Brian could no longer meet with Elena near his house... not with Elsie and Conn around. Conn watched his every move with those eyes--pale, slightly disturbing--not the way he recalled him when he was younger. Almost mad. But Brian was no model of sanity himself. In mente... in corpore...

He was starting to teach himself Latin, God knew why. God's tongue, after all, and most books were written in that language. He'd cursed when he'd found that out. Scalian wasn't good enough? Well, fine. He'd rise to the occasion. As for his teacher, and as for their revolution--

There was no longer any certainty.

Holding his breath, Brian slid out of the bed he shared with his brother, muttering under his breath about going for a piss, and made for the door. He was out. They'd meet where they'd planned, in the grove of trees by the fiefdom's millhouse. She knew where it was; everyone did. The mill was he center of fiefdom life. Lately, the price of grinding grain had skyrocketed. Exigencies of war. Exigencies of the Lawley coffers!

The grass was cool and wet on Brian's bare feet, and he skirted the damp soil of growing gardens, where he would have left footprints. And there he was. Below the black silhouettes of trees, insect-humming and nightingale song beckoned, and he slid through the trees, toward the clearing. He didn't call her name. He didn't think, first, that he could say it; nor could he imagine what there was to say to her, after all they'd spoken of last time.

Not sure I love you, she'd said. But he couldn't help it. She was a part of his brain, constantly present. Was that part of his madness? A noise made him spin on his heel, one hand on the dagger at his side, but there was no one there. Another. He waited, shoulders tensed, not daring to call her name. If it were the Steward's men, her name from his lips would be the only proof they needed, and then he'd get a crossbow bolt in the back, in the dark, in the buried forever.

It was getting harder for Elena to get out of the manor. Now that she was bethrothed, there was a never-ending list of things to do, and retainers following her every which was to ask what silks the mistress would like, what linens, what jewels, what wine at the wedding-and Katherine was breathing down her neck at every opportunity she could find. In short, the whole thing was ridiculous, and the only way to even manage to get out anymore was in the dead of night. Out a window over the kitchen shed, and then a drop to the ground- after making sure the servants overindulged on wine and poor Aelf was reassured that she just wanted some night air. "A taste of freedom," she'd say, "a hint of wildness before-"

And then the good man would crush her to his shoulder and let her go, without a word more of complaint. Elena had a faint regret that she had not told him the full truth of things, but she loved him enough to know that his disappointment in her would be something unbearable. So she slipped out into the night, still clothed, with her little slippers on her feet-but Brian could take care of that with no trouble at all.

A smile lit her face as she thought of it, and even in the moonlight she colored. Elena quickened her steps towards the mill, anticipation making her heedless of how much noise she was making. Still she kept to the shadows, and the dusky velvet of her gown was enough to render her nearly invisible if she tried hard enough.

As she came closer, she forced herself to slow and check for safety. A glance this way, and another, and a strained ear-and when she was met with nothing, she took two slow steps into the clearing.He was there, waiting and as glorious as ever. Elena did not speak, but smiled and stepped into his arms. She was with him now, and it was enough.
Her kiss was a slow and sure greeting, and she let her hands travel down his chest to feel the firmness of his body. When at last she drew away, she gave him a whisper just barely loud enough to hear. "I've missed you."

His heart slammed against his ribcage like a wounded animal when he saw her detach from the shadows. Calm. 'Pace.'

"Elena..." Brian's arms were around her waist; it was instinct and nature, but he didn't want to slide into carnality before she could explain. "Missed me. I miss you even when you're with me." He looked down at her, but he wasn't smiling; his face was set and very serious. "Especially when you're with me."

He didn't dare ask about her betrothal. It was possible she was just bowing to her mother's pressure. Anything was possible. But. She wanted ease and peace; he wanted--no... At the same time, he knew: if she married Newbury, she might be able to really help his people. But that couldn't be the way of it. Never base politics on a broken heart. But. But it was also in formule, in principle... it could not be correct to give the power back... a tyrant is a tyrant is a tyrant, even one you love...

No, now wasn't the time to think of it. He kissed her back, gently, and then hesitated, lost for words. Somehow, it didn't seem right to succumb to the purely physical. Just... Just.

No, it's necessary. Violence begets violence. And though an illness may purge a man of ill humours, it's still an illness and it still kills...

He lifted his good hand and ran it gently through her hair, then stopped at her cheek. "I'll miss you even more when you're married." No tears. Please. "You're right. I mean--cold, and it's horrible--but you're right, I'll talk to my men tomorrow, it'll... but you can't change I love you." He looked down briefly, closing his eyes, and pulled her to him to inhale the scent of her hair. "You've won, I guess--" A strange laugh. "I didn't tell you, that's what I thought at first, in the armory--that it was a kind of--winning."

Elena's smile faded. Part of her eagerness stemmed from the pure enjoyment of it, and it was going to be impossible to enjoy herself when he had her feeling so guilty. And for what? She fidgeted, uncomfortably, at his confession of missing her. She'd won. She hadn't been trying to win, and he'd miss her more when she was married-it really was unbearable to listen to. Not that he was wrong, exactly, but of the many emotions she couldn't stand guilt was on the top of the list.

"Oh, Brian. I wasn't-I wasn't trying to-win..." She touched his cheek back, and immediately had a moment of self-doubt. "Don't miss me. We can still see each other, after-I promise we can. I'll manage it. But, honestly-I can't afford to-" He would never understand. The serf that was a slave in so many ways was still free to give his body where he wished, but she could at least try to make it make sense. "This man is kind. He'll listen to me, and treat me well, and through him I can help you. I could refuse him, but then Katherine would force me to a convent or to a man twice my age who drinks and likes to beat people. I could refuse him-but I-really, truly, honest-to-God feel like if I do, I'll regret it. You'll regret it. Please. Do not allow your heart to break on my account. I don't want that."

