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theweepingwitch · 2 years

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The Road to Avalon - Chapter 2, The Paladin Camp

Notes: The Weeping Monk x f!reader

Been a bad time, but here you go..

Warnings: non descriptive torture, violence.

Chapter 2 - The Paladin Camp

The monk had thrown Gawain over the back of his horse. As you were not injured, he tied your hands behind you, and put another rope around your neck. As he tightened the rope, you were able to get a close look at his face. You froze in shock, and stared at him. His eyes. Not just his eyes, but your fey senses confirmed his identity. He met your eye only briefly, but long enough to see the look on your face. You knew. He turned away quickly, and led the horse out of the woods. It was bad enough the knight had seen his hand change in the leaves, now he had you to worry about.

You watched Gawain bounce on the horse, and you prayed that he would survive long enough for you to get to him.

It didn’t take long to reach your destination.

Your heart pounded as you saw the white tents of the paladin camp. Since you left Avalon, you had only seen the occasional Red Paladin, having spent most of your time in Nemos, and always well protected. This place was crawling with them. As the monk walked through the camp, paladins began to take notice of the scene. Several of them spat in your direction, curses of “Witch!” being thrown at you. Their words didn’t bother you, but you knew all too well the damage their glinting weapons could do.

The monk brought the horse to a stop before a large tent. Paladins had begun to surround the area, curious what was happening. Two men emerged from within, one in red with a white beard, the second; younger, clad in black robes. The bearded man approached the monk, raising his hands in welcome.

“You had us worried, my son.” he said. Son? You frowned at the two in confusion.

The man in black stepped forward.

“Is this him? Is this the famous Weeping Monk?” he asked, a note of admiration in his voice. The bearded man looked annoyed, but turned toward the man slightly.

“His Holiness has sent Abbot Wicklow to observe us in our campaign against the Fey.” He composed himself, and walked toward the horse.

“So... what have you brought us?”. The hooded man stepped aside to allow the red man to inspect his haul.

“The Green Knight, and someone he takes orders from.” he said. The red man clapped his hands together, then motioned for two paladins to take Gawain off the horse. Two others grabbed your arms and untied the rope.

“God smiles on us today. Oh yes.” The man you guessed now to be Father Carden stood before Gawain, a nasty look in his eye. He addressed Abbott Wicklow.

“This one...This one likes to hide up trees and shoot my men. One of them died in my arms

on a ride through the Minotaur. His name was Peter, if I recall. Fourteen. Butcher boy.

Got a barbed arrow in the neck. Died swallowing his own blood. Are you proud of that, Green Knight? No? No answer? We like that. We have Brother Salt and his kitchens for the quiet ones.” Father Carden smiled. Abbott Wicklow approached Gawain, studying his face.

“Uncanny. He almost passes for human.” he hummed. Father Carden pulled at the rope that held you, pulling your head up.

“Some can, yes. And that's how they spread.” He bent to look you in the eye now.

“By fire...or by steel, you will sing to us. And you will tell us all we need to know

about you, and your witch.” he said, looking down at your chest, his face betraying lecherous thoughts. Gawain noticed and fought against the men holding him.

“You want my words, priest?” he spat. Father Carden stood to tower over Gawain.

“Oh, I do. I do.” he said, almost sweetly. Gawain looked him in the eye.

“Are you sure? I know many things. Many secrets.” Gawain looked behind Father Carden. Towards the Monk. He shifted his weight but didn’t look at either of you. The Abbot's eyes also flicked to the monk, clearly having his suspicions. Father Carden’s voice dropped dangerously low.

“Take them to Brother Salt.”

---

Inside the tent, you and Gawain were tied to chairs. You could do nothing to help him, but it seemed that the monk had hit him to maim but save his vital organs.

“Gawain, I can pray to the Hidden for you, but I don’t know how much they can do.” you said. He nodded, groaning.

“The pain I can handle, I will not talk.” he said, defiant. You knew it was true. He was stronger than anyone you had met to date. Still, you called on the Hidden to be with him. The tent was dark, but you could clearly see the blood-crusted devices hung around the place. It was cluttered, and everything seemed to be specially designed to inflict terrible injuries.

“You, Lianna, you must be strong. They will hurt you but we cannot give into this.” he said, looking up to meet your eye. You held each other's gaze, a solemn knowing of what was to come.

“The monk,” he said suddenly. You frowned.

“What about him?” you asked

“You saw, you would know a fey if you saw one.” Gawain said. You nodded.

“How could he turn on his own kind?” you said, feeling deeply sad for the countless lives lost. Gawain shook his head, looking back towards the tent entrance. Voices were approaching.

“I do not know.” Just then a tall paladin with horrible scarred eyes entered. He was led by another paladin towards a table full of butcher’s tools.

“Do you know me, friends?” the blind man asked.

“Have you heard of Brother Salt and his Kitchen?” the man bent over and splashed water over his head before turning to face Gawain.

“Let me introduce you to some of my friends. God’s fingers, I call them.” He brandished a white hot poker he called Michael in Gawains face.

“Don’t worry, you will meet them all.” He turned his blind eyes to you.

“And you, you will watch what happens to your unholy followers.”

---

You could only watch as Brother Salt did everything in his power to break Gawain. You cried and sobbed, but held your tongue. It would do no good to speak now, they would be killing you both anyway.

Brother salt threw down his latest tool and marched over to his table, wiping the blood from his hands.

“This one breaks slow. Some soup, then we start again, with the woman.” Brother Salt huffed, but was calm as he was led out of the tent. You shuffled your chair over to Gawain, and opened your mouth to speak, but the tent flap flying open again made you stop. It was the Weeping Monk. He walked cautiously around to the tent, stopping several feet away, facing the table. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.

“Don’t be afraid, Ash Man. We don’t bite.” You stared at Gawain, then at the monk, who had turned to look at the bound man. He had a look of confusion on his face.

“It’s those eyes. The mark of the Ash Folk. There haven’t been any in these lands for centuries. How is it you found your way here?” Indeed, Ash Folk were almost extinct. They had been amongst the first to fall when christians first arrived. You were surprised Gawain knew that identifying mark at all, given how long it had been. The monk was silent.

“Have you just come to watch me die?”

“Why didn’t you tell them, before?” the monk cut him off.

“Because all fey are brothers, even the lost ones.” Gawain said. The monk stood silent, studying Gawain, who groaned in pain.

“This pain, it will cleanse you.” the statement made you scoff. Gawain shook his head.

“You parrot their words, but you know it’s all lies.” he said, “I can feel it in you, my brother.”

“You are not my brother.” the monk snapped. Anger rose in you now.

“They have turned your mind so far inside out that you no longer know the difference between kindness and hate.” you snapped, your words moving the monk to pace around the room. It was only now you noticed the pull deep in your being where your healer's abilities lived. Pain, such unimaginable anguish seeped from the man. You could almost cry from the weight of it.

“Who did this to you?” The monk moved again to stand before Gawain, not looking at you.

“We are saving souls. Your soul.” he said. Gawain glared at the monk.

“Tell that to the little ones that you burn.”

“I don’t harm the children.” Gawain shook with rage.

“You burn their homes, slay their mothers and fathers, and you watch as your red brothers run them down on horses. And you see it all through those weeping eyes. That makes you guilty.” The monk shook his head, and marched toward the tent opening.

“Brother,” Gawain called after him, “You can fight. I’ve never seen anything like it. You could be our strongest warrior. Your people need you.”

“You are not my people!” the monk said again. Gawain gave him a challenging look.

“Then tell them. If this is where you belong, tell them what you are.” The monk stared at him.

“I will pray for you.” he answered. You glared at him.

“And we for you.” The monk gave you a quick glance before rushing from the tent.

You stared at Gawain.

“Are you insane? Bring him to the Fey? After everything he’s done?” you asked. He looked at you, eyes intense.

“You know better than I what we do to bring back our fallen. We don’t know why he is here...but he could be our greatest ally. You have not seen him as I have.” Gawain said. You sighed.

“I doubt we will get the chance. Once the blind man gets back we’re dead.” you said.

No sooner had you said the words, paladins entered the tent. They marched past you and roughly took Gawain away, ignoring your pleas to be gentle. You had never felt so helpless, and you were sure this was the last time you would see Gawain alive. You cried as the sun set, left alone with the dripping butchers tools.

---

You were left alone for so long you had begun to wonder if they had forgotten you were here when the tent flap once again opened.

“Squirrel!” The boy was being dragged by the scruff by an annoyed looking man. The paladin holding him threw him roughly into a chair.

“Don’t hurt him, please he’s just a child.” you begged. The paladin finished tying Squirrel, and turned. He raised his arm and back handed you across the face, leaving blood in your mouth. Your eyes watered as your cheek burned. The paladin grabbed your chin and raised your face to look at him.

“Bite your tongue or I will remove it.” he said, smiling darkly. You stayed silent, but your eyes burned with anger. To your relief he left immediately, beckoned away by someone outside. You turned to Squirrel, whose face was red.

“What happened?” you asked, seeing the dried tears. The boy just shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes. Gawain.

“Percival,” you said gently. He wouldn’t look up or meet your eye.

“Percival, he would be proud of your bravery.” the boy sniffed.

“He made me a knight.” That confirmed it then. He must have seen Gawain first, and been caught.

“No matter what happens, you remember how brave you are, alright?”

---

Night had fallen now. The only light in the tent was the few candles that someone had lit a while earlier. Through the fabric of the tent you could see men sitting around fires, winding down for the evening. A rustling pulled your attention, and Brother Salt made his way back in. He was alone this time, and needed no guide as he made his way around with ease. After a few moments, he picked up a gruesome looking tool. Squirrel’s breathing was speeding up, fear coming off him in waves you could sense without trying. Brother Salt stood before the boy, grinning.

“Shall we play now?” he asked.

“You’re the ugliest of them all! Inside and out.” Squirrel’s shout made you jump in surprise.

“Boy shut your mouth!” you said harshly, but the boy kept going.

“Kill me, fine, but you’ll still be you forever. And thats a worse hell than anything I can think of!” Brother Salt turned to his work table, feeling for, and finding a long knife.

