainly he did, now that he knew the way of them. And as for crippled, he was far from whole himself. Then why such misery? Yes, it was a sad lot, a loveless marriage whose only purpose was children, but she could hardly have expected better. Even he knew it was what nobility had to do. They treated everyone like objects to be bought and sold--even their daughters and wives. He didn't think it was the way things ought to be, of course, but almost nothing was. She had some of the same spirit he did, some of the same desire for freedom, not to be owned. That he understood.

Sadness billowed around her like smoke, and Brian turned back, one hand coming up to touch her cheek. It was the first gesture of real tenderness, unmarred by some faint aggression, he'd made toward her.

The aggression, still, bubbled beneath the surface. There was a part of him that wanted to take her, to show his power over her that way. He wanted to remove all the barriers between them: wealth, class... clothing...

She had taken off her overdress, and he saw the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. Slowly, he brought his bad hand up to run over the skin of her arm and shoulder, caressing it with his palm and thumb. When he stopped, his thumb hovered in the hollow just above her clavicle, beneath her throat.

"When we succeed," he said levelly, though the words could have been anything at this point. His body wanted the touch of hers. "When we succeed we can save you too. For now--Elena--" Words gave out. He pulled her to him and kissed her. Her mouth was soft against his, and he thought, fleetingly, that he could crush her entirely, but then there was nothing, and no more to think about, just feeling. A fierce, desperate joy rose like bile in his throat, like the beginning of an uncontrollable laugh.

His hand moved to her cheek, and for the moment Elena had the distinct feeling that she had been anointed. The touch was tender, concerned, and she could have been on the highest clouds of bliss-

And then it moved down to her throat and shoulder, and the maid discovered an entirely new level of joy. Lady Lawley stood absolutely still for him, fretting that a single motion might send him leaping away like a deer in the wood. Of course, it was impossible not to tremble; not to tense, not to have her stomach tie itself into a thousand knots as she waited for his thumb to sear a path across her shoulders...and utterly impossible not to take the smallest step forward.

Even despite herself, Elena was not expecting him to sweep her to him in a kiss that went far, far beyond the one he had originally forced on her. She gasped against his mouth, but in the space of a moment found herself softening, tensing and relaxing with him and pressing herself as close as possible to the hard warmth of his chest. She was kissing him back. It surprised her to learn that she was not shy, or ignorant of the process-her lips were moving as easily as his were, and she already knew when and how to let him move his tongue into her, and she was on fire with wanting him-

With one wrenching motion, she pulled herself back, gasping for breath and clutching her dress around her body. "We can't."

Her voice didn't even seem her own anymore, and she was aching to get back to him, to his skin and the faint glint the water had left on his body. But her mind forced itself back into control, and she shook her head, settling her hair over the bare skin of her shoulders. "We can't." Elena looked at him, then, bleakly. "I'm not even betrothed yet. I can't afford to..." Her voice gave out. "If there was...a child, I...We can't. I wish we could."

Tentatively, she lifted her hand and brushed her fingers to his cheek. "I will treasure that kiss, however. Truly I will. But I have to go. We can't." Elena was repeating herself in the hope that the repitition would make her sane, but she found her eyes drawn irresitably to him, and for some reason her feet were rooted to the ground. She couldn't move.

"We can't."

His heart plunged--he actually felt the downward swoop resonating through his stomach, and his hands tightened on her upper arms. He feared what reasons she would give--that she never wanted to see him again, that she didn't care for him at all, that she could sense the darkness inside him, that she knew of Egon--

He didn't let himself think that last, but when he heard her reasons he came gasping and reeling back into himself, and wanted to laugh. Sheer practicality! She was like no other fifteen-year-old girl he had ever met. Of course, the serf girls wanted a baby by him, so they could trap him into marriage, but even still; he had been careful. He could be careful now.

"Don't worry, we needn't do all of it," he said, running his fingers up and down her arms lightly. Leaning forward, he kissed her brow very gently, lips skimming over the pale warmth of her skin. "And even so, there are ways I know to prevent that. But there's much more, y'know, much more than the stark act. I can show you..." He trailed off, and tipped his head back to look at her again. "Don't worry. I won't let you come to harm. But would it be so bad if--" If she just ran away and married him? It would, it would be insane, it would be... exactly what he wanted.