Elena pulled him to her in an embrace, trying to soothe him with a hand in his hair. She had to reflect that perhaps she really did love him; it was so upsetting to see him upset. But how to know? The lady forced a smile. "I never expected you to love me, you know. I didn't try for it." It sounded weak, even to her, and she turned her head away. "Besides, you can read now." She was mumbling. "You ought to know that all the greatest loves have been outside of marriage. Every history ever written says as much. We'll be no different. We can join the ranks of the truest lovers the world has known."

The lady looked up, a faint plea in her eyes, and pulled him forward for a kiss. "Don't worry about the marriage. It's a contract. I pledge my wealth and lands and body to him; my heart remains my own to go where it will. That is what you want? Yes?"

Brian wrenched away, heedless of how loudly his voice came out.

"You think you can tell me not to feel what I feel! Wouldn't that be convenient!" His eyes burned, but he wasn't crying. He turned his emotion to anger, as was so often his wont.

"You don't love me. It won't cause you any pain to give your body to Lord Newbury, and you want it. When you said you didn't--you--" His hands were trembling; he raised the left aggressively, showing her the place where his fingers weren't, though he didn't touch her. Let violence stay where it was, screaming, an animal in the cage of his mind. "You think love has nothing to do with bodies but we are our bodies. You still understand nothing--nothing about how life really is. It's all fine and fancy when you can say your body and your soul are separate but I've seen men die of hunger and overwork and I've seen them rip each other apart and there is no such thing as the bodiless soul. This is me. I have no name and no title as far as you or anyone else is concerned. I am my body. Don't tell me you see so much further..."

He lowered his hand, covered it with the other, and gritted his teeth.

"What I want--and what I can have--they are different. I don't want your heart, I want your body and every inch of blood and bowels. I want you, not your bloody ghost. You taught me to read but you didn't teach me to think, and books aren't mystical, nothing's mystical, nothing is a damned mystery. I want to marry you, and grow old with you, and everything with you." He took a gasping, sudden breath, as though struck with a palpitation, and shut his eyes, and when he opened them his tone was entirely different. "But I can't."

Pause. Softly:

"What I want can't happen, and I know that... but please don't pretend it can. You'll marry Lord Newbury. You'll try, slowly, to help the serfs; or you won't. And if you don't, I'll do it my way, and if you do I'll help, but whatever it is it's bigger than you and me and it's no mystery. It's dirt and politics and sorrow." Brian lifted his hand, his bad hand, and cupped Elena's jaw very gently. "I love you. All of you. And I want you now and always. Remember that."

She pulled away, and lifted one hand to rest over her mouth. Elena's shoulders heaved, and she kept her gaze fixed on the darkness behind his face as the world swam. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry don't cry don't cry...

For once the mantra failed. The tears spilled, silent but still very visible in the shafts of moonlight filtering through the leaves, and her humiliation was complete. She hadn't even known that he could make her cry. Elena floundered for something to say, anything at all to save herself-and anger rose to come to the rescue. Beneath his wants and wishes he was insulting her, saying that he found her too weak and cowardly to do anything for him and his cause and that she was useless and he never wanted to love her-and beneath even that layer of insults, was one more thing that stood out.

"He spoke first!"

It was half wail and half a snarl, muffled through the fingers clamping in the sobs that wanted so desperately to escape. "You want to marry me, but he asked and I said yes and you said nothing, nothing until you knew you would lose me, and when he asked I thought of your eyes and the sun in your hair but you said NOTHING; I didn't know, and I want you more but you said nothing at all. I didn't know!"

The tears were still coming, but she threw back her head to survey him with the greatest dignity she could muster. "You think I'll like sleeping with him?! He's not you! He has none of your fire and none of your dazzle and I won't, I won't-but you said nothing and now I'm bethrothed and I can't change that! I can't! If you had said something-God, Brian, how was I supposed to know that you-"

She couldn't even finish her sentence, stumbling over her words in fury and stuttering grief, but threw herself on him and clutched at his shoulders in a wildness of desperation. "Look! Body. Heart. Right here, right now. I'm giving it to you. I already have, over and over and over. Don't be like this. Not to me. Don't."

Brian stood dumbstruck, listening to her, his lips moving silently. He didn't accept excuses from anyone; least of all himself. He said nothing, but bit hard at his lip until he tasted blood and watched her cry. When she threw herself on him he caught her, half-surprised it wasn't an attack.

Said nothing. He hadn't. He hadn't known himself until it was too late. She was stubborn and cold and sometimes cruel and self-interested... but she was also brilliant. She had an aggressive and ideological personality he hadn't seen in anyone but himself. She was passionate, and beautiful, and she didn't let him get away with anything. She didn't let him become Egon and she didn't let him win--his thoughts slid by, and then there was just feeling.

He leaned down, his lips on her cheek, and tasted her tears. He was not thinking of the revolution. He was not thinking of his people. He was thinking of nothing at all.

Brian's mouth moved against warm flesh, and he gathered her close, speaking softly.

"We'll run away. If you'll come, I can take you anywhere, no one will find us. We can leave, and--"

And he stopped, stock still, his back stiffening. The cool metal of a blade slid along the skin of his neck.

"Traitor."

It was his brother's voice.

She'd been easy enough to follow.

The growing resistance movement had eyes and ears everywhere. Many Lawley Manor servants – brutally mistreated by Lady Katherine – had flocked to their cause. Among them had been a scullery maid who'd kept track of Lady Elena's movements, making note of her peculiar excursions and informing the leaders of the rebellion.

It had been Conn's idea to trail her, but Fletcher had been the one to work out their espionage network. After all – no one paid attention to servants. No one expected them to be seen or heard... which made them all but invisible, yet ever-present – the perfect spies.

There had been a pattern to the lady's outings. The maid, one Mary Tallwick, had passed a signal when she'd woken from an ale-induces nap to see the young Lady Lawley slipping from a window in the kitchen where Mary normally scoured pots. The signal had gone to the cartwright, who'd passed it to the goat-farmer, who'd fetched Fletcher and Conn, who'd caught up in no time.