“The tongue first, I think.” he said. Squirrels eyes shot between the knife and the paladins face.

“Go on, I’ll still keep talking, I’ll be in your nightmares talking, telling you how ugly you are. When you try and wake up, your eyes won’t open because you sewed them up like a bloody idiot!” You stared at the child. He was either the bravest or the most foolish boy you had ever seen. The Paladin chuckled, apparently amused by this outburst. He suddenly turned his head, as if to look behind him.

“Who's there?” he asked. The dark form of the hooded monk came from behind the blind man, who smiled.

“Come to watch, my weeping brother?” You stared in shock as the blade slid across Brother Salt’s throat. Quickly, the monk bent forward and cut the boy free, then yours.

“What are you doing?” you whispered. He didn’t answer, but grabbed your arm and the boys, rushing you out into the night.

What the hell he was doing he wasn’t sure. All he knew was he wasn’t about to let a child be alone with Brother Salt, no matter the cost. And it dawned on him how high that cost was. This was a betrayal of everything Father Carden had instilled in him. But the Green Knight's words had got to him. It was all lies…

All he had now was this boy, and fey woman. Getting them to safety was all he focused on.

You held Squirrel as close to you as you could, trying to shield him however you could. Your heart pounded with adrenaline.

The camp was still active, but quieter. Under the cover of darkness, the monk managed to lead you almost to the edge of camp. Almost.

“I wouldn’t.” The monk stopped. You turned to see Abbott Wicklow, and several black robed men in golden masks blocking the path. The monk pushed Squirrel and you behind him protectively.

The abbott cocked his head.

“Does he remind you of someone, this, fey orphan?” he asked mockingly.

“You don't need him.” the monk said.

“Why? Can’t he smell out his own kind like some sort of animal? Or is that just your species?”

This is the end Lancelot thought.

“Find cover.” Not needing to be told twice, you grabbed hold of Squirrel and ran. Thankfully none of the paladins followed. You pushed Squirrel down between some barrels, and threw a sac overtop of you. You could hear the fight, and the sounds of flesh being torn apart. Squirrel pushed up to watch.

“Squirrel no!” you tried to pull him back but he pushed your hands away.

“They’re going to kill him!” he cried. You looked through a space in the barrels and saw him. But man after man fell to his sword.

“My gods…” Never had you seen anything like that. But now the monk was on his knees, swords gone. In your distraction, Squirrel ran back towards the monk, picking up a fallen sword.

“Whose first?!” he shouted.

"No!" You screamed as you rushed out to grab the child.

It was the moment Lancelot needed, with all the strength he could gather he swung his blade and killed the remaining assailants. He stumbled towards you and you rushed to grab him, keeping him on his feet.

"Goliath." He managed to get out, you didn't understand but threw his arm around your shoulders and yelled at Squirrell to follow. You ran as well as you could half dragging the monk towards the treeline. As if sent by God the massive horse you had been brought into camp on appeared. No words were needed as the monk reached for the saddle. You helped him up and lifted Squirrel to sit in front of him. Then the monk reached for you, and you gladly took his hand, sitting behind him. You wrapped an arm around so you could reach the boy but the monk grabbed your hand and pressed it firmly against his chest.

"Hold on."

You barely had time to cling for your life as Goliath took off into the night.

#cursed #lancelot x reader #weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk #roadtoavalon

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lihamsworld · 2 years

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Okay, so remember when I said I’m writing another part for “I Wish I could Live More than One Lifetime”? yeah, I actually have planed out the whole plot, how the reader came to be, the twists and turns, how many chapters I think it should have, everything! I even wrote every chapter’s title so I won’t forget what would happen within that chapter, I had it all planed out, I’m polishing chapter 1 and 2 and then gone. I accidentally dropped my phone to water and it broke, lost all the data I have, I don’t have backups. It never occurred to me that such accident would happen to me considering how I take good care of it. But anyways, I’m rewriting it, I’m also changing some things for the plot which I think would be better than the initial plot, but I wouldn’t stray far away from it. I promise!

I also need to re-watch “Cursed” so I could give justice to the characters when I wrote them because right now? I can’t differentiate Geralt of Rivia from The Weeping Monk, I’m sorry 😭.

#weeping monk x reader #cursed fanfic #weepingmonkxreader #weepingmonk/you

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salliesimpkins · 1 month

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“I like you a lot”

Isaac lahey x fem!Reader

TW: Smut, oral (fem receiving), use of pet names, claws, nipple play

+16 read at your own risk. I’m not your mommy A/N: first smut to write + english isn’t my first lang word count: 2.5K

You were at school, leaning against your locker. smiling at and laughing with Stiles, until you caught Isaac glaring at you across the hall, visibly upset.

"alright Stiles I've got to go now, I'll see ya" you walked away after Stiles nodded and walked to Scott, and you made your way to Isaac.

"hey" you flashed him a smile and he blushed. How could he not? he thought you were the most beautiful thing ever.

The beta glanced over Stiles before turning back to you. "hey.." he spoke softly.

"Just tired... I uhh, I’ve got a lot on my mind lately" he said slowly and softly, not wanting to ruin this moment between you two.

You nodded slowly, feeling bad for him. "well you know, you can always talk to me" you said softly, reassuring him that he's got someone by his side.

You watched him closely as he looked at you quietly, and you didn't want to rush him to speak, you knew how sensitive Isaac is. It made him feel pathetic when he opened up to anyone or asked for help, that's what his dad has taught him. That a man is a man, boys don't cry, but Isaac knew you, he loved you, trusted you, and he knew your listen and get him anytime.

"I've just been going back.. thinking about my family" He looked down as his expression softened.

"oh" you whispered softly and placed your hand on the boy's back, rubbing it gently. "I know you've suffered from your dad your whole life, but his death Isn’t your fault".

Isaac flinched, but he didn't move away from you. Even though your gesture was tiny, it felt huge to him, It made him on top of the world. He let out a soft sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "I know... I just-" he paused, unsure if he can keep going or not, but he really counted on you, so he kept going. "I didn't even cry at the funeral and everyone thinks I don't care, that I was wishing the whole time i'd get rid of him, and the problem is.. it's true. I was relieved that he's dead"

"Honey listen to me" you took a step closer, placing both your hands on his shoulder. "your dad used to lock you in a freezer. that night.. that night he hurt you and you ran like any other night, because you didn't know what he would die" you then place your hand on isaac's cheek, caressing it softly "you were just scared, you did nothing wrong"

Isaac paused for a moment and leaned into your touched as he shivered. The relief he felt when his father died was a burden to him, but he knew you were saying the truth so he bit his lip thoughtfully. He wanted to say that your hand felt to right on his skin, but he didn't and rubbed his face with his hand then looked at you hesitantly as he spoke. "I- Iwas scared" his voice trembled as he stammered softly, making you unsure if he meant you to hear him. he slowly smiled at you softly and leaned into your touch again, causing his breath to hitch.

you sighed softly as you try to build up some courage and confidence to ask him to go out with you, but you were too scared that he'd turn you down so you just looked quietly at the ground until you heard a familiar 5 taps on the locker next to you and looked to the direction to see lydia. She must have noticed your flustered face because she tilted her head at Isaac and winked at you. You two have been talking about it and she was eager for you to confess to him, and apparently she was so sure Isaac wouldn't let you down for a reason she wouldn't tell.

you snapped out of my trance as Isaac cleared his throat and looked at the same direction you were just looking at, except there was nobody there.

"sorry about that. I was just wondering if you would want to go home with me? I mean-" You paused and took a deep breath. "why don't you come over and we can just.. relax?" you asked nervously as he just looked at you quietly. "Scott's sneaking out with Allison again and our mom won't be home until ten.. so I was thinking if you'd want to just come over instead of staying alone or with Derek, he could be lame sometimes" I chuckle nervously and put on a fake confident grin.

Isaac stayed quiet for a moment or two, taking in your words, and he thought there was no way he could turn that down, the thought of you and him alone in the house with no distractions. He knew he wanted it but he wasn't sure if you did. if you were just doing him a favour because you felt bad, but he decided to push his paranoia to the side and smiled at you softly with a blush on his cheek, nodding. "I'd like that, if you're okay with it"

"ahh perfect! we are gonna have so much fun! we can watch the notebook too if you want to, or maybe cook or play or just" you pause for a second or two, not wanting to creep Isaac out with your sudden excitement. "we could just.. chill you know?" You looked up at him with a smile.

The two of you walked to your house, as Stiles has already left with his jeep, and while you were walking you felt Isaac's hand brush against yours until he took it in, intertwining your fingers together. you could feel how his hand shakes softly and you knew his stomach was probably flipping, he was a nervous wreck.

You held his hand confidently the way home until you reached it and opened the front door for the two of you. After walking in, you turned to Isaac and smiles. "do you wanna stay in the living room, or go to my room? or we can even cook something!" you asked excitedly.

"Your room...?" He asked hesitantly. Your room was usually off limits, that's where you go to relax on your own, away from the pack. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to be there with you. But part of him knows it won't end at just being in your room. Not that he had a problem but that he was worried from Scott's reaction if he knew Isaac was in his sister's room alone in the house. Scott and Isaac were best friends and Isaac didn't want to risk it, but he still loved you.

you saw the look on isaac's face as he started to look overwhelmed, and more anxious than he was, so you decided to cool it down. "I mean it's okay but if you don't want to that's fine. we can sit in the living room" you shrugged, leaving the decision for him to make as you looked at his eyes.

Isaac nodded slowly, looking at your lips then your eyes. "your room" he said softly and carelessly. He wanted to be with you alone. he didn't care what scott would think, he didn't care what the whole pack would think, he only cared about you and being with you, he wanted you.

you smiled and tilted your head for him to follow you. you walked past Scott's room until you reached your room then you walked to the bed, After taking off your shoes, sitting on the bed, then patting on the space next to you for Isaac to sit on.

Isaac followed you to your room, closing his door behind him. His heart skipped a beat when you asked him to sit next to you and the only thing he could think of is how nervous he is. he looked at you and he thought you look so vulnerable, sitting alone waiting for him to join you, so he took a few steps, trying to regulate his breath before sitting next to you. He was so close and nervous, slowly turning his neck to look at you.