Dear God, what the other serfs would think of him now. But it was what he wanted. In Elena he saw something of what might be love; that strange infinity, as though all the time in the world spent in her company could still bring surprises.

He could talk to her about any and all of this later. For now, he waited, his face inches from hers and his lips parted, all but vibrating with anticipation--but he would wait.

There was more than this?

Elena's breath caught in her throat, and she looked at him with a glance far deeper and searching than any she had hitherto managed. Still, she supposed the effect was marred by her sudden focus on his lips, his eyes, the lean lines of his body, his hands on her arms-and the realization that when he said she wouldn't come to harm, she trusted him utterly. The knowledge was making every muscle throb, and it was with hugely forced effort that she managed to pull herself together and step away from his lips. Even so, she was not able to conceal her reluctant sigh. "Brian. I don't know..."

How could she say this? It was ridiculously embarrassing, and yet, he deserved her honesty. "I don't know if I exactly, ah, love you." She hurried to explain, for once not able to look him in the face. "Don't worry. I'm certain that you are not the problem-I simply wonder if I am capable of it. True Love, the mystery that so many treasure." Her smile was wan. "I don't know. I don't pine when you are gone, although I certainly looking forward to seeing you again. Ought I pine? I am not starving myself, and I have not even considered suiceide because we may not wed. And as a side note, yes, it would 'be so bad'."

Elena's voice gentled. "You need friends in high places. If I went with you, there would be none...and I truly am afraid of how I would be. I was born to live differently. I might be strong and bear it all with a smile, but I think more likely is that you would wind up with a discontent, childish, and petulant Elena; one yearning for her books and power and fine things and everything that you might not be able to give. I would hate for you to see that. Especially since I don't seem to be in love, and I don't know how malicious I can be..."

It was something she never wanted to find out. The girl took a breath then, and paused as if coming to a monumental decision. Her next words were painfully slow. "But. If you don't mind me not killing myself for your sake, I will say that...I honor and esteem you more than any man I have ever met, and wish you the very best Fortune has to give." She smiled. "And that I know I feel. If you are content with that...."

The lady lifted her hands, and silently worked at the fastening of her gown and corset and shift and every obnoxious layer seperating her from him. Elena stepped out of her clothing with all the pride of a queen, and moved to him with her head held high and not even the slightest traces of shame as she allowed him to look at her. "....then, my lord, you may do as you like. As long as you're careful."

Despite her rather hasty warning, she kissed him sweetly enough as she returned to his arms and braced her body to his.

Brian smiled incredulously, shaking his head, and reached for her hand with his. Gently, he raised it to his mouth, and kissed every one of her fingers. One by one. Thumb, forefinger, middle finger, ring, the twitching, slim length of her pinky. He slid his hand up her arm, moving slowly over her arm, slowly caressing the skin of her upper arm and her shoulder. Her skin was so smooth, so unworn. So young. And yet she had a hardness beneath the satin of her skin; she was not like he had been at her age. She had some kind of wisdom. It meant he came a step closer to trusting her.

"Your honesty is... thank you for it. Love takes a long time, I think," he said, his eyes on hers, almost hypnotic. His hand moved over her body with dreamlike slowness. His bad hand too explored her hips, the curve in toward her waist, skimming her flesh with titillating slowness. She had a small, compact, oddly fragile-looking yet not at all fragile body. He enjoyed the simple slight feelings at first, and only those, and slowly, he pulled her to the ground. The grass was a little damp, but he was too focused on Elena to shiver.

"Tell me if you want to to stop," he added, between kisses. He began lightly, wanting to sink into the deep well of the moment. Each kiss was somehow more tantalizing than the rough aggression that had been seething in him moments earlier. Now he just wanted to hold her, to feel her body on his. He thought he understood a little about sculptors, who she'd been telling him about, and how they felt when shaping something. She was so much is at the moment and not his. He thought of the story of Pygmalion (her teaching too), and smiled faintly. "Whenever you feel like it's too much..." Kissed her again, hands sliding over her body.

For the moment he felt extraordinarily happy. Nervous, frightened, and thrilled. And happy.

She nodded in response to his offer, whispering into his ear and shivering a little at the cold itch of the grass beneath her body. "I'll let you know when I've had enough." When would that be, though? She was already drunk with him, and a vague voice at the back of her mind was telling her that she wouldn't have enough until they had, in fact, done everything. His kisses were already setting her alight, warming her so she forgot the chill. She was wet, and burning, and losing herself in his eyes....