Years of poaching and taking refuge in the wilderness made it easy to track her. There had been a moment where she'd paused and glanced around when Fletcher had been worried she'd gotten wise to them, but then she continued on, unaware. In the end, she'd led them right to the mill – curiously conspicuous place to... do what? Why was a spoiled noble brat sneaking out through the muck and the wild in the middle of the night?

The answer stepped out from behind cloaking shadows, and Fletcher barely kept from cursing in surprise. Brian Farraday? He turned to look at Conn, but the other man's face was cloaked in darkness. But when he moved, Fletcher followed, one arrow nocked and ready...

Conn had long known of his brother's tryst, but he also knew: feigning ignorance and outrage gained followers much more easily than did clandestine knowledge. That smacked of treachery. So he'd marshaled Fletcher to help him (and the man was capable). And found out what he'd known already.

His brother had always won all the women. It was almost sweet to see him with this girl... if it weren't about to destroy their prospects entirely. He caught snippets of what they were talking about. It boiled down to: Brian was ready to give up the revolution.

And here Conn had thought he'd have to exaggerate. But no, it was all so bloody convenient. So much for high-minded idealism. With himself at the helm, the revolution would be bloody, and it would be successful, and he'd take control of the part of Lawley that mattered--its treasury. Let the rest go hang. Conn had learned the long and bitter lessons of the world.

"Traitor," he ground out, forcing his blade between the two lovers, raising a red line across his brother's throat. Amidst the morass of jealousy and anger, it was not difficult to feign righteous rage. "On your knees." He flicked a glance toward Elena. "If you scream, I'll kill him. Hold out your arms." He motioned to one of their men to bind her. "Go on! We don't get a hostage like this every day."

Elena had already opened her mouth, not to scream but in a kind of silent horror as she saw the scarlet smear over Brian's throat. The men had come from nowhere; silent in the dark-or, more silent than the whispers of passion had been. That was all that had been necessary. The lady regretted that. She had forgotten to be careful, only for a few minutes....and now, who knew what was going to happen. Brian had a sword to his throat, and there were at least two more men in the brush.

Thankfully her mind was already moving past panic and restrained her hand from flinching towards her dagger. Aelf had schooled her well, and she could move like a snake, but there was no use in killing one of them if it resulted in Brian's death; and probably hers as well. If she moved for it they would know that she had it, and she would lose it, and then if it was really needed it wouldn't be there. Instead she simply looked at Brian and shut her mouth, pressing her lips into a thin, hard line. At least there was one good thing about the entire mess. Rage had evaporated her tears completely, and she could look at Conn as still and white and furious as grey-eyed Athena.

For it had to be Conn. Brian trusted no one else; he didn't even trust his brother of course but there was no else who could have known this and called him traitor for it. Traitor, when he refused her food and gifts for the sake of suffering the same as everybody else. The idea was laughable.

Rather than condescending to respond, Elena lifted her chin and held out one slim, white hand to the man-inviting him to kiss it as was his place. Of course he wouldn't, but before this went any further she could let him know that she was not going to let him get away with anything. Her mouth quirked up in a sardonic smile and she spoke, almost purring her amusement. "Oh? You wanted the honor of both?" Out went the other hand. "Good sir, you flatter me."

Never mind that it was the middle of the night and he the filthiest villain she'd ever seen. He was binding her hands in front of her body, which was an encouraging mistake, and she would not cry again tonight. Indignation was running so hot and strong through her body that it would be impossible, and whatever he did he would not get the satisfaction of seeing her break. She was prepared for it, everything that could possibly imagined, and if he crossed over the line with either her or Brian he would live to regret it. Elena swore that much to herself as fervently as she knew how, but kept her face in that same infuriating smile. She'd drive them mad.

Just as Conn kept his blade poised at Brian's throat, Fletcher kept an arrow trained on Elena as the goat farmer, Dawes, bound her hands. His normally jovial expression had vanished, and in its place was a mask of grim and icy fury. He wasn't sure who angered him more – Brian, for betraying the revolution for this harpy's favors, or this 'noble' whore for seducing what was once a gallant revolutionary and turning him into her slave. Her smug and superior smile made his fingers twitch on the bow string.

Hate. That was what he felt. All-consuming hate. And beneath it, a touch of fear – how much had Brian told her? And how much had she passed on to Lord Darien? Were all their plans compromised? Would the revolution be smothered in its cradle? Would Fletcher find himself on the run and without hope once again? He bit his lower-lip, and in his mindless frustration drew and tasted blood.

"I wouldn't be findin' much t'be smilin' 'bout if'n I was you," he hissed between his teeth.

"Let her." Conn's voice was calm and hard. "She's a little girl, we have her; who cares how she 'cides to act? I know I don't." He nodded to Dawes, who finished tying her hands. "Gag her, we don't need t'listen to her prattle."

He turned back to his brother, sword still outstretched between them. Blood trickled down Brian's neck and disappeared beyond his heaving collarbone, and Conn felt--felt--felt a strange mixture of power and pity and sorrow.

But mostly power. It was a strange taste, sweet sweat and blood.

"You--hold out your hands. We're chargin' you with betrayal of the cause. Consortin' with the enemy. Plotting to turn us all over to the Lawleys!"

His voice grew strident; it was an announcement to all around. "And then you, little miss, will write a note to your brother and it'll tell him the terms we set." Conn could read, but write only a little. Still, he'd catch her if she tried anything sneaky. Once again, he raised his voice to address the crowd. "Despite corruption and betrayal--" Spat at Brian. "--this is the best gift the Revolution could get. We'll take the manor within the week."

Slowly, watching Elena, Brian held out his hands as his brother instructed. He tried to catch the eye of man binding his hands, but he couldn't. Speaking scraped the skin of his throat against his brother's blade. His brother. Dear God, what was Conn thinking? If he had asked, or listened... but Conn wasn't like him. He'd always taken what he wanted. He'd done what Brian was too cowardly to do, too sodden with love for his family and for, simply, the familiar...