"so.. what would you like to do?" you asked softly, trying to make sure he's not uncomfortable.

Isaac looked at you and for the first time he has walked in the room, he didn't know what to say. A part of him wanted to kiss you and see what happened but he didn't want to make you pressured, and he didn't want to risk kissing Scott's sister, he was the leader of the pack, so he let the silence between you linger before he decided to break the ice.

"can I be honest with you?" he stressed.

"of course, I won't judge" i nodded in reassurance

Isaac struggles to speak so he leans closer to you. He just wants you to understand him, he needs you to know how he feels, what he's been thinking of, but it's hard for someone like him, someone whom emotions always were rejected. He took a deep breath and leaned closer as his eyes fluttered between your lips and eyes then he opened his mouth to speak but he failed so he looked one more time at you before smashing his lips on yours as he moved one hand on the back of your neck as the other ran over your back to your hips, pulling your whole body into his lap while you froze in shock before pulling him closer, cupping his cheeks while you kissed him back with the same amounts of passion.

After a few moments he pulls away, and looks at you in shock, he had expected everything other than you kissing him back.

"I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have kissed you and if scott finds out he's gonna kill me and-" you cut him off pulling him in another kiss, slowly pushing him to lay down as you move on top of him.

"Scott doesn't have to know" you whispered pulling him in a deeper kiss that made him forget everything.

he was in a daze as he pulled away from you. "you look so beautiful when you kiss me like that" he said softly with a soft smirk that caused you to blush.

He smiled softly as he gently ran his fingers thorough your hair. "you're so beautiful you know? it's just so hard to focus on anything else when we are like that, when you're with me. We can take this as slow as you want"

you pulled him for a kiss in response, breaking it as you smiling against lips, and he moaned softly, slipping his hands under your shirt, caressing your soft skin.

"i want this. you. Right here, right now, But I also don't want to hurt you so tell me what you want, darling." he whisper in your ear as his breath hit your neck, causing you to shiver.

"i want you, please" you whined and pulled him into another kiss as your tongue begged for entrance in his mouth. he let out a soft involuntary moan, as his caresses on your back got faster. His tongue danced with your and he began to grind on you, making you feel the hard bulge in his jeans that rubbed your throbbing pussy, until you pulled away from the kiss breathlessly, pushing him up by his chest, reaching to his shirt, playing with a soft fabric slowly. He sat up on his knees in front of you between your legs, taking off his shirt. You looked up at him, slowly placing the balm of your hand on his chest, tracing your finger over it to his stomach. He let out a low groan while he watched you trace your fingers over his chest, his muscles tensed under your touch.

"you're killing me honey" He whispered, moving closer to you as he kissed your neck slowly, then he sat up again as his hands found their way between your legs. Should undo your bra, or maybe start with these pants?" he teased, and sprung his claws out, moving them swiftly above you, tearing off your clothes.

"i loved that set" you pouted and he smirked

"i'll get you new ones" he pulled your clothes off your body, tossing them away on the floor with his shirt.

He smirked when he saw the blush on your face when you looked away, leaning down to your neck. "don't be shy baby" he whispered, before tracing kissed down your collarbone.

you moaned softly, moving your hands to caress his back softly and he let out a sigh against your skin. His hands found your thighs as he rubbed them slowly, kissing lower and lower. His kisses and nibbles reached your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth, swirling and sucking around it while he groped the other one with his hand, pinching the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly.

"I love you, so much" He showered your stomach with smooches and pecks, until his mouth found your slit, running his tongue through your wetness, humming in satisfaction. "so wet baby" he flicked your clit with his tongue as you struggled to answer him back, running your fingers through his hair as you pulled them gently. He took one of his hand, wrapping it around my waist to keep me down while he slid a finger in you with the other, slowly and gently, causing you to moan softly.

he sucked your clit harder making you pull his hair tightly, causing him to moan which vibrates against your pussy as his fingers go faster, feeling you clench around them, sucking them in. "Fuck Isaac" you whined. "i'm so close" you whispered, wondering if he even heard you, then he confirmed as he added a finger in, moving his fingers in a scissoring motion, stretching you out as you pull his hair tighter. "Isaac!" you warned, and he understood as you reached your climax, coating his fingers with your cum while he kept his gaze on you then he pulled them out, lapping at your pussy hungrily, taking in your juices.

"you're so sweet baby" he moved up to kiss you as you taste your own arousal. He pulled away from the kiss and you bit your lip, panting for air and you moved your hand to his head, pulling him back down to kiss you, you couldn't get enough of him.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you guys liked this 🎀

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rainyv-skies · 1 year

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Dear friend; The Weeping Monk / Reader , Isaac Lahey / Reader

Fandom: Teen Wolf/ Cursed

Story summary: reader is a universe traveler who can enter through different alternate worlds. She meets and bonds with Isaac Lahey in the Teen Wolf universe and recalls her times and dear friend in the Medieval fey world, set in the Cursed universe with The Weeping monk. She remembers her last memories together with the monk, but was it really her time with him? Isaac seems to resemble someone she knew long ago.

Notes: I stood up all night writing this, no exaggeration. If this is not decent , I apologize. This was a very spontaneous idea and I had not written and published something to the public in a longgg time. Anyways, this is sort a cross over au and reincarnation type of thing between The Weeping monk and Isaac Lahey, and a bit of a hint of soulmate au. I hope it makes at least a little sense lmao, I struggled whether the relationship between the reader and Lancelot should be platonic or romantic so I settled on putting it between the lines so the readers have different perspectives . Enjoy , hearts and feedback is very much appreciated

Word count: 5300 ish??

—————————

“He meant a lot to me ,” (Y/N) divulged, keeping her tone quiet while her hands ddled with one another. Sat side by side, Isaacs ears perked at the reveal. His head tilted towards her and his eyes studied her far expression. “He was... good company. The best company. My dear friend,” She all but solemnly disclosed and her hands had stopped fiddling, Isaac took notice. She recalled the times of her old companion with a heavy heart, having not spoken of the formal Weeping Monk in a while. It had been some time since her adventure in the world of Fey and Man, the fighting and survival still fresh in her memory. “He was dear to me. We never spoke of our relationship. We both understood that we meant a great deal to one another. He protected me, he made sure I was ok and he absolutely refused whenever I tried to do the same.” A small smile curled her lips and she huffed a chuckle as she shook her head. Isaacs eyes led astray from her, now casted down at their shoes.

He tried imagining this friend (Y/N) seemed to hold close to her heart. What was he like? Sure, from what (Y/N) told him he was protective and hated relying on (Y/N) . But what else? His heart tugged when the question was raised. “The git was always so difficult when it came to someone else looking out for him. I had to force him most of the time, but we grew very close. Very close. ” (Y/N) inhaled deeply and exhaled then pulled her knees up, propping her elbows on them. The air became sad, and Isaac could smell the sadness slowly seeping from her, but a small hint of...nostalgia. “It was a very different time then, Isaac. Very medieval, and magical. I suppose you wouldn’t feel so out of place there, huh.” Isaac looked back up at her , raising his eyebrows quizzically at the jest. (Y/N) looked over to him and met his eyes with a grin playing at her lips, a twinkle in her eyes. His own grin pulled at his lips in response. (Y/N)’s grin faltered slightly,his smile igniting a sense of familiarity in her brain, though she couldn’t place her finger on it.

He turned his head back forward and leaned his head against the wall, letting out a sigh.

“Ok, I turn into a full blown werewolf during a full moon. I get it.” he retorted and (Y/N) let out a chortle, brushing her train of thought away. She bumped his shoulder with his own and Isaac reciprocated the action. A silence hung in the atmosphere among the two and (Y/N) mind went back to thinking, discreetly taking a glance at his face while Isaac wondered about the mysterious friend of (Y/N). Isaac waited with a bated breath and he wondered if his curiosity was worth sating, but the question sitting at the tip of his tongue itched to be spoken. He didn’t want to intrude on deep history, especially one that seemed so emotionally sensitive to (Y/N). The tug in his heart didn't let up, almost like it was urging him to ask the question.

“What..” The question faltered on his lips in hesitation, (Y/N) looked away in time but glanced at him and hummed in acknowledgment. Isaac gathered his question, his mouth opening to ask once again. “You never mentioned his name. What..what was his name?” Isaac asked softly, looking over to the girl whose head was still turned forward. Initially , he thought he shouldn’t have asked in the first place because the far away look took over Y/N)’s eyes. He gulped.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. I shouldn't have,” Isaac stammered and (Y/N) shook her head. “No,” (Y/N) said softly, although her eyes still held the same expression. “It's ok.” She reassured him. It was a long time since she had spoken his name, and recalled the time when she and Lancelot were riding on Goliath - his horse and another friend of (Y/N)’s - through the forest. At that time, they had not known much of each other, but a small friendship had unknowingly begun to start.

—

Green trees and lush grass filled (Y/N)’s hazy view as she slowly came to after dozing off. Her body rocked as Goliath trotted through the forest, birds chirped and the buzzing of flies surrounded her. She blinked and lifted her head, taking in her surroundings. She noticed the reins were loosely held on from a pair of hands, of which were also circled loosely around her waist.

“Good nap, girl?” The monk's deep and raspy voice quipped from behind her, startling (Y/N) slightly.

(Y/N) grumbled in annoyance and rolled her eyes, although embarrassed of dozing off. She hoped she hadn’t almost fallen off the horse during her short nap, the monk probably would have had to make sure she didn’t. Although, she secretly knew he wouldn’t have minded letting her fall off.

“Shut it. Who wakes someone up before the sun even rises.” She shot at him, shuffling in her spot. God, her ass was numb. The monk smirked, amusement filling him.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep?” The monk took everything in him not to chuckle at (Y/N)’s stiffened posture, his eyes set on the path ahead of them.

“I do not snore!” She growled and felt her ears heat up. She knew she snored in her sleep. Dear god, why had she fallen asleep?! The monk let out a small sarcastic hum with a smile on his lips.

(Y/N) let out an exasperated huff, her head falling forward slightly.