Elena returned each and every kiss he gave, yielding herself to his touch. This would be a challenge for them both, and she had the distinct worry that one of them was going to lose. Probably her. Well, in that case, she deserved whatever she got-and she would just run away with him. It would be more her mother's loss than anyone else's, and regardless of tradition she had a right to be with whom she wanted. She had a right to choose a man; he was her right. The lady smiled then and deepened her kiss, opening her legs and letting him brush a hand down the inside of her thigh as she curled up against him. She in turn let herself learn him, skimming her fingers over his back and chest and pausing to kiss the poor, ravaged scars where his fingers had been.

Something ignited at the sight of those scars, and Elena tore herself out from beneath him. She fought for breath and stared up at the clouds for a minute, waiting until her body's heaving had slowed before she turned her head and looked at him. Despite everything, she smiled. "Time we just talked, I think. I have just discovered that when I am angry for your sake, I want everything. If we don't stop now, I think I shan't let you. Not safe."

But she turned on her side and curled against him, resting her head on his shoulder and letting her hair spill out over his arm. "One day we will. I promise-after I'm married. We can finish." Elena lifted up to kiss him, very softly, and settled herself carefully back against him. "Artemis and Orion..."
It wasn't quite the fitting analogy for him, she figured. Prometheus would be better. The man who stole fire from the gods. "No. Artemis and Prometheus. Not how the myth goes, but we are not opposed to change around here, now are we?"

"I'm sorry." Brian gave a bemused smile. "I know who Artemis is, but I don't know about Artemis and Orion, and what--" Her words made his heart jump. But there was something wrong beneath the surface, and not only because of the anguished pain of his acute desire. He slid uncomfortably backward, away from her, though he kept a hand on the long cold flow of her hair.

"Angry." He brought a lock of her hair to his lips, but didn't kiss it. Instead, his fingers clenched around it almost painfully. "I know the feeling. And you still want to marry." The words were bleak and gray. "You want safety and comfort. You're keeping yourself safe in case we fail. And you don't--you don't want to--to do what's right--because what's right is what you want. It's that hot anger you feel and that heat." Brian was breathing hard now, and felt as though feverish himself. He was very, very angry. His heart pounded in his ears. Slowly, his fingers crept up the lock of hair, their grip tighter and tighter.

"Haven't you thought this is right? Just the passions of--of passion?" In a quick movement, he twisted his shoulders so that he leaned over her, his palm pressing down on her shoulder, his other hand wound in her hair. "You're just afraid. Young and afraid." He leaned down over her, his face very close to hers, his teeth gritted and his breath coming fast. There was a wild look in his eye. "Afraid of what's right--"

He was hurting her.

Elena gasped as Brian twisted his hand into her hair and pulled, inching his fingers up higher and higher and tighter and tighter, and holding her down-

For the first time, the weakness of her position occured to her. Her knife was with her clothing, which in turn was so far away that it would certainly be no good to her. If he wanted to take advantage of her now, there was nothing stopping him. Lady Lawley stared up into his eyes, and then her own hand darted out. He was terrifying her, but she would rather die than let him see how badly. Her fingers tightened into the hairs at the nape of his neck, and she pulled with a strength surprising in the slimness of her hand.

"Brian Farraday. That is quite enough." Her voice was of steel, and she sat up just enough to press herself to him again. "I will not have you calling me coward when just being with you as I am right now will, at the least, have me disowned. I will not having you calling me coward when being discovered with you, as the Rebel Brian, will have me executed right with you for treachery. And I will not have you calling me coward when I am aiding a movement that will bring me nothing good. What does my money and swords and education do for you? Worlds, that's what. And if you win, I get thrown to the wolves. I have no reason to agree with everything you say. I don't have to. So I would like it if you were to...desist. Do I make myself absolutely, utterly, transparently clear?"

Brian's eyes were wide, his pupils dilated, sweat standing out on his face. His hands, his whole body--everything shook. It was a strange and horrible parody of passion, a wretched rage. Hastily, as though she'd turned searing-hot, he let go of Elena and pushed himself back, drawing his knees up to his chest and covering his face with his hands. In the fleshy red cave of his palms, he took breath after breath, coming back to himself. He thought of Egon, he thought of pain and violence, and he thought of Elena and how young she was, still beside him, naked and whitely fragile.