Even for Egon.

After his death Brian had been tortured by sorrowful and horrible nightmares. That was something he tried to forget, but it was true...

It was true too that he'd let his love for Elena blind him to the cause. He saw her, sickly, through his brother's eyes: haughty, petty, cruel. She could be all of those things. He loved her, still, and maybe he always would, but God, would he always choose to love the wrong people, people who used him, people he cowardly hid behind--

No, no. Something was wrong here. Conscience intervened against itself. No! This couldn't be the right thing. Not when Conn was pointing a blade at his throat and the hate in his eyes. Brian opened his mouth to speak--and his brother whipped the blade away from him and his fist flew and Brian was on hands and knees, and tasting blood. He spat. His hands, quickly, were wrenched back and tied behind him, very tightly. His missing fingers meant he might still have a chance of slipping out... maybe... he brought his head up, shaking hair out of his face, and felt the sting of his split lip; spat blood again. Before he could talk, George Tailor had slipped a gag into his mouth and tied it tightly, and Brian only looked up at his brother and Fletcher and finally at Elena. The expression on his face was rage, but behind the distortion of the gag, it was almost impossible to tell if what he felt was anger or fear.

Elena choked as the gag was forced into her mouth, hating the feel of the rough linen binding down her tongue. It was making it impossible to breathe; impossible to breathe-

She forced a breath through her nose, and counted out the rythmn to reassure herself that she was, in fact, getting air. Count to four, hold it, breathe out for another four. The girl didn't bother to acknowledge Conn, though she had in fact heard every word he'd said. She was going to write the ransom note; he would demand something ridiculously high and get the manor. Her father's manor. Her manor.

Elena finally consented to look at him, postively infuriated, but she stood stock-still as he went through the list of Brian's crimes. Traitor, selling them to the Lawleys, selling them to the enemy...as if she was the enemy. She, who had sold everything and everyone she valued to help their cause. She, who would not run with her first and only love because to do so would ruin them all. If only she could speak! She could persuade them; or else make them think that she had no idea what was going on....

She wondered what would happen if the terms for ransom were not met. Naturally the demands would be absurd, and Katherine and Darien could care less about what happened to her. That left Julian, but she'd almost rather he never found out. If this would truly put the manor in the hands of a beast like Conn, she would rather go quietly to the grave.

And then Conn drew back his fist, and Brian was bleeding.

Even if she could not speak, Elena's eyes told a story in themselves and that story was complete and utter fury. She moved in a surprising burst of speed and fell to her knees in front of the man, lifting up her bound hands and slipping them over his neck to hold him safely to her heart. He had done nothing at all wrong, and if these people could know how much their cause meant to them both they would be begging for his forgiveness. Elena wished she could kiss the blood and pain away, but as that was impossible, she simply nestled her head in the curve of his shoulder and kept him close.

Fletcher made a gagging sound in his throat. "Pull 'em off of each other!" he barked to Dawes and Tailor. Separating the two was a priority in his mind. Conn seemed to have given Brian up as traitorous scum, but Fletcher was willing to try to led the lad redeem himself. If they could get him out from under that harlot's influence, there was a chance he might come to his senses. After all, Brian had been the one with the revolutionaries' hearts in his hands. Conn appealed to a sense of just rewards and compensation, and Fletcher tapped into their wellspring of anger and thirst for redress and revenge. Between the three of them, the revolution could be an unstoppable force. And the revolution took all precedence.

Tailor held Brian firmly while Dawes took hold of Elena, prying her from around the younger Farraday. "Load 'em on to the horses," he instructed, then added "An' blindfold her." Brian already knew of the locations of all their bases, but on the off chance he hadn't divulged everything to that wretched girl, Fletcher didn't want her knowing where their headquarters were secreted.

The Lady clung to her lover as best she could, but she was exactly that-a Lady, trained a little in self-defense but with no muscle or weight to throw around against grown men. Pale fingers knitted together in a desperate attempt to keep holding Brian, but with her wrists bound in chafing rope and a hefty man lifting her up, there was nothing for it. Elena did not cry, or even cry out-but she looked at the younger Farraday with the unguarded softness only he was allowed to see. She didn't care if the filthy man holding the bow made more gagging sounds or jokes; she didn't care if the elder brother laughed, she didn't care...

And then she was held fast, and the blindfold draped over her eyes, and the world went dark. Elena was glad she had managed to give Brian a glance; as far as she knew it might be their final one. Almost certainly, in fact. The cloth making her helpless had been tied cruelly tight, catching on strands of hair and pulling.

Elena drowned her whimper before it rose, refusing to cower even if she was now crippled, mute, and blind. This was a nightmare the likes of which even she hadn't even been able to imagine, but she was her father's daughter and so would brave it out as well she could-no matter how much she hated her current position. Lady Lawley hoped it wouldn't last too long; if she wasn't released or killed within the next few weeks the constant restraint would sap her spirit to a point that was embarrassing to imagine. In defiance of herself and the world she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin-only to be spun unceremoniously around and then hefted onto a horse.

She scrabbled for some kind of hold, a new fear entering. It was bad enough that she was here, and there was a mob, and it was undoubtably going to get violent-but riding, blind in the dark? That was madness. Elena mentally went through all the dangers that could potenially kill a rider. Low-lying branches, ditches, a startled horse rearing his head back and catching the man astride, a loose shoe-all which required sight to catch-oh, and, falling off. Falling off probably being the main concern, and with hands bound and no eyes and no sense of direction and-

Elena bit her lip, very slowly, shutting her mouth on the urge to plead for a chance to walk instead and felt with some relief a rider mount up behind her. It wasn't much better, but there was some hope that there would be an anchor here.

Unfortunately the man holding her steady also learned that the cold, unfeeling Lawley daughter was trembling like an aspen, but there was no help for that.