“Ok, so I snored in my sleep. What about it Monk ?” (Y/N) said sharply , rolling her eyes once again. The monk chuckled, deciding that he was amused enough from the interaction. All that was heard now was the annoying buzzing of the flies and Goliaths hoofs pounding on the ground beneath them, and the occasional bird. (Y/N) grew restless and the numbness had not disappeared from her ass. She shuffled once again, jostling the Monk's forearms in the act. The monk glanced at her but continued to let Goliath trot forward. (Y/N) huffed and shuffled again hoping to ease the painful ache that was now spreading to her thighs, the monk sighing as she did so.

“Stop moving.” The monk said and (Y/N) grunted.

“Can we take a break? My ass is numb.” She murmured the last part, trying to shift some feeling back into her bottom. The monk snorted, debating whether he should stop. The next stop wasn't going to be for another day and the sun was beginning to set, so he decided to just set up a fire and camp for the night. Goliath needed a break anyways. He pulled on the reins, bringing Goliath to a stop and setting his foot on the stirrup , swinging his leg and dismounting off of Goliath. (Y/N) let out a sigh of relief but came to a realization she’d have to get off as well. She looked down at the ground on both sides, obviously seeming unsure of how she should get off. She supposed she could just slide off of the beast of a horse, but the numbness had made her legs stiff. This was going to be a bit awkward. The monk took notice, his blue eyes gazing up at her with an eyebrow raised.

She glanced at him and back at the ground.

“Um..” She started and the monk could’ve snickered, but held off.

“Take your time, girl.” The monk smirked. (Y/N) ignored him, figuring out how she should go about it without falling on her ass in front of him. Frankly, she could’ve asked for help, but she knew the monk would see it as a satisfaction. So no. She wasn’t going to ask for help. Awkwardy, she scooted back on the seat and gripped onto the saddle, carefully bringing her leg to the same side the Monk was. She leaned on the saddle, preparing to slide off. Problem was, when she looked down there was no way she was going to jump off, not at how far the ground seemed to be. She was now leaning on the seat with her legs dangling on the side, gripping on for dear life. She grunted, her foot trying to find the stirrup in panic as her weight slowly started to pull her down. The monk had crossed his arms, watching silently in amusement as she struggled to find the stirrup.

“Do you need assistance?” He asked as she continued to struggle.

“No. I'm fine. Just..just,” (Y/N) trailed off as she had finally found the stirrup. She let out a small grunt and started to descend to the ground. The monk took a step towards her for if she were to fall, he would be able to catch her. Thankfully , she landed on the ground on both feet with a ‘hup’. She turned towards him with a triumphant smile. The monk looked at her and held his breath, trying to keep his composure intact. He nodded his head and cleared his throat, sidestepping from (Y/N) to adjust the saddle.

“We’ll set up camp. Stay for the night and start riding at dawn.” He grabbed the pack from the saddle and led Goliath towards the camping area he had spotted a little deeper into the forest. (Y/N) replied with an ‘ok’ and followed closely behind.

Shortly after, a fire was started and frogs croaked into the night. The sun had set and stars twinkled in the dark sky, (Y/N) was eating the packed bread and some rabbit meat the monk had hunted. He was quite skilled at hunting, she had to give him that. The monk leaned on a log opposite from (Y/N) across the fire, maintaining the steel sword he owned. The sword he used that claimed many fey lives. (Y/N) swallowed down her food and looked up at the weeping monk, studying the way his eyes focused on his sword, the cloth held in his hand gliding down across the steel. (Y/N) licked at her lips and cleared her throat. The monk glanced up at her but returned his gaze to his sword.

“Are you going to eat something?” (Y/N) asked, furrowing her eyebrows. The monk gave no immediate answer but continued to wipe his blade. (Y/N) waited for a reply, staring at him.

“No. You eat, and then sleep. I will keep watch.” The monk replied a moment after, putting his sword back into the sheath. (Y/N)’s frown deepened. “Keep watch? You need to sleep and eat. We’re traveling early.” (Y/N) shook her head in disagreement and set the food aside the cloth that laid in her lap. The monk looked up at her, his hood slightly concealing his face.

“Do not worry. It will be fine.” The monk replied, staring right at (Y/N). (Y/N) sighed. Of course he was going to be stubborn about it. Gathering the food in the cloth, she stood up. The monk watched her closely, his eyebrows pinching together slightly in question. His eyes continued to follow until she stood in front of him, now holding out the cloth of food. He glanced at the food and back up at her in confusion. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows and shook the food in her hand.

“Take it.” (Y/N) said, shaking her hand once again when the monk didn't react. The monk pulled a face at her and she rolled her eyes. She gave him a deadpanned look.

“I'm not offering, I’m commanding. I'm not gonna catch you if you faint on the horse from lack of sleep and food. Now, take it. Or else.” She threatened. In truth, she had no idea what she was gonna do. Shoving the food down his throat was not an option. He would probably throw her into the fire.

Much to (Y/N)’s surprise (and relief) the monk reluctantly grabbed the food from her hand and glanced at her. The whole time, he was silent, not expecting the kind action. It stirred something unfamiliar and warm in his chest at the action. He had never once in his life had someone be so kind to him, having spent most of his time massacring fey, he felt like he didn’t deserve such kindness at all.(Y/N) knew what kind of things he did, and still does for that matter. He set the food down and cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” he quietly said, setting his sights down on the ground. (Y/N) smiled in success.

“You're welcome, Monk.” She turned around and made her way back to her spot across from his. She sat down on the blanket and stared at the fire, letting the sound of crackling fire and frogs take over. She was comfortably sitting in the silence, the warmth of the fire giving her some contentment in the cold night. The monk looked at her over the fire and stared intently. The question still hung in his mind and for a while he wondered. For a good five minutes he wondered while (Y/N) sat in silence.

(Y/N) and he had been traveling together for a while, it was his responsibility that had fallen on him after Father commanded to ‘keep the odd woman under his watch’ after she had appeared seemingly from nowhere dressed in odd clothes for a woman, immensely confused and in shock. It was an odd relation, if he could call it that. But she had helped him in many ways. Stitching his wounds that he gained when protecting her and even that one incident when the lashes on his back had grown infected causing him to fall ill. (Y/N) watched over him during his fever. After the horrifying near death incident, (Y/N) had made it her mission she would take care of him when he took care of her. It felt wrong at first; her taking care of him. It often made it difficult to complete his missions, the bond was risky. Father would most certainly banish her from his life would he figure out that his most trusted warrior was becoming soft for a random woman, he was a monk. The Weeping Monk. But, he decided to keep it a secret. Deception was a sin and every day he feared for the girl. But never for himself. Though they often spited each other, she lightened the days and made them less dull, always finding a way to make him laugh every once in a while. He stuck around and made sure she was ok when she became confused again until she wasn’t. It was like clockwork, it became their nature. He cared for the girl. She meant a great deal to him. It was apparent she cared for him too. Their bond was completely natural. Maybe one day she would be his biggest regret, but he didn’t seem to think so cautiously about it anymore.

Suddenly, he spoke, causing (Y/N) to switch her gaze at him in surprise, most certainly caught of guard.

“Lancelot.” He said. And for a while (Y/N) was silent, still staring at him with a caught off guard expression. A moment later, (Y/N) responded.

“What.” (Y/N) finally said . The monk looked at the fire, avoiding the stare (Y/N) gave him, growing slightly nervous at the attention.

“Lancelot,” He repeated himself but firmly this time. He continued, adding more description to his words.

“ A long time ago, my name was Lancelot.” He said, crossing his cloak covered arms over his midsection. (Y/N)’s eyes widened slightly , stunned from the reveal. She slowly recovered from the shock and soaked in the new information.

She said his name in her head, testing it out. It was quite nice. Medieval, of course, but nice.

Huh. I like it. She thought.

“Lancelot.” She echoed, and the name felt foreign on her tongue. The newly learned name gave her a new perspective of the Monk, but it was growing on her already. The monk returned his gaze to her upon hearing his name, and it did sound strange - having not heard his own name being spoken from another person in a very long time, it would take time to adjust to hearing it once again. Now, to think of it, he didn’t mind hearing it from her. It felt like a breath of fresh air and a small weight was lifted from him. Who knew telling someone his true name would’ve given him some sort of relief in his damned life. Although, it unsettled him slightly. (Y/N)s eyes swiftly shifted over to him smirking. At this, his eyes narrowed at her, waiting for whatever would spill out of her mouth.

“Have you gone soft on me, Lancy?”

The monk let out an elongated sigh.

Shouts of men were heard from a far distance and the sound of multiple feet pounding on the ground pushed Lancelot further and further, stumbling in his path as he urged (Y/N) forward. They both rushed to find his horse, away from the paladin camp. His arm clutched at his side which bled and burned profusely, but the grip pulling at his sleeve kept him from passing out from pain and the concussion he had gained from the fight with the trinity guards. He barely made it out alive, had it not been for the distraction (Y/N) gave of which worked to his advantage.

“Come on, Lancelot! Keep going!” (Y/N) cried, her voice wavering as she tugged his arm. His chest fell up and down, heaving out breaths. His footing lost balance, tipping over an uneven muddy spot on the ground and fell down on one knee. His grip ripped from (Y/N) to catch himself before he fell completely on the wet ground. (Y/N) let out a small yelp and fell down on her knees, his fall taking her down with him. Bent over with his hand braced on the ground, he gasped from the pain and the utter exhaustion he felt. (Y/N) crawled over to Lancelot and grasped at his shoulders.

“Here, give me your arm.” (Y/N) grabbed the arm that held Lancelot up and put it over and around her shoulders. He grunted as he was pulled up, (Y/N) grunting in the process too from the sheer weight of him. “Christ, how much do you weigh?” She quipped through clenched teeth.

“Leave me.” Lancelot rasped, leaning on (Y/N). The voice of men grew closer, even their torches they carried seemed to be getting closer from the looks of it. Soon they would reach them and Lancelot was in no shape to ride a horse. He would most likely fall off. He would be dead weight.

“What? No! Are you crazy?! You're coming with me!” (Y/N) protested and pulled him along towards the horse. Lancelot let out a pained moan as his deep wound continued to bleed and ache terribly. He was sure he was seeing black spots from blood loss and the concussion.