And strong beneath. In a way he'd never been, in his moments of pink frailty, as he'd never been able...

"I'm sorry." He took a long breath, and looked up, still sitting in profile to her, so he had to study her out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't... that's not excusable. I'm frightened myself. If we win, I won't let harm come to you--but listen to me. Please. Listen. None of us are better than others. When you speak of keeping to your wealth, to your comfort, what I hear is that you think yourself--above me and mine--and I am just as deserving as you are; we are just as deserving, and what we're doing may break a law but it holds to a greater human law, a law for everyone. I must believe that. You are many things, someone I admire--greatly--but--" He shook his head, trying to clear it. The fog of passion and anger still hung about him, a sickly and somnolent cloud.

"I would never let harm come to you. Never. It doesn't matter what anyone else says, or does." Tears stood in his eyes, though not from sadness; rather, from something like desperation. He glanced toward her, a tentative movement, like that of a startled animal. "We don't have to let how the world is control us... why does it control us? It should not be this way. Human laws. Not dead laws of kings. That's what we should follow. Laws of... of love... and..." He tapered off.

She sat up too, and moved to put her arms around his shoulders. He was so passionate, about everything, and because of that she couldn't help but pity him. Elena tightened her hold on his torso, and soothed him with a kiss to his cheek. "Oh, Brian."

The girl sighed and nuzzled into his throat, traveling back up to his lips and drinking him in. This was why she wanted him; the power of his words was stronger than any physical might she had ever seen. The fire of his soul..it was such a shame that it would never get anywhere with the type of radical revolution he was planning. "I know what you want. I know you want human laws, laws of....love..." She kissed him again, and let her hand slip down his throat to rest over his heart. "I just hate to tell you that humans don't make laws of love. Have you never met my mother? Humans make laws that make them better than other humans. Humans will always want power over each other. A revolution of laws won't help much, unless it comes with a revolution of thought. A change of the entire human race, and that won't happen overnight. I don't want you to expect too much."

Elena smiled, faintly. "And I'm afraid that I am not an angel, either. I agree that you are people and deserve dignity and such, but...I want what little power I have. I'm too much a coward to sacrifice what I get. Remember?" She gestured to herself. "I am a woman. No matter who wins, I have nothing. Nothing but what is given. And I hate. Hate. Hate. being helpless...."

Brian brought his hand up to cover hers on his chest, pressing it to his skin, but made no further moves. He still recalled the odd way his heart had beat while he leaned over her. The sense of power. He didn't trust power. With a gap of a few years and a few circumstances, he could have been Egon Botolph. But did power make men evil? Or did men's evil create the thing called power?

The powerless could be just as hopelessly cruel. The only difference was their capacity.

He could be master or serf. He thought of Elena's weak, white body and he thought of himself. He listened to her caresses and reassurances and heard in her voice something of himself, and something of, yes, something of Egon Botolph too.

There was something of both in everyone.

"I have to do this," he said at last. He spoke carefully, quietly, his hand clasped loosely over Elena's on his chest. "Because I hate being helpless too... I'd rather die than live in a world where everyone's a master or a slave. What you think's power is just slavery too, only the shackles are silk instead of iron. You can't just be Elena, you have to be Lady Elena Lawley, and I can't just be Brian... you're slave to being a master, don't you see? And I can't keep living in a world full of slaves. I don't expect anything. But I have to try."

He didn't kiss her, or soothe her, though he did run his other palm gently up her bare back. He gazed down at her levelly. Even though what he'd said was what was really important to him--in his mind--he thought, somewhere below: This is happiness, some unavoidable and wild happiness: just to look at her, beating beneath everything, the heart illuminating the machinery of flesh and bone and sordid truths. It was happiness, and it was unutterable melancholy.

Elena looked at him then, and loved him. It went entirely against her better judgement. After all, at this moment he was, in all cold fairness, a walking corpse. He was going to die, undoubtably sooner than most-and yet the sheer despair of the knowledge had sealed her regard to a point past ignoring. This man had the entire world in his way, armed and ready and waiting, and he was going to march against it regardless. As foolish and pointless as it was, it commanded a respect and yes, an awe that even the coldest human logic could not dismiss. Lady Lawley pulled him against her and shivered at the touch of his hand on her back, then put her lips to his ear. "...Yes, Brian. You would try, despite it all...."