Once Elena had been blindfolded, Fletcher lowered his bow, sliding the arrow back into his quiver. Dawes hefted her up on to the horse, and Fletcher clambered on to the front portion of a saddle that was a smidgen too small for two people. Sandwiched uncomfortably between the lady's weight and the saddle horn, he scowled, sliding his quiver around to allow for a bit of extra room.

He turned slightly in the saddle as he waited for the others to mount up. Her face was largely concealed by both the gag and blindfold, as well as the shadows of the night. Fletcher couldn't see her expression, but he could feel her quivering behind him, her fear making the horse anxious. For a moment, the thief felt a pang of pity, but he strangled it as soon as he recognized the sentiment for what it was. She was a noble. A slaver. The vile, spoiled, manipulative offspring of a caste of tyrants.

Any compassion he might have felt for her dissipated when he thought of the life he'd lost because of her kind.

"Hold on to me belt," he growled at her. It wouldn't do to lose a valuable hostage because she'd fallen off the back of a horse. And with that he kicked the horse into motion and they were galloping off into the night.

"Now--you." They wouldn't blindfold Brian, and needn't. Conn saw his brother's face; the way his eyes slid after the girls. Tears. What a woman. He always had been, womanish, weak, with no personal strength. No fortitude. He was one of what Conn called life's victims, and Conn? Conn was one of those who knew when to seize an opportunity.

"What should we do with the traitor?" Conn said, shouting into the sudden silence. He saw his men come forward from between the trees, and, in Dawes's arms, Brian thrashed back and forth fruitlessly.

That wasn't good; Conn thought he caught a sympathetic glance or two thrown at his scoundrel of a brother, that turncoat, that pitiful wretch--! Almost, he stirred himself up into the righteous anger he imagined some of his fellows really felt. But not quite. It wasn't that he had expected it of Brian; he quite emphatically hadn't. Hypocrisy was not his brother's usual modus.

But he couldn't blame him for following his personal passions.

Well.

Couldn't blame him more than he blamed himself. And then, Conn did know himself for what he was: a killer, an opportunist, a thief. And no hypocrite.

He lifted an arm. "I say we show mercy! One of our own, beat down--" Had to show mercy... at first. Let someone else argue. Oh, and they would; but Brian's charm, even moribund as it was in their minds and hearts, was dangerous to him. He'd have to finesse this. "--we were sore betrayed, but we'll rise up, like he couldn't!" Dawes held a struggled Brian down, though he was thrashing like a madman against his bonds; not even looking at 'his' revolutionaries, Conn noted with satisfaction, but looking after his departed lover. "I saw we put him in a cell" (the Towers cellar) "and leave him to understand the error of his ways. And we wait for an answer from Lawley about the girl, and this time next week we'll be dining in the Great Hall and stuffing our pockets from the treasury!"

Now there's an appeal they can understand, he thought. Principles be damned. It's about a full belly. It's always about a full belly.

He looked around, drawing himself up to his full height. Would anyone question him? This was the time. After this, they were his.

There had not been a quiet night in the Sullivan household for some time. It was the arguments. They were always arguing over one thing or another these days. Niel had noticed the night she had left. At first he thought she was sneaking around with other men. He was even more convinced after he noticed that Fletcher was gone too. She had to explain herself and that seemed to make him even more angry. He did not approve of her sneaking out in the middle of the night to take part of some revolution. He begged her to think about their child and the children they would have in the future. She told him she was thinking of the children. The only reason she was participating in the first place was because she was thinking of the children. They had the right to a better life. To live like the children of the nobles and merchants.

She woke up again in the middle of the night. It took her only a moment to register Mister Fletcher again leaving under the cover of darkness. She would have left sooner if one, she didn't have to dress first, and two, what Niel would think when he found her gone again when he woke. She frowned but her mind was already made up. She quickly dressed and tried her best at tracking the man. That wasn't easy. He was already out of her sight but she could still hear him. She followed him to the place where Elena and Brian met. She had to stifle a gasp but that wasn't necessary. They're attentions were too focused on the traitorous act before them to notice her.

Her eyes burned with rage at the sight. What was he doing? Brian, the one who was supposed to lead them was in love with the very person they were fighting against. Elena Lawley was the one who had everything her child would never have unless they won. Catria heard everything that was exchanged between them. She decided that now was the right time to reveal herself. Her eyes were drawn to the sight of Fletcher on a horse with her. Perfect. Her thoughts were laced with venom.

"And where exactly will you take this girl?" she spat the words. "They must be kept separated for Brian's own good. I recommend my house. It is, after all, one of the only homes with a cellar." she said as she fought to keep her voice calm. She would be Elena's jailer. She would see to it that the girl was kept uncomfortable. Her eyes flashed with purpose.

Father Worth stood beside three weeping women and their two brothers before the family’s frail elderly father who now struggled laboriously for each breath. Felix recited the form of Extreme Unction solemnly, steadily looking upon the man with deep compassion. Soon after he had performed the Last Rites the man died, and Felix stayed with the family late into the night to console them. At length, he left and began walking the journey home.

The figure of a horse with two riders loomed out of the darkness, then another figure beside it. It was late and this was suspicious circumstance, he was on his guard, listening intently, but he pressed on fearlessly. He was just close enough to make out the words of the woman as she spoke.

"And where exactly will you take this girl? They must be kept separated for Brian's own good. I recommend my house. It is, after all, one of the only homes with a cellar."

Felix abruptly stopped, staring earnestly at the figures before him. Surely they could not be speaking of Brian Farraday. He concluded that it was plausible that these were villains who had gone about kidnapping an enemy- or ally- of Brian. However this explanation was illogical on many levels; for instance, the victim was a girl. He approached them with burning curiosity and concern.

He approached them and was now close enough to vaguely discern who they were. His countenance grew very stern as he saw Elena’s dress and gag. Could they have taken the rebellion this far, kidnapping women from the Lawely household? His heart sank and his eyes lit with furry. He took hold of Elena’s waist and pulled her up and off the horse, setting her gently down. He took off the girl’s gag, and turned to the other two. “Explain. What is the meaning of this?” He said sharply. "Are you well?" He asked Elena with a gentler tone, filled with strange pity. As a priest, it was his duty to pity and assist her, he could not fail in his duty, as much as he resented her family.