“Over there!” A red robed monk shouted far from behind them. (Y/N) gasped and looked behind. They were getting closer. She turned back around, fastening their pace even more than last time.

“Hurry, Lancelot! The horse is right there!” Lancelot could hear the men coming closer and closer, their torches more visible and their stomps became louder.

“(Y/N).” he pleaded her name, although (Y/N) kept going, ignoring his plea.

Through (Y/N)s struggling and Lancelot’s wheezing, they had finally made it to Goliath who waited for their arrival. (Y/N) adjusted the saddle and with shaking hands she untied the rope from the tree. Lancelot fell to the ground on his knees a few feet away from (Y/N), beside Goliath when she had gone to untie the rope. He panted, his head hanging down. From behind them , Lancelot could hear the groan of a string being pulled back. He turned quickly at that, and his eyes widened at the archer that stood further away had begun to draw an arrow towards (Y/N) which would no doubt hit her, though she hadn’t the slightest clue. With the remaining strength he had, Lancelot swiftly stood up and ignored the sharp burn and pain in his side. It did nothing to stop him from grabbing a dagger from the pouch that Goliath carried on his saddle and hurling it towards the archer, using his whole body to throw the dagger with a yell. The dagger flew in the air and embedded itself in the stomach of the archer. He fell to the ground in shock and fell to the floor moments later.

(Y/N) gasped and had spun around to see what had happened, her eyes landing on the fallen body and Lancelot who was completely hunched over the ground, moaning in pain. (Y/N) rushed over to him and pulled him up to his knees. She fell to her knees, grabbing his face when his head lolled back while in a daze. She forced him to look at her, using her hands to hold his face upright.

“Lancelot! Hey!” She slapped his face hard enough to bring his attention to her. His eyes were half lidded and his forehead dripped blood down to his chin and over (Y/N)’s hands, but she couldn’t care about the blood. She scanned his body for new wounds that he could’ve possibly got from the encounter but found none. Good. She needed him to stay awake and alive.

“Listen to me, you need to get on the horse.” She commanded him, and she wasn't too sure if he could even comprehend what she was saying by the dazed look in his eyes. She wiped away the blood that dripped down his eyebrow.

“You hear me? Get on the horse, I’ll help you.” She spoke in a rush and tugged him up to his feet roughly, jerking him forward and onto Goliath. He yelped in pain , clutching his wounded side and found purchase on the saddle, barely holding himself up with (Y/N)’s help. There was no way he’d be able to get on the horse if he couldn’t even hold himself up.

“(Y/N)-” Lancelot weakly spoke, but (Y/N) shouted and cut him off, sending him a sharp glare.

“NO Lancelot! Get on the fucking horse!”

He stared at her, the weakening becoming apparent in his eyes. She searched his eyes with rage, but it slowly shifted to a sorrow filled expression. Her lip starting to quiver as tears pooled in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat.

“Please,” her voice cracked as she choked out. “Don’t do this.” She begged. Lancelot's heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the plea, his eyes squeezed shut and hung his head towards the ground. He shook his head.

“No, petal. I cannot go further.” He rasped.

A small sob from (Y/N)’s throat.

“I'm not leaving without you!.” (Y/N) declared, gripping his shoulder. Lancelot shook his head once again and grasped her hand that gripped his cloak , looking up at her through his lashes.

“I'm going to die, (Y/N). One way or another. But I'm not going to get you killed in the process. I'm too weak. You have to leave me, flower.” he pleaded, looking earnestly into (Y/N)s teary eyes. Her nose was red, her eyes were red and her lip couldn’t stop quivering. She whined and shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks.

“No, we can run away! We can! W-we can leave right now Lancelot, just get on the horse!” She cried out in desperation. Lancelot growled lowly in frustration, shouting out to (Y/N).

“No, (Y/N)!” He shouted. His eyes were furious as he stared (Y/N) down. She cried as she looked right back at him, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. He couldn’t leave with her, not even if he tried. He would die anyway, from his wounds or the men that are certainly making their way to them. He couldn’t get on the horse, let alone to keep himself standing up. He was too weak and too heavy for (Y/N) to carry. They would kill him first if he were to escape, knowing he was already mortally injured. He would slow down (Y/N), and then kill they would kill her. He could not let that happen.

“I am too injured, too heavy. Too weak. And even if I were to get on the horse, I would lose consciousness and slow you down. They will kill me and then you. I cannot go.” He firmly explained to her, his bloody hand gently caressing her neck and trailing up to her cheek, smearing blood along her skin. He was losing time, he noticed. His gaze softened, his throat closing too. He pulled (Y/N) into his chest who immediately drew her arms around him and hugged him tightly, crying into his gray surcoat. He stifled a groan that threatened to escape him from the impact of the tight embrace, but regardless of the pain, he wrapped an arm across her back and cradled her head. He pressed his lips firmly to the crown of her head while (Y/N) continued to cry in his chest.

“It’s ok, girl. You will be ok.” Lancelot whispered. At that , (Y/N)s cried harder and buried her face deeper into his chest and gripped onto his back. He cherished the precious moment, knowing it would be the last. After some time had passed, he pulled her apart from him and pushed (Y/N) toward Goliath. She almost protested, after having been pushed away from his embrace but He jerked his head toward Goliath, hunching over as he held his side and urging (Y/N) to mount the black horse.

“Go. Quickly. They are coming.’’ He pushed her back towards the horse, forcing her to mount Goliath who brayed and shook his head. He fastened the saddle once (Y/N) had pulled herself up the horse with his help, tugging at the straps and grabbing the reins. (Y/N) sniffled and wiped at her eyes roughly, though the tears kept coming. Lancelot had grabbed her hands with his hand, still holding onto the saddle to support himself and put the reins within her hands, closing them around the leather. He looked up at her with his cold hand covering her own, gripping them.

(Y/N) looked down to him from the horse, and her eyes locked onto his blue ones. Once again, she couldn’t help the tears falling and her lower lip curling, knowing this too, was going to be the last time she saw him. She hiccuped and Lancelot brought her hand towards his chapped lips, kissing her knuckles while he kept his eyes locked on hers.

“I am not afraid, so do not fear for me, petal. Death does not scare me. Be brave. Be strong. I will always watch over you. And if I cannot, I will find a way.” He promised to (Y/N), and she nodded her head slightly. “You are my salvation, (Y/N). ” He declared, holding a meaningful gaze with her. They held eye contact for a few seconds and (Y/N) quickly leant down to his face and pressed her lips to his cheek. She broke apart from him and stared down at him, speaking the best she could with her shaking voice.

“I care deeply for you, Lancelot. I'll miss you. Greatly.” Lancelot’s face slowly broke into a smile, a smile that reached his eyes and revealed his teeth, and the sight was cruel. Bloody, bruised and cruel, yet beautiful. “And I you, petal.” He responded softly, silence taking over as he stared deeply at (Y/N).

His eyes snapped towards the sound of men shouting and fire blowing, having now caught up to them. They approached from the trees and pointed to the pair, yelling at one another to catch them.

“Hold on!” He shouted and (Y/N) nodded her head quickly, her grip tightened on the rains and Goliath surged forward when Lancelot gave Goliath a smack to his behind, the horse letting out a squeal from the action. (Y/N) looked at Lancelot, committing his face in her memory one last time, him doing the same before Goliath took off in a bolt. (Y/N) let out a scream of fear, but held onto Goliath as he galloped away. The horse was fast, unbelievably fast. For a minute, she rode Goliath but turned back to watch Lancelot. He grew further and further away, turned towards her as watched her ride away until she forced herself to rip her eyes from the view when he turned towards the paladins, dropping to his knees. Surrendering.

And that was the last time she saw him. Her beloved friend.

—

(Y/N) breathed softly, her heart clenching at the memories. Isaac stared at her in silence, giving her a moment to herself before she spoke. He heard the soft beating of her heart and leaned closer to her body, their shoulders pressed against each other.

“Take your time, petal.” He reassured her and looked ahead. (Y/N)’s eyes snapped towards him at the name and stared at him, too stunned to say anything which caused Isaac to look back to her in alarm.

“What’s wrong? Did I say something?” He questioned with a frown on his face. (Y/N) stared into his blue eyes , slowly taking in his features. They were almost similar to Lancelot’s. Almost too similar. Excluding the moustache and the long hair that was always tied in a bun. Don’t forget the Ash folk marks. The tear marks under Lancelot’s eyes. And Isaac. The blue eyes, the youthful shape of his face, his lips, his smile. Everything. At first she thought it was just a crazy coincidence. A lot of people look alike, and quite frankly there's a shit ton of people alone in one world and in addition to many other worlds. Shit, she can even enter other worlds somehow and that was crazy enough, but the resemblance was uncanny….

(Y/N)s eyes widened as she looked back into his eyes and Isaac continued to watch her as she stared at him, his ears even turned red at the attention.

“Lancelot...” She whispered in astonishment as she gazed at Isaacs face again. He heard the beat of (Y/N)’s heart start to pound, and her scent became an overwhelming smell of emotions. Love, sadness, immense happiness.

He blinked at her.

“What.” He muttered, eyes wide as he stared at her. He hadn’t heard her speak from the pounding of his heart and (Y/N)’s combined, completely thrown off as warmth enveloped him from the name she seemed to call him. This was so strange, he thought. Lancelot? Had he heard that name before?...

(Y/N) broke from her trance, clearing her throat she shook her head. Isaac too seemed to break from the trance, now hazy as confusion filled his mind. What was happening to him?

“His name..” (Y/N) began softly, looking at him intently with prying eyes. Isaac listened, staring at her as well, waiting for her to nish as he held his breath.

“His name was Lancelot.” She finished quietly, watching his expression. Hearing the name, a sudden electricity shot through him and a ringing deafened him. He yelped in pain and covered his ears as the high pitched ringing blared in his ears. Suddenly, a rush of jumbled words echoed in his ears, like a sped up record replaying over and over again.

“... petal…Death...be brave...Always watch over you..can't...will find a way..”

Isaac yelled out in pain, grabbing at his head and curling into a ball, the jumble of words giving him a splitting headache. It hurt. It hurt so bad he wanted to tear his eyeballs out and rip out his hair. But eventually, It had started gradually slow, the echos fading away until it had completely stopped. Moments passed.