A pause, as she drank in his scent and pressed her hand harder over his heart. It was beating so strongly right now, in a steady rythmn that was probably indistinguishable from any other man's; but it belonged to him and Elena had to wonder how many beats it had left. How would the world change while this single heart was present to change it? For a moment, she released her first honest prayer in years-a simple plea that someone, something, would let it beat long enough to at least let it change.

She realized that she had been silent too long, and pressed a kiss to his ear. "Brian?"

The whisper was tentative. "....I've changed my mind." Her breath was coming faster, caught between fear and hope, but she tightened her hand on his shoulder. It was the least she could give. Possibly the most, as well. "Even if there was a child....I would consider it an....honor...to have a little more of you here. The world could use you."

She wasn't ready for it, of course. If there was a baby, she would not want to deal with it. She wouldn't want her world to fall apart, she would not the shame and the loneliness that would come with it. But for him, it was possible that she would bear it. Just possible.

He was almost taken aback. Brian really hadn't been thinking about his desire for her--not that it wasn't obviously and palpably present.

"That isn't why I said all of that," he said hastily, his fingers moving down to the soft flesh at her hip and tightening just a little; possessively, not painfully. "I don't want your body. Well," he amended, "I do, of course I do, but I wanted you. Your mind; your soul. No." He frowned. "That isn't right, I don't want to possess you or own you."

Leaning down, Brian kissed her softly on the mouth, his hand sliding up over the curves of her body, to rest on the warm skin at the back of her neck, the vulnerable button-bones of her spine. "I was also just being a coward. You said that you don't love me. Well, even so." Brian took a breath, and shut his eyes. Opened them. "I was afeared it was... not my rank--lack of it--that made you not--but I have to admit it. I think I'm beginning to--no." He shook his head emphatically. "No--that's cowardly again. I love you."

He looked down. His heart pounded fast inside his chest.

"I want you now--and tomorrow--and forever. Before we--if we do this--I had to tell you." He was leaning so close to her now he could smell her breath and feel the sweet heat off her skin. His lips were within an inch of hers, and trembling, but he waited. "You don't have to answer." Brian's voice was low. "I just had to tell you."

She smiled, and in the sweet rush of joy that came with the words pulled him to her for a slow and earnest kiss. Elena pulled back just to brush a lock of golden hair out of his eyes, and studied his face for a moment with the look of a sculptor eyeing her masterpiece. But she lifted herself off the grass to reach his ear again, and let herself confess a sentence she probably would not repeat. "I love you too."

It was just a shame that she had to share. Not him; Brian had too many trust issues for it to be easily conceivable that he would have another woman. Not in the same way. Not stumbling over his words and being shy and saying the L-word, the one that neither of them had entirely believed up until right now. No, what she really hated was the thought of having to share herself. Body and heart to two men, divided awkwardly along lines of 'liking' and 'duty' and 'love'-lines that were every bit as invisible as the abstract ideas prompting them. It was going to be a nightmare figuring herself out from now on.

But his lips were trembling, just above hers, and the rebel who had fought so hard to keep her away was waiting for her to come closer. She did so, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and turning him so they were facing each other in the grass. Elena let her lips trail from his jaw to his breast, and was vaguely aware of Galahad, somewhere nearby-making friends with Brian's mount and completely ignorant of what was going on right under his nose. Her mouth quirked up in a brief look of affection, but already she felt herself tuning into the man at her side. As far as lovers went, Elena couldn't help but feel that she had chosen the best any girl could ever want. She nestled herself against his skin and whispered, stroking her fingers through his hair in an effort to keep her thoughts together. "Thank you for telling me. It means so much. Especially since...."

He'd have to teach her. It would be an education in itself, one to make up for the hours spent patiently showing him his letters and the proper formation of words. "Brian." She couldn't finish the sentence, but gave him a smile and held him to her in a silent thanks and apology. At least he'd know that whomever she married, she would have truly given herself to him and him alone. It was something. It was better than nothing at all.

"Sh." Sometimes it was no longer time for talking. He sensed her fear beneath her words, perhaps a bit of a quiver in her voice. It made sense; it would be somewhat painful, but he would do his best to alleviate the worst of it. At least she was willing, and obviously ready.