The young noble was falling fast into despair to hear Catria speak. She'd rather be turned over to the care of a man. True, a man could molest and rape and humiliate-but by the same token, no man on the planet could feel as much spite as a regular woman. Catria's tone was not a good sign for her treatment as a prisoner, and the thought of the damp and chill of a cellar was making her heart stop. Just when frustration and fear threatened to send her into a faint, a pair of hands tightened around her waist.

Elena bit back a squawk as she was lifted down by the unknown stranger, but took some comfort in his voice. It was upset, careful-familiar-

And then he had removed the gag, and asked if she was all right, and Elena knew who it was at once. She couldn't see him, of course, but at the moment there was no need to. The lady strained her wrists in their bonds and doubled over, choking to rid herself of the dryness left over from the linen so harshly shoved into her mouth. It was a moment before she could speak, but after that moment she straightened and turned her sightless eyes to where the Father might be. How to even answer that question?

"I'm well enough." The hoarseness of her own voice startled her. "Father, I've been lying to you in confession." There was no time to be embarrassed or stumble; any second now the one with the bow would swoop down and gag her again. "I've been sinning -grieviously- with Brian Farraday for weeks now, but they found us and they're going to kill him. " She didn't care what Conn said; he was not one to mind another death. "Calling him a traitor; I've known for months and said nothing for his sake-"

She wished she could see! How long before either of the serfs went after her? "But there is a mob, and I am not Elena anymore; I am all nobles and every noble and I would appreciate if you would pretend that you are not involved in this for a little while and offer me the final rites. They'll lynch me if they can. But first find Brian; don't let them kill Brian. He's done nothing but work for them; he mustn't die. He is this..."

Her voice gave out then, and she stumbled as she tried to move to safety behind the priest.

As soon as Catria had made her offer, Fletcher had felt a mix of excitement and dread. It was true, the Sullivan's cottage would be an ideal place to keep the prisoner, and Catria had proven herself a patriot to the cause – not to mention she'd saved his life. On the other hand, well, hell hath no fury. As much as Elena probably deserved it, and as much as all nobles deserved to hang – hang like poor Simon had – something about having her willowy trembling figure so close against his back had awoken a tiny voice inside of him. It was the voice of a boy who knew to stop pokin' your sister like that Will! Now look what you've done, she's gone an' started cryin' again – 'Ow many times do we got to tell you? You dun' hit girls!

He shook his head just as something unseated Elena. Blinking, Fletcher turned in the saddle to see the local priest, Father Felix, pulling Elena down and undoing her bonds. Scowling darkly, Fletcher swung out of the saddle and stalked over to them.

He caught some of her simpering tirade to the father as he approached and scoffed. Kill Brian? Hah. More like rescue him. Brian would be kept safely far away from her, and Elena would be held as an instrument of the revolution. Once the fiefdom was theirs... well, then they'd figure out what to do with her...

...His hand caught her on the shoulder, stopping her just as she began to brush past the priest. "'Ere now. You ain't goin' nowhere, M'Lady!" he said, spitting the honorific out as if it were a curse. He glowered at the priest, and his voice grew quieter as he spoke again. "I reckon this ain't any business you'd be likin' to dirty your hands with, father. Go pray over them what deserve it." He'd been raised to respect holy men, and did his best not to raise his voice to the father – infuriating as he could be.

Elena froze when Fletcher's hand clapped onto her shoulder, but did not allow herself to sag or even express defeat. Instead she drew herself up and stood so white and motionless, she might as well have been carved of marble. The lady was silent for a long moment, not even knowing what to say to soften him. An attempt to earn camaderie would be mocked, and rightly so. Begging and making herself helpless would be too humiliating to try, and trying to assert her place as Lady would be utterly ridiculous. Was there no other option?

The girl's limited knowledge of human psychology yielded no briliant plan after several more seconds of pondering, and she gave it up. She was a fly in the web here, and the best she could do was endure it. Elena wet her lips and spoke with quiet dignity, pale and calm as the moon above. "Sir, I understand that there are many grievances against my creed. I, however, am not guilty of any of them. I know no one will believe that, and if I must stand trial and punishment for every noble in Thiasa, then I will. I only ask that my punishment does not include being whored out to every man here."

She was proud of how steady her voice was, considering the fury and fear boiling through her veins.

Felix listened to her words with horror and admiration. Her words pained him, especially the news of Brian, but they were spoken with eloquence; she was courageous and brilliant, yet her purity was tainted by her grievous sin, and it gave him profound sorrow. He felt he had failed in his duty as a priest; his strong connection to the rebellion had caused her to violate the sacrament of confession as she continued a life of sin, she had been unable to trust him.

“My child, I live not I but Christ in me. I live by His will alone; you are an innocent child of God led astray, He will not condemn you. Therefore, neither can I. I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of Brian and yourself. Although, I can only promise to improve your safety, not situation.” He said to her kindly, he wanted to give her hope, as well as the truth. Then he turned to Fletcher.

Felix clenched his fists and calmly, coldly spoke to him, “I have an obligations to my congregation; their souls and well being. My presence here is vital to the spiritual welfare each of your souls, as well as her well being. Abandoning you now would blot me out of the book of God; I believe I would prefer to dirty my hands than that.” He stepped towards Fletcher, and then slowly and deliberately continued. “But there won’t be any need for my hands to be sullied, will there.” He placed his hand on Fletcher’s arm firmly. “What is your intent?"

He glanced back at Elena with sympathy, "There is truth in your words; punishment given to you would be unjust. But few men know justice. Do not despair. Pray for justice and mercy and God will deliver you."

"I only ask that my punishment does not include being whored out to every man here."

Tailor, who'd taken hold of the horses' reigns, snorted from nearby. "Reckon she's got a pretty good start on that wit'out our help," the man muttered.