Until another loud echo of a whisper in his ears.

“You are my Salvation.”

That seemed to have Isaac collapse, like a button was pressed and the lights flickered off , black slowly creeping up in the corner of his vision. He saw a glimpse of (Y/N) kneeling over him, her frightened face fading to another image of her bloodied and despaired tear filled face. Back and forth, like flashes.

“Lancelot!” Was the last thing he heard before blacking out.

#the weeping monk #the weeping monk x reader #Lancelot #cursed #Isaac Lahey #Isaac lahey x reader #teen wolf #fanfiction #angst

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leftingbadly · 3 months

Text

holy man. | the weeping monk

After fighting for his life against a woman he once knew as a child, imagery of a burning village rushed to the forefront of his mind, and the weeping monk was forced to face one of his greatest regrets.

pairing: the weeping monk x ofc

An unloving embrace took hold of him, the cold chill of the forest settled within his body and the trees whispered their unwelcome, his bones rattled beneath a dead gaze and on his knees he stood before her, as she had once stood before him, defenseless and broken.

“Are you so afraid?” Her voice taunted him from behind shut eyelids, whispering the words he had seethed to her ages ago, when he was just a child and she was younger than that, and he had driven a sword through the flesh and bone of her mother and set her home afire with the flames of God, and drums bellowed so loudly in his ears he was sure death would embrace him.

“Not of you, you witch.” Despite his anger, his pain and his remorse, practiced words slipped from his mouth, the prayer rolled from his lips like metal against glass and his teeth shuddered as they slipped through, “God will protect me.”

“And yet your voice wavers,” her laughter began again, withered and bruised, “You have forsaken your own people for a God in whom you barely trust!” A disbelieving scoff, he blanched from her words, thought but never spoken aloud, he reveled in the truth of it, he cradled it to him as though they were the last truthful things he would ever hear, but he did not show it. He knew the punishment of hesitance towards Him.

“I do not fear you, devil-kin.”

“Devil-kin!” She crouched before him, “What then does that make you? Are you saved, oh holy man? Are you relinquished of the grasp the devil once held you in? Hear how the trees moan their anger,” she tilted his head up, her hands as equally bloodied as his face, “behold the forest, through those weeping eyes, and hear how your past rejects you.” A gaping hole formed within the bottom-most pit of his stomach, a hole that would swallow him from the inside. He shut his eyes to the sway of the trees, and steeled his skin from the wind of the forest.

“Please…” his voice had never sounded so broken to his ears, not before the Father with is whips and hot swords, never before the guards that had beaten him when he was young, yet before this woman now, who peeled his skin from his bones and throttled his soul, he felt the forest within him again, the woods that called to him, he felt it hard and clamoring and claiming, oh how it claimed him.

She stood an arms length from him, strong arms held onto a bloodied sword, and a heaving chest hosted a broken soul, she was as lost as he was, he saw, as broken, as pained. He wished to be anyone but himself then, and he wished she was anyone but herself. In that way, in any ounce of what good may befall broken souls, they could have saved each other’s souls from what evil had been wrought into it. She inhaled deeply, and the grip on her hilt tightened, “Pray to your God then, holy man,” she raised the blade above her head, “and behold your abandonment.”

#cursed #tv show #tv series #the weeping monk #Daniel Sharman #the weeping monk imagine #the weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk x oc #merlin #fantasy #writing #books #literature #authors #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

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themuselesswriter · 9 months

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The Monk’s Wife - Chapter 7: An Amused Queen

Characters: Lancelot Du Lac, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Squirrel

Summary: Tarja takes a day off to spoil her husband but Squirrel doesn't really allow them any peace, especially after he notices the bruises on Lancelot.

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: implied abuse

A/N: This fanfic has been becoming more of a night-time imagination than a well constructed work that makes sense, it will only get weirder from here so enjoy!

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

--------------------------Teaser--------------------------

The next morning Tarja woke up with a headache, she looked around at the state of the house, it was a mess, broken furniture everywhere, a few drops of blood, she recalls nothing “Lancelot” she called, but he did not answer, her heart raced, someone broke in and hurt him! Who would dare! She rushed to search for him, he wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal, nor in the bedroom, at last, she decided to search for him in the second room and that’s when she saw him, sitting in a corner, hugging himself, he was barely visible “Lancelot?” she asked worried.

He lifted his head up and looked at her, she rushed to him and knelt next to him “Lancelot, are you alright? Who did this?” She asked once she noticed the dried blood on his face, he flenched as she reached out to examin it “I’m sorry, alright? I wish if I had the courage and the understanding to end my life, I sadly didn’t and I couldn’t! I will leave just like you requested” he wept, the woman looked confused “I don’t understand, why would you want to leave?” She frowned.

The weeping one looked at her confused for a moment “because you don’t want me here” he replied, she looked even more puzzled “what makes you say that? I just pardoned you, I want you here, of course i do! You are my husband!” The man opened his mouth to speak but he was uncertain of what to say, this was beyond odd “do you not recall yesterday?” She shrugged “I got drunk and I assume fell on the ground asleep” She truly remembers nothing, none of the hatred nor the beating “what happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Who did it?” She asked “y-you” She blinked a few times, she recalls nothing of last night.

That’s when it hit her, Tate, he intoxicated her, she groaned “I’m sorry about whatever happened yesterday but it wasn’t me, I swear it” she assured him, he looked confused “my people… we manipulate fire and intoxicate thoughts, if the brain loses control which I assume happened by the hands of ale! I apologize, I never meant to hurt you” She said softly “this makes no sense” She nodded “I know but my brother… Tate, I suppose he used his powers on me yesterday and made this happen, it is a rare gift that he alone holds” she huffed.

#original character #fanfics #netflix cursed #cursed lancelot #lancelot du lac #the weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk #original fiction #museless fanfic #sir percival #squirrel #cursed squirrel #gawain #the green knight #ao3fic #ao3 writer

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everlastingdreams · 5 months

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The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 1

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Caged

Notes: I'm so nervous. Also, tumblr is messing up the way the text is posted so yeah...

Warnings: Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn...

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter: 1/ It's a secret.

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Your mind had entered into a world it had created for itself. A world that did not include being owned or being hurt.

From afar, you heard the heavy door be closed and locked.

In this wretched place were only locks… one by one, all meant to keep you from ever reaching the world outside this room again.

The world…

As you sat on your hands and knees to recover, you felt the call of nature through the stone ground.

The silver pattern of leaves spread from your palms to your whole hand.

Was it night? Was it day?

No windows offered you any sights of the world outside the room they kept you in.

A candle, one might believe it was left with you out of pity, burned in the center of the room.

When the door was shut, that candle was your only source of light and the only thing to keep you warm.

You crawled towards it, sitting yourself beside the flame to study it’s every move for there was nothing else there to entertain you.

How much time had passed since these Manbloods, your captors, had brought you here? You did not know.

Weeks? Months? A year?

Obey and keep quiet.

Surrender and survive.

Your whole life you had tried to outrun them, the Brotherhood. The symbol they carried pinned on their clothing was feared by your kind.

The life of a Fey was worthless if not of service to these brothers, Ives and Hutch, who had imprisoned you.

Serve and be rewarded with the means to keep yourself alive.

Disobey and face the suffering.

Those were the options you had been given.

You laid down on the stone, eyes fixed on the dancing flame of the candle.

Some sleep to regain your strength, a moment to close your eyes and have your vision match the darkness surrounding you. A moment to escape this life of nightmares into one of dreams.

How much time had passed when you were awoken by the strange energy that seeped from the stone into your skin?

Something was coming…

No…

Someone.

You touched the floor, the faint whispers of the Hidden your new companions.

In the darkness, all you had was your connection to them, all your senses were attuned to it for there was nothing else your senses could be distracted by.

Closer…

By the power of the Hidden, every step of them was felt beneath your palm and your curiosity grew.

Who was this stranger that dared to enter this pitiable place?

Closer and closer, step by step…

They stopped…

The Hidden let you sense some things about who was dwelling inside the dungeon that led here.

Their heart was haunted by wickedness, much like this place, but different.

Something that had been lost in this dungeon, was still present in their heart.

Who was this? Who’s curious eyes had wandered into these walls covered by the blood from those who had been here before you?

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The Monk inhaled deeply, the scents of the forest filled his lungs.

This was the second time he had caught it here, that strange Fey scent he did not recognize.

Where was it coming from?

This time he dismounted Goliath to investigate where the faint scent came from.

Slowly he walked through the forest and let Goliath walk beside him. He came upon the ruins of a small fort that had once been there and thought nothing of it until the scent grew a little stronger.

He went closer to inspect it, would a Fey hide among these ruins?

After searching for a while, he found nothing and still the scent remained.

It wasn’t until he found the tracks in the grass nearby that he realized how it was possible.

A large trapdoor was hidden under a wooden plank he moved aside.

He opened the trapdoor and it uncovered a narrow stone stairway. Some light was visible coming from down there and he descended the steps.

What began as a narrow staircase, leaded down into an old dungeon. A long wide hall, with many closed doors at both sides. Old, but clearly been used as some torches on the walls were burning, just enough to cast a dim light in the dark path.

He followed the scent, which grew stronger with each step.

At the last door, the scent reached it’s height and the Monk knew he had found who dwelled in this forsaken place.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The sound of the padlock being broken and falling to the ground had you jump to your feet.

Someone was truly here. Out of precaution you backed away from the door as far as you could.

The light crept into the dark room as the door creaked open.

The shadow of the stranger outstretched into the room, the sword was ready in their hands.

They stepped into the room and when the light of your candle touched their face, you cowered back into a corner.

Out of all the people who could have stepped through that door, it had to be none other than the Weeping Monk?!?

Was this the end? Would your family ever find your bones in this long forgotten place?

He must have seen you cower away, and knew why.

When he had broken down the door, this was not what he expected to find.

A Fey girl, imprisoned in darkness.

Who had done this and why? Were you dangerous?

The Monk got closer with caution and you tried to move past him by moving along the wall.

He anticipated it happening and proceeded so you could never make it to the door.