Brian bent to kiss her, slowly. This would be very slow.

The sun sank toward the horizon, slowly, the first tinge of orange and pink melting across the horizon. The long shadows of their bodies moved languidly against the grass. There was a pause, a breath, a gasp. Eternity and anxious haste lurked in tandem beyond the horizon, but Brian put it out of his mind. He put it all out of his mind but Elena, his and more importantly her desires, the feeling of her skin on his, the way her face looked at that crucial moment.

When it was all over, they were still entwined with each other. The grass was a little chill. Passion ebbed, torpor entered, torpor, languor, and diffidence. He could practically feel them becoming two people again, rather than one, and the fear was back: had she really enjoyed it, or felt more pain than he could sense? He'd asked her several times if it was too much...

"A'right?" His lips moved against her cheek; he ran a hand through her hair. "I hope so... and so now you know what that's about." The last was an attempt to lighten the moment. "Almost as good as reading."

She laughed at his last statement, but teased him with a cold glance and lifted brow. "Not quite, I'm afraid..." The lunacy of her words made her laugh again, albeit very softly, and she moved to press her cheek to the movement of his lips. "And yes, I am perfectly and completely a'right. You didn't hurt me." Elena lingered over his syntax, admiriing the way his mouth moved to form the words. She turned her head to kiss him, robing him in her hair as she enjoyed his touch one final time. "It was wonderful."

It had been. As the lady tasted his lips she had time to forget the fire and the whirlwind, and could suddenly remember very clearly how careful he had been. It was touching. Elena's heart melted and she moved to take him in her arms again, resting content against his body. "Don't worry. You were so careful, how could it have been anything else?" She thanked him with another kiss, caressing his face as gently as she knew how. "Brian."

There was so much she wanted to say, and none of it that would actually fit into words. Elena glanced up at the tainted sky and closed her eyes, letting the sun wash over her with its warmth. No matter what happened, now, she had a lover to be proud of. She had given herself to a man of her choosing, and she could take that knowledge with her to the wedding night waiting. She could look Katherine in the eyes and know that her mother had never had the pleasure of any man close to Brian's caliber. She could listen to Darien's teasing with the quiet knowledge that she had a lover far more true and far more powerful than any he had ever known. She could be ordered, and threatened, and patronized-all the while knowing that she was a woman, and that Brian himself had chosen to honor her. He'd chosen her.

Of course practical Elena could never voice any of this, but she hoped that he would be able to read it in the shine of her eyes and the curve of her body on his. She wanted him to know.

The lady sighed and pressed herself to him, then leaned forward and kissed his nose. "It's late. You'll have to teach me to swim now, so I can clean up. Also so I can do so the next time we meet, without bothering you about it." Of course they would meet again. She would go mad if they didn't. "Assuming, naturally, that you want to..." Elena trailed off. What if he didn't? What if she had been too much work and too little pleasure for him to enjoy? "I'd love if you did. I will be better next time-you won't have to do so much work. You won't have to be gentle. And you..." She was babbling. Elena blushed and hid her face in the hollow of his throat, changing the subject. "I should show you the plans I have for the new program before I go. And there's food if you're hungry."

"Oh, no, no." Brian kissed her back, unworried about her gentle mockery of his speech mannerisms. She didn't tease him about his 'ain't's anymore, and he had to be careful not to let them fall away when he was with his suspicious brother, or the others in the rebellion.

They would not approve. The thought was icy water down his back, the shiver of an unfortunate reminder. He shoved it aside, and pulled Elena close to him again, enjoying the warmth of her skin. "Don't worry," he said, speaking quietly, but deliberately; not in the tones of a lover, but in the tones of one asked a serious question. "It's only good for me if I know you've liked it, don't you see, and I always thought the man did enjoy it better anyhow it was done." He didn't let his mind flit back to childhood. Had he enjoyed it, ever?

A little. Dear God. A little.

She moved against him, and Brian clasped his arms tightly around her, pulling her close. He could have had her again, but she wanted to bathe, and he knew she probably still hurt. Later. If there was a later.

"We'll do it again, and--food?" Brian frowned, and buried his face in her hair. "I don't like it," he said, slowly, reluctantly, though his stomach protested. "Taking food from you, while the rest starve, but if you've got it..."