Fletcher felt his hands ball into fists, nails digging painfully into his palms. "We are not the scum you treat us as. We wouldn't stoop so low as to your kind's course of action," he hissed, barely contained fury seething behind his features. How dare she! How dare she insinuate when it had been nobles who'd destroyed Imogen...

Then the priest spoke, placing a hand on Fletcher's arm. Against the father's steady grip, Fletcher realized he'd been trembling. He pulled away, expression dark. "Our intent? Our intent, father, is to throw off the slave collars the Lawleys and all their ilk 'ave fitted us with. This harpy's t'be a bargainin' chip, what for an attempt at peaceful –" he spat the word out "–revolution. Assumin' they even gives a damn about their own kind, we can ransom 'er and make fer some improvements in the lives of th' people. Who, might I remind you, make up the overwhelmin' majority of yer 'flock'."

Whore. Harpy.

Elena's thoughts turned to the pretty gowns she had torn apart for the sake of these men; the sparkling jewels and ornaments she had pawned off for the purchase of livestock and wool and seeds; the sketched plans for huts with double walls and double height with a loft for storage and sleeping-a little door in the roof, even, for light-; wooden shutters for air....all showed eagerly to Brian from the pages of her little journal. She remembered her proud smile the first time Brian had read a sentence, and her nights lying awake wondering what would happen if they were found out.

And then she felt the hand on her shoulder, and there came such a blinding, destructive rage she was rendered helpless in its flood. Elena wrenched herself away from Will's grasp, whirling to face the disembodied voice in the black. "My name is Elena."

She hissed it, icy and low as the winter wind. Elena was certain he could see her eyes flashing through the blindfold; she had never been so furious in her entire life. "I call you sir. If I knew your name I would use it. M'lady is not necessary here, but 'whore' and 'harpy' and such will not do."

Her hands darted out and searched for his neck or his hair, and when they found the softness they tightened and pulled. The Lady held on with a grim determination, anger making her numb to pain and numb to consequence. "I apologize for assuming that a band of excitable, violent men might possibly not have the most honorable intentions towards a girl they hate and have kidnapped. I assure you that the mistake is all mine."

The sarcasm was evident in her voice, and she gave an extra tug for good measure. "Since it seems I am wrong about the level of courtesy possessed by the people of Lawley, it would be fitting to behave civilly towards one another. You call me Elena and behave as if I am a human being, and I'll be happy to return the courtesy. I hope I am being perfectly clear."

Elena yanked with each italicsized word, utterly lost to her fury. "Your choice, nameless sir. Have me write the letter and wait for money that will never come, or play nice and make friends with someone who could help you." Who already had, but they'd discover that soon enough. Elena imagined the train of animals coming in, with the accompanying letter "To the People of Lawley", and was already savoring her revenge. "I'm sorry to report, most of my kind don't 'give a damn' about each other. My father is dead, my guard is poor. Mother and brother haven't cared about me since the day I was born. You have no chance with this."

Maybe they didn't know that she was engaged. Maybe there was some hope to save the Manor, after all.

Catria had to breath for a moment. Everything here was happening so fast. And it was so dark! She could only tell who was who by listening to their voices. She had no hope now of getting home without Neil realizing where she had been. If she wanted to bring Elena home with her, Neil would have to know about it. That would cause another fight between them. She would just have to explain to him that it was for the children, for all of them. There was only a slim chance that he would listen to her.

But he would let her do it because he loved her. He did still love her didn't he? Even though they didn't share the same views on the subject. All she knew was that she still loved him. And that should be enough to get them through this thing. She heard a new voice in all this confusion. It sounded like a Priest. If she wasn't mistaken, it was Father Felix. She made her way over to Elena because that's where the sound was coming from.

She stayed quiet through most of the situation. It sounded like Fletcher had the situation under control. She nearly scoffed out loud when Elena begged not to be whored out to all the men in Lawley. Even if they did have such an idea in mind, none of the men would want her. Especially after what they had seen tonight. After a few moments, Fletcher still had not gotten the Priest to leave. She decided that it was time to step in.

Catria cleared her throat. "Please Father. I give you my word that she will not be harmed. If anything, she will be safer in our care. If the Lawley's refuse to give in and it comes to violence, she will be out of the way of the battle at my house. You can visit her often if you like to see that I keep my word." She tried to be as sincere as she could. She wasn't really lying. Just twisting the truth to her benefit.

”Who, might I remind you, make up the overwhelmin' majority of yer 'flock

“There is no need for you to remind me of that.” Felix said coldly, continuing in a calm, stern tone. “I fully support the revolution, fighting for the freedom of my people, for their sake. Justice is due, but do not forget love and mercy must be present.

You dwell on the injustices they have rendered to us; you hate them and seek vengeance. Would you enjoy watching them suffer as you have? Alas, it is part of the fallen human nature; it is immoral, so is capturing and holding ransom innocent ladies. I cannot support that.

I teach of the nobles and serfs being equal. Suppose we did have the upper hand, would treat them as dirt, as you treat this lady? We are meant to do the will of God, respecting others, loving others. Should we not prove ourselves better than the nobles who have wronged us? Perhaps she could help, peacefully, do you so hate her bloodline so much that you would not allow her to do so? Is the noble blood incapable of good intention? Many are evil, yes, but not all. Do not dismiss that.”

Felix knew he could not take Elena back to the manor without the aid of others. He was a priest, but he was still outnumbered and the will of the people would most likely be against him. He would have to find Brian and make sure he was well. "Where is Brian, and what will be done to him?"

He looked at Catria as she spoke, then turned to Elena, "Would you mind staying with her until the situation is amended?"


((OOC: If someone stresses the possible danger Brian is in, than he'll be more likely to leave eventually))

Elena's response was short. Much as she found she liked the resident priest, now was not the time to engage him in religious discussion, confession, or a bid for comfort. "You're a credit to your profession, father. I'll be fine."