The scent was something he did not recognize. Hundreds of Fey, and only for the second time he found one he could not identify.

When he had you cornered, he caught you by the throat and held you against the wall, the short sword was at your stomach.

“What Fey kind are you?” He demanded to know.

Silence fell over you like a protective cloak.

A low warning followed, “Answer my question, or I will hurt you.”

Your silence persisted and he enforced the warning by tightening his grip and pushing your head backwards against the stone wall.

From reflex and fear, you grabbed his wrist and beyond your own control a surge of your magic was released.

At the sight of your eyes flashing a bright green, and the feeling of something happening to his hand, he released you from his hold and took a couple of steps back.

With the light of the candle in the room the Monk was able to see the wound, that he had sustained on his hand the previous day, heal before his very eyes.

You seized the moment of his confusion and bolted to the door, making it into the hall before he caught you.

With the sword to your throat, he held you against his chest and in place. “How did you heal me?”

You were trembling from fear, facing the long tunnel that led to freedom.

When no answer came, he leaded you through it and up the stone steps.

The sun was setting, low sunlight hit your eyes and you winced from how intense it felt.

It blinded you for a while and when your vision began to adjust he had already reached his horse.

If you didn’t escape now, only the gods knew what would happen to you.

You struggled against him, by stepping on the side of his boot and giving a push, you made him trip to the ground. Unfortunately, he brought you down with him, too stubborn to let go off your arm.

The sword was at your throat instantly to threaten you into submission as he tried to rise to his feet but failed.

Down on your knees, you surprised him by fighting back even at the threat of the sword. You hit him across the face hard, stealing the sword from his hand as his grip on it had loosened for only a second. He tried to disarm you, you hit him in the stomach.

As he leaned away with a pained grimace you pushed hard against his side, and when he lost his balance and fell on his back, you got the upper-hand. The sword pointed down at his chest, you were trying to drive it through him but he used all his strength on your hands to try and prevent it.

The fury burned in you, the monster beneath you deserved nothing else but the cold of death.

His grip on your hands was bruising, it only spurred you on to sink the blade in him.

He moved.

That was all your brain registered as he used his leg to push against your knee.

That little lose of balance was all he needed to regain some control, he ripped one of your hands off of the sword, then stole it back.

He shoved you against the chest, and you started to scramble away from him hoping to make a run for it.

The bastard grabbed your ankle and roughly pulled at it, dragging you by the leg until you fell down face first.

You tried to get up, he pushed your head down by the back of your neck.

He held his hand there, forcing you to stay as you were. “I could break your neck.”

You felt him grab your arm and pin it behind your back.

The constant healing had made you weak, and fighting the Weeping Monk was tiring.

His thumb was pressing against your cheek. “Try such a thing again, and I will end your life. Do you understand?”

You kept still and refused to look up at him.

He pressed his thumb into your cheek, knowing it was hurting you, “Do you?”

You only nodded.

For a moment he seemed to contemplate if he was content with only a nod.

Once he was certain, he grabbed you by the back of your vest and wasn’t gentle when getting you up from the ground.

He kept your arm pinned behind your back, the blade of the sword remained at your neck.

He collected a rope from the saddle and used it to bind your hands together in front of you. “Follow the horse. Do not try to escape again, I will capture you and put you over the back of my horse instead.”

You glared at him for the threat and he gave the rope a tug.

When he mounted the steed and made you walk behind them, you looked back at the ruins of the fort.

How long before the Brothers found you again? Your powers had served them well. Over the past weeks they had forced you to heal them and anyone they brought you to heal. It had earned them a lot of coin.

If you refused, they starved you or hit you.

The bruise still healing on your left cheek was proof of it.

Often did you notice the Monk looking back at you now, of course he was curious as to who or what you were. People always were when they learned of your abilities.

Your kind was rare, it was possible he had never encountered or even heard of someone like you before.

While passing a low hanging branch, you spotted an apple just in reach.

You tried to pluck it from the tree and almost ended up falling when the horse had no intention to wait for you.

The apple soon vanished from your sight again and your stomach growled in massive protest.

Still exhausted from all the healing, this walk was not pleasant in the slightest. Two hours after the sun had gone down, you fell to the ground, your legs could no longer carry you.

Finally he halted the horse, looked back at you on the ground on hands and knees and decided to dismount.

You feared he would hurt you for this, but all he did was pull you to your feet albeit a bit roughly and made you sit down against a tree.

With another end of rope, he bound your waist to the tree.

It was time to rest some before journeying back to the camp.

He went over to his horse, took a piece of bread from the saddlebag and began to eat it.

You couldn’t help but look at the bread in his hand.

It had been so long since you had gotten something other than crumbs to eat.

This was torture of the mind and your empty suffering stomach.

He went to sit against a tree opposite of you.

Curiosity was getting the best of him it seems, because he began to interrogate you.

“Can you see well?” Upon seeing you frown, he clarified, “With those eyes.”

So he had seen the green glow overtake them back there in the dungeon.

Don’t speak… not a word…

The power inside you should not be known among all, enough of your kind had died when they were drained dry when forced to heal others.

You wore the silence like a cloak, preferring a quick death by the sword over feeling the life being sucked out of you while healing.

The Monk tilted his head, waiting for an answer that would not come.

Another question was fired, “Can you heal yourself?”

Did he plan on killing you and wished to know beforehand if there was a chance you could rise from the dead?

The ongoing silence hanged between you like shards of glass, cutting at your nerves without mercy.

Suddenly he put down the bread and stood, crossing the short distance he took out a dagger.

Your heart sank at the sight of it, he would test the theory himself…

The Monk circled you, knelt down let the blade cut the skin of your hand.

It didn’t feel as painful as you thought it would have been, like a rose’s thorn puncturing your skin.

He wait for a while, two drops of blood came out and then it stopped.

The small cut did not heal.

The power you had would not protect you.

You leaned away from him somewhat, uncomfortable with how close he was.

It did not stop him from questioning you further, “How many of your kind have you healed?”

So far he had not gotten a word out of you regarding your ability.

“Silence will not save you.” He said.

It slipped out of you, sharp as a sword, “My voice will?”

Finally.

He picked his words smart. “Your cooperation might.”

Right away you questioned it, “My cooperation?”

He stood again and returned to the tree to rest. “Father will decide if you are useful to us.”

This was the perfect opportunity to appease Father after the failures in capturing the Wolf Blood Witch. A girl who could heal the sick and wounded, the power to be undefeatable by the enemy presented itself.

Father would be very pleased.

Useful?

Was this just going to be another ‘dungeon’ situation?!?

It was enough to tick you off further. “Since when does Father Carden collect Feys for his own benefit? Does that not go against what all of you believe in?”

He proceeded to ignore the question and leaned back against the tree.

How could he be so calm in the presence of an enemy? Was this truly a day to day occurrence for him?!?

Minutes passed by and it was baffling how he appeared so certain that you were unable to escape that he had no trouble falling asleep.

While you sat there staring at him in disbelief, and somewhat nauseous from the stress this had caused. The hunger topped it off completely, especially when you saw the bread discarded and forgotten on the ground next to him.

Someone had not been facing the hunger forced upon the Fey…

Your stomach growled merciless and your mind made up different scenarios where you broke free and ate the bread he had so wastefully forgotten about.

The clouds shielded the moon’s light and damned the forest to the darkness.

A branch snapped nearby and drew your attention. The owl you had heard a minute ago suddenly flew away.

Someone was nearing…

What were you to do? Wake the Monk, or hope that whoever was coming would be your rescue?

When the footsteps now grew audible, that choice was taken from you. It had awoken him from his shallow slumber.

He was listening for the sounds that had led the owl to flee and locked eyes on you, with a finger to his lips he signaled for you to be quiet.

What were the chances that they could defeat the notorious Weeping Monk in a fight?

Part of you really wanted to scream out for help, but your conscience stopped you.

Quietly, he got to his feet and drew his sword.

He must have seen the flicker of hope in your eyes, because he came closer and covered your mouth with his hand while scanning the forest.

“Stay quiet. I will kill them if you call out.” He warned lowly.

A sound came from the opposite direction and the Monk became highly alert.

Were they surrounding him?

Not Fey, he would have caught their scent a while ago with the wind’s direction.

He let go off your face, giving a look of warning before hastily cutting loose the rope at your waist that bound you to the tree.

Once on your feet, the Monk dragged you along.

His attention was on the footsteps that were following.

There was no mistaking it anymore, they were here for him.

He backed you against a tree all of a sudden. “Do not move from here.”

There were so many strange noises coming from all around, if this man wanted to keep you alive for now, he could be the best chance on survival.

The Monk left you by the tree.

If you were to run, he would find you by your scent anyway.

You glanced at the horse, he noticed and gave a look of warning. The idea to steal the black steed was discarded.

He focused all his senses on the sounds coming from around him and walked away from you somewhat.

A rope shot out from behind the trees and caught the Monk around the neck.

He cut himself loose before the rope could tighten, an action the attackers must have hoped for as they ran out of the shadows and took the moment of confusion to attack him.

Even in the darkness you recognized them, your former captors had found you again.

The Brothers were hunters their whole lives, their tricks had been your downfall as well.

And now the Monk fell to their brutality too.

They were here for you, to take back what would bring them wealth for the rest of their lives, and to punish the thief who’d stolen you.

It was Hutch who used an axe to lunge at the Monk, who blocked the attack with his arm and the blade cut through the padded clothing. A dark spot soon appeared on the Monk’s sleeve, blood stained the fabric.

Ives wasted no time to aid his brother in battle and ruthlessly tackled the Monk to the ground.

This would not end well, if he lost they would drag you back to that dungeon.

Unless you ran and found a safe place to hide.

Fear overpowered all else and you fled away from the fight, it were the voices of the Hidden that made you stop and hide behind a tree.

Why were they trying to stop you from leaving?

These were monsters fighting among each other.

From a distance you could see that the Monk was on his feet and gaining the upper hand on them.

He kicked Hutch in the stomach, and elbowed Ives in the face when he tried to attack him from behind. The rope came in handy to him, because he caught Hutch around the neck with it.