Elena trembled, but otherwise stayed very still in his arms. There was a moment of silence as she took the time to get over the shame he occassionally made her feel, and then a breath, and then a rattling sigh. She forgot too often that he wasn't just her Brian. He had friends and family, all of whom were suffering under-well, under her. The reminder was never pleasant, but this time she found that she had something to say. The girl wet her lips. "Brian..." His name sounded experimental. "They're lucky to have a leader like you, one who refuses to rise where they can't go. I'm sorry I offered it. But."

She sat up, gingerly, and pulled him with her. He was still holding her, that was a good thing. He wanted to do this again. But Elena looked at his eyes and reminded herself that it would have to wait. It would wait, until a better time. Right now pleasure was past and business was the most pressing issue on the schedule. Time was running out. "I think it won't be such a problem anymore. Food." She clasped his hands. "You see, I....well, now that I'm of age, I have these...jewels. Dowry. Call it what you will but I've been-"

The lady's voice faded to a whisper. "Selling them all." She truly had. At this point she was undoubtably the least-ornamented lady in the entire Court. "And I've had the maids take apart a few gowns and market off the fabric, and some...books...." Elena felt, suddenly, that she was telling him too much. It was embarrassing. "We are not the wealthiest family here in Thiasa. But still, what I have is enough-or will be enough-for an acre or two, for all of you. A herd of cattle, a few chickens for every family, goats, a few pigs, blankets....sheep....Not enough to end it all. But enough to end it all in another few years, if it's used wisely enough. And Aelf is on the lookout for an honest man who knows his numbers."

Sorry she offered it--but he would have taken it, if he hadn't spoken. He felt a mote of resentment wink into being and extinguish somewhere above his empty stomach. Resolve! He had to hold to that, at least. Soon there'd be enough for everyone. Until then, he'd hold to what he thought was right... but wants and needs got so in the way of all that. For him they always had. Never again.

He let her pull him upright, and sate facing her. All of a sudden, she looked so serious. Her small, pale, young face was set, her words almost tentative.

Brian was astounded at what she said. At once, he made his mental excuses: he couldn't let his revolution ride on the shoulders of a noble lady--and had to think again. Was what he really wanted? He oughtn't to judge her for being noble... if she wanted to help, what she had was what she had.

"I--" He looked away. "I don't know what to say. I dunno if they'll understand." His hands tightened on her upper arms, and he peered down at her, feeling as though he were looking through a fog, a mist that narrowed his vision. It took him a moment to realize it was a strange kind of tears. "We have to do this right, don't you know. I don't... but it's something... if what we do doesn't work, Elena, will you--" If it didn't work, he would no longer be around to do anything. That hung unspoken in the air.

He wasn't pleased. Elena bit her lip and looked away, shaking her hair over her face to hide her own tears from him. Of course Brian hadn't come out and said it, but there had been a moment, and that had been enough. Elena was clever enough to translate moments into the thoughts evolving during them, and the reluctance to accept her help stung. She was a noble; it wasn't her place to interfere, it was a humiliating gift that she offered....

And right after making love to him, too.

The lady counted to ten (primarily to push the tears aside; she found that it did little for her temper), and extracted herself from his arms, standing carefully and moving over to where Galahad grazed. This conversation would be better if it took place while she was clothed. "You know I will."

She finally allowed herself to turn and reveal the hurt in her eyes, but swirled her overdress around herself and tied it closed. "Or perhaps you don't. But I will be glad to emphasize for you. Whatever might happen, it will be my gracious, ungrudging gift to the people suffering because of me." Her voice twisted into bitterness. "Enough food. Warmth. Sufficient shelter....because I just want to rub it into everybody's faces, how much more I have. How much power I have. It will be my pleasure. Unless you would rather I didn't. That's all right, I'll have a lovely black gown made up with the money and give it a suitable low neck and when everything is well for you at least I'll be the most tragically beautiful Lady fed to the hangman. Might as well save my money for something someone will appreciate."

Of course she would give it anyway. It would have been more satisfying if she could refuse that kind of question, but despite her disappointment it was out of her range of evils to leave legions of people to starve for wounded pride. It was just a bit startling that Brian didn't seem to know that.

He felt ill, watching her get up. Not because she was upset with him; she'd been that many times before. No--because he knew he was wrong. Brian pushed himself to his feet, clumsily, and moved over to his own clothing. He crouched, taking the shoes off the little pile, and watched her.