She was lying through her teeth, of course, but then so was Catria. Safe with that red-headed witch! It was extremely laughable. "Conn has Brian; back the way you saw the horse coming from. Do what you can, but for heaven's sakes be careful. An honest priest is practically impossible to come by in these degenerate times."

The lady strained once more against the heavy ropes binding her wrists, but it was no use. She could already feel them starting to chafe. Elena comforted herself with knowing that the moment she left Lawley to wed Julian, she would order the priest to relocate with her. These peasants didn't deserve what had been coming to them. She ground her teeth at the very thought of her noble 'castle in the air' tumbling down so rudely. It was positively infuriating. After all she'd done!-

Elena figured out, then and there, that this was an offense she was not likely to get over anytime soon. It was just as well. Perhaps the shock had been heaven-sent to get her past being stupid.

Fletcher snarled as she pulled his hair, deftly twisting out of her grasp, catching her arms and knocking them aside. "I give my respect to them what earn it. An' you ain't winning yerself no favors by talkin' all condescendin-like," he murmured, voice going unnervingly quiet as his hazel eyes locked with her pale ones unblinkingly. Fletcher hated being spoken down to. It was one thing when Maha did it – Maha he respected, and she'd fed him and helped him out on a few occasions. This girl had done nothing but use people. Even if she wasn't a spy, her affair with Brian, he guessed, was likely little more than a selfish act of adolescent rebellion. Help them. Hah. Yes - play peasant revolutionary to annoy her mother until something new and more interesting caught her fancy. She had no real stake in this. She never lost everything.

Felix and Catria interceded while Fletcher stood silently. He was so angry he felt sick, fury writhing in his gut like an agitated serpent. The father lectured him, but Fletcher was only half listening. Did he want them all to suffer? Yes. Yes he did. He'd dug three graves for his own flesh and blood. Let them and all their kin wallow in the earth. Let them understand the pain they'd caused. He'd been given no reason to trust the "intentions" of this girl. She might claim support of their cause, but so far she'd done nothing but treat them like serfs – speaking condescendingly, making ultimatums, using Brian and Father Felix alike. The few threads of compassion he'd felt previously were gone in the wind. Catria, as far as he was concerned, could do as she pleased. "Missus Sullivan," he interjected, voice flat and contrastingly unemotional, "if'n you'd be so kind as t'make good on your offer of hospitality, I reckon we'd be all obliged. Tailor will escort your... guest." Fletcher stuck him foot in the stirrup and swung himself back up into the saddle.

He'd let go. The man moved to his horse and mounted up-and just for a moment, there was no one holding her arms.

Elena didn't wait to find out what would happen next. She whirled and fled, darting for a patch of thick brush that would make it difficult for a horse to follow. Her skirt caught on a branch and under her feet, and she hiked it up as best she could with her fingers. It was awkward running with her hands in front; the lack of equalizing motion made it difficult to balance and it felt more like she was lurching than actually running. But Brian had fought, and she was going to do the same. These peasants wanted control of her Manor. That was every reason in the world to run.

She had no idea how fast she was going, nor in which direction the manor lay. It was impossible to reach the horn at her waist without dropping her skirts or stopping to blow; therefore that was not an option. Neither was screaming, because she was certain that Conn would have no qualms about killing his brother for the sake of what little gold the Lawleys possessed. All that was left to do was flee; or rather, crash through the woods in the hope that she was actually fleeing and also headed the right direction.

The lady pondered for a moment how on earth offering equal treatment made her condescending, but she was past worrying about it. The little angry serf could go hang for all she cared. What did he want anyway; her to call him Lord? She'd rather wait until hell froze over.

Catria had been watching the exchange between Father Felix and Fletcher. She really wanted to beat some sense into the latter. What was he doing arguing with a priest? He obviously had no respect for the church. She was going to call him out on his behavior when he got up on his horse and left Elena unguarded for a moment. No. But she wasn't that stupid, was she?

Apparently, she was that stupid. Did she expect to escape? Everyone here, including Father Felix, could probably outrun her. And this was their forest. They knew it like the back of their hands. Catria gave the priest an apologetic look before running after the girl. "It might be a good idea if you left, Father. I hope you'll understand." she said to him before he was out of earshot.

It wasn't hard to find which way the girl went. For one thing, she was making an awful lot of noise. For another, she had a toddler. She had a lot of experience in chasing people through the woods. The woman's frame was now visible. She ran faster. Her lungs were burning slightly but she tried to ignore the pain. She had to catch Elena or it was over.

Catria finally caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "Please Elena. You must not worry about Brian. Conn is bad but he wouldn't hurt him. He'll just say that you had met to discuss the terms for the revolution and that you tried to hurt him. They'll put him in jail for his own protection." She told herself that she was only saying this to get Elena to cooperate. She didn't care how the woman felt.

The moment Catria's hand touched Elena's, it was like lighting a fuse. While Elena had not exactly been a model of docility up to this point, the phrase 'in jail for his own protection' was the straw that broke the camel's back. She writhed in Catria's grasp, straining with all the strength she possessed to break loose again. But she still couldn't see, and the woman was strong with years of work and childbearing and the roughness of the elements. The youngest Lawley wept with rage as she fought to loosen the bonds on her wrists, bruising herself against the trees in her battle. Somewhere through the sobs words came out-harsh and biting, flying out like shards of glass to slice the night air. "Jailed! He wouldn't eat. He wouldn't even eat. Damn you, he wouldn't eat..."

True to her word, she did not scream-but it was a long and violent battle before she slumped, finally subdued by exhaustion. Still, Elena's sudden quiet was not the defeat of a domesticated creature; rather the watchful silence of the fettered eagle. She might be blinded, and weaker than her captors, but they had more in common than they realized.

Both would go to extraordinary lengths for freedom.

Elena thought of the dagger hidden in her skirts, and resolved to wait and see what Conn thought to make her demand. If it was something plainly dangerous to the manor, or Brian, or both...she had little serious objection to burying the blade in the rebel first and then letting it find her own throat.