"No--no. You don't--I don't know what to say." Frustratedly, agitatedly, he plucked at his clothing, gathering it all up. "It's--it's hard for me to say thank you," he admitted. "Or 'I'm grateful' or any of that, it sounds like--" He had always made him say thank you after everything, and he'd given him a bit of food. And a pat on the head. Say thank you, Brian, and you can have another sweetmeat. Dear God. But that was no excuse, no excuse at all. "I'm sorry. Thank you, really thank you, you shouldn't be mixed up in all this--at all--"

He stood up, still unclothed, though he had pulled up his braies.

"None of it's right. I wish I could just leave everything. Take a farm. Live alone. But I can't, I can't, I can't leave it all, it'll follow. Conn left, you know. Conn--my brother--killed Egon Botolph and left. Yeah. I didn't know either 'til he came back. He killed Egon and he killed Eckhard, and I don't know that I can do that; can kill for what I want. Freedom, that's nothing, nothing next to what kind of prisonish freedom you get when you kill a man--I think. Look." He took a breath. The fingers he didn't have curled; uncurled.


"The truth is, Elena, I think your way's better than what we've been planning. It's better, and it'll work, but they won't listen. It's too late, and I was too stubborn, and I'm scared to death I can't stop it."

Elena's angered expression smoothed into one of worry, and she slicked a hand down Galahad's neck as she thought about his words. Of course it had gone too far; she'd expected that but there was no use in "I told you so." He was so idealistic, it would only hurt his feelings. No, what was really bothering her was what he had just said. His brother had killed two stewards. His brother...his brother.... "Brian. I don't like this." She pulled her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ears, anything to get it out of her eyes. It was impossible to think with that irritating tickle on her face.

"Your brother is a murderer." Elena started to pace. "DON'T interrupt me; the stewards might have deserved it but the fact is that this Conn does not mind killing. And now he's with you, and close to this revolution...oh, God. It's not going to be bloodless. I should-" She stopped and looked at him, feeling the words die in her mouth. She couldn't just tell him that she was seriously considering fetching the hangman. It was his brother, for heaven's sake. He wouldn't be able to stand the sight of her. "Oh. This is bad."

The lady moved back to his arms, and put her face in his shoulder. "You won't be able to make it stop now....you have to.....we should....I'll tell them." She straightened her shoulders. "I can orate just as well as you. They should know about this. Keeping it secret from them will only make it seem wrong, instead of logical and, and....they should know."

"Not yet." Brian took a step forward, his brow creased with worry, his arms hanging uselessly at his side. He still felt that clench and twist in the fingers he didn't have. He still felt that anxious fluttering in his stomach, a feeling between guilt and fear.

"They should know, but not yet. If you speak to them word'll spread, and what might happen to you? I don't know. Let me talk to 'em first. They listen to me, at least. We can wait, and see. You stay safe first. Safe from me, too, if that's what you like. It may be best. Sometimes I think--you're scared of me; and maybe you're right to be."

He thought back to the sex. More than that: to the first time he'd kissed her. It was shaded with feelings he hadn't felt for years, and coming at him from the other side, like a ship emerging from beneath a dark bridge, just out of eyeshot. Fear... she'd never admit it, just as he never did.

"I'll see to it." His shoulders slumped, tiredly. He didn't want any of this. Each new complication to his plans was a slap in the face: a strike against all of his ideas, against his worse but much dearer judgment; against his love, if he could call it that. The iron bars of his serfdom slid down again. It all fell inward, a cavein, a collapse. "I'll speak to them. But please don't do what you're doing, Elena, don't make me feel guilty because you're helping. I won't worship you for the proddings of your conscience. Please--don't judge me for mine. It's just doing what's right. I don't ask you 'cause it's a favor, or 'cause I--because of how I feel about you. But just because it's right, and virtue's its own reward, is what they say."

He wanted nothing more than to take a few steps forward, slam through the newly-resurrected invisible barrier, and take her in his arms, but he felt paralyzed: felt, more to the point, terrified. He wanted so badly to say just what she wanted to hear, to placate her, to sooth her, but conscience couldn't be ignored.

"Just let me tell them, and--and it'll work out, I promise it will. You have to stay safe. For now, that's all--please."