The crack that followed sounded like the gate being slammed shut back in that dungeon.

Your stomach turned and you couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

Ives was cursing him out, not a word from the Monk came in response.

The fighting noise fell quiet like the drop of a rock. Silence overtook the forest once more and you held your breath.

Leaves were disrupted on the ground, crunching under the nearing footsteps.

The sound stopped not far from you, and you sneaked a glance from behind the tree.

The Monk held a hand against his side, looking quite confused.

Your sight fell on the dark liquid staining his hand.

One of them had stabbed a knife into his side, and he only noticed something was very wrong now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

It felt like his body began to burn inside, he could not take another step.

He was on his knees before it truly dawned on him how serious the injury was.

You came out from behind the tree and remained at a distance, wary of the one who had kept you captive as well.

He knew of your magic and what you were capable off.

Would he beg for life like others had done before him? You were expecting it to happen.

He looked in your direction and what struck you was that he did not look panicked. No, what you saw on his face was relief…

He fell over, the blood poured out of his side and caused the leaves on the ground to stick together.

Never did he call out for help, accepting of his fate.

When he stopped moving, you ran over to use a fallen sword to cut your hands loose from the ropes then you walked backwards slowly, still in fear that he would suddenly jump to his feet.

You turned to flee the place, the Hidden only let you run past a few trees before they showed their dismay.

The whispers grew so loud that it overwhelmed your every thought and brought you to your knees, your hands were covering your ears as if it would stop them.

“Please.” You begged them.

Whatever it was that they saw in the Monk, it was apparently worth tormenting you over.

But this man had killed so many of your kind, why did he deserve to live?

You defiantly refused. “Not him!”

The response they gave caused your markings to appear, and by the gods, the pain it brought was unspeakable.

It lasted until you surrendered to their will. “Please, stop! I will do as you ask!”

Their hold on your mind seized and left you gasping for air.

They would not be denied.

With trembling limbs you got up from the soil and returned to where you had left the Monk to die.

He laid motionless on the ground.

By placing a hand on his chest, you felt him take a shallow breath.

Why would the old gods insist that you save him? That you would weaken yourself further to help this monster?

Was this a test of your faith in them?

You placed both your palms on his chest and fought back the endless questions this brought into being.

By concentrating, the magic awoke and flowed through your veins into your skin. Your markings spread down your arms as the magic lured them out.

You knew it was healing him by how it was draining you of your energy instead.

It was not meant to last longer than a few seconds, but then you saw a green leaf pattern appear on the side of his face and on his hands.

The shock at the sight of it allowed him to heal further until you snapped out of it and scurried away.

No…no…no…

He was Fey?!?

How could he do this to his own kind?!?

You scrambled to your feet, appalled and confused by the discovery.

Had the Hidden wished for him to be healed only because he was Fey?

All that energy and strength lost for a traitor.

Usually you would take a moment to recover, but there was no time.

You stole his sword and when you went to steal his horse, the steed paced back and forth.

It was obvious that the horse would not let you mount and you gave up on the idea.

On foot you traveled into the darkness, getting as much distance between yourself and the Monk as possible.

Freedom was in your hands and you would not let it be stolen again.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @crystallizedtime @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing @labyrinthonmymind @asarcastic-thiamstan @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

#weeping monk #cursed netflix #cursed #weeping monk x reader #lancelot x reader #the weeping monk #weeping monk x you #cursed lancelot #lancelot #the weeping monk x reader #daniel sharman character #daniel sharman

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the-greatadventures · 1 year

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Devil’s Backbone: Weeping Monk x OC (Kalypso) {Part 2}

[Part 1]

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Kalypso’s P.O.V.

After my conversation with Gawain, I stormed off into the forest, intent on blowing off some steam by shooting arrows into the targets I had set up over the past few weeks.

The tears fell freely down my face, and I had barely been walking for 10 minutes before I collapsed onto the forest floor.

“Well, well, well. I didn’t expect to see the Fey archer out here, and crying as well,” a gravelly voice said from behind me. I spun around and saw the weeping monk standing in front of me.

“Lance,” I whispered, hopefully too quiet for him to hear, but I guess I was wrong. He bristled at the name.

“That’s not my name. At least not anymore,” he growled, “There’s only one person who has ever called me that.”

When he said that, I knew he was talking about me, “I know that Lance, but that’s your name. Your name isn’t the weeping monk, at least not to me,” I said as I walked closer to him.

He bristled again as I walked closer to him, his hand seemed to tighten on his sword. I didn’t stop walking towards him until we were standing chest to chest.

“Come any closer, and I swear down I will not hesitate to slit your throat archer,” he spoke under his breath.

“You won’t Lance, I know you too well,” I returned as I stepped even closer to him. He sucked in a breath, as I reached up to pull back his hood.

When I pulled off his hood, he just looked at me, as I reached my other hand up to his cheek. He leaned into my touch and closed his eyes.

“Only one person has been able to make me feel like this before, her name was Kalypso and we were betrothed to be married, but that was before our village was burned down,” I could hear the sadness in his voice, as he kept his eyes closed as if he was deep in thought and wanted to stay in the memory, “I don’t even know if she made it out alive or not. I know that if she was alive, she’d be ashamed of me and all that I've done to the fey.” “I am ashamed of you Lancelot, but I know that you did it because you were tricked and brainwashed. You had no other choice,” his eyes snapped open at my words, and he stared into my own, and I swore my heart skipped a beat.

“Kalypso?” He whispered with real tears in his eyes. All I could do was nod as tears threatened to fall down my own face. He brought our faces closer together, and once I could feel his breath on my lips, I closed the distance between us.

It felt like time had stopped as our lips met. We poured our emotions into the kiss. It would have lasted longer, had it not been for a branch breaking close to us. We pulled away from each other in fright.

Lancelot fearfully looked into the branches. He pulled the hood of his cloak back up and turned to walk away from me. He turned back towards me, “Until we meet again, Kal,” he whispered, and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. All I could do was stare at the space he used to stand.

Someone put their hand on my shoulder, and I grabbed their wrist and twisted it from my shoulder to behind their back.

“Okay, I get it Kalypso,” Gawain hissed in pain, as I let go of his arm, “I just came to see if you were alright after the conversation we had, obviously you don’t need looking after,” I knew he was referring to the fact that I had nearly dislocated his arm.

“I’m sorry for everything I said. Who am I to judge who you love.”

“It’s alright Gawain, I get it. If you were in love with someone on the opposite side to us, I might have reacted in a similar way,” I responded.

He slung his arm around me and turned us to walk back to the refuge, he started talking to me about something, but all I could think of was the kiss me and Lancelot shared.

“Until we meet again, Lancelot. My devil on the run.”

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

Taglist:

@dashkana @coco25 @padfootsworld @cece-lives-here @books-netflix-and-pizza @withered-poppies @rogershoe @of-all-things-crazy11 @princessmarsofearth @psychichologramgalaxy @afuckingdisasterreally @spoooyxxqueen @linkpk88 @fandomstuffff @chennyetomlinson

#cursed netflix #the weeping monk #the weeping monk imagine #weeping monk x oc #daniel sharman #daniel sharman imagine #daniel sharman x reader #daniel sharman x oc

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throped · 11 months

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The Weeping Queen // Weeping Monk x OC // Chapter 2

Nimue and I were walking down the trail to her village. My head was swirling, and I felt like I was going to faint. “Wait, I haven’t asked you for your name yet, what are you called?” Nimue asked. My voice was hoarse, but I still answered, “Dae.” She smiled at me but realised that I looked paler than the first time she met me. Cold ran through me and I shivered while feeling nauseous too. “Dae, are you okay?” Nimue worriedly asked. “I feel cold. Too cold,” I mumbled before my legs gave up and I dropped to the ground.

Great, I fainted.

***

A paining ache arose when I woke up. I quickly took in my surroundings. I was on a much softer surface this time, maybe a proper bed. The height of the room was quite low, reaching probably 1.5 metres. And when I looked below me, the ground wasn’t much of a pleasure. It was covered with stone as well as some specks of dirt. Just as I was looking around, I could hear the sound of people walking in, they were blurred as my vision still hadn’t adjusted to the amount of light. But as they came closer, I could recognise one as Nimue. At least there’s one familiar face. The other person was a lot older than Nimue, probably Nimue’s mother, I hope she didn’t mind me staying in her house. “Dae, you’re alright! You had me worried,” Nimue spoke up. I mustered up some strength and sat up in the bed and replied, “thank you for staying with me, I thought you’d leave me there,” I thanked her. The woman next to her rushed to ask me. “Dae, listen to me carefully, is it true, you just woke up in the forest? Nimue told me that you said you got transported from your world to ours,” the seemingly older woman asked. “Yes that’s true, I did wake up randomly in a forest. I’m not sure how though,” I replied with. “Thank the Hidden it is her. The one who was sent to us,” the older woman mumbled under her breath. “Listen Dae, I’m Lenore, Nimue’s mother and you’ve arrived, just as they said. Please reply honestly to this, have you touched anything ancient recently?” she asked. I stayed silent, I could only think of one time and that was when I touched the sword at the cash converters, but that obviously didn’t matter. Well, I guess I’ve got to say something and that is what I will say. “Uhm, yes I think. I may have touched a sword at a shop I went to in my world,” I said. “Did it have writing on it, some sort of ancient language I would say, that glowed when you touched it?” Lenore once again asked. “Yes, it glowed a bright orange and there was this writing on it… I feel like I could understand it somehow, I can’t make out the words, but it was something like ‘Whosoever wields the Sword of Power shall be the one true king’ in English,” I stated.

“Dae, you are powerful, just like Nimue, you both have been cursed. The Hidden sent you here so that you could fight back, you’re our fighter. The Fey’s fighter. From now on, you’ll stay with us, you’ll get accustomed to our culture and lifestyle, I know that where you are from, things are different, but you’ve got to stay with us if you want a way out of here. There is only one thing that will help you. The Sword of Power. The one you touched,” Lenore explained. I couldn’t wrap my head over this. I’m only thirteen! Yes, I may look or be smart, but that doesn’t mean you drag a child into a completely different universe! “Lenore, I’m too young, I cannot fight. I don’t have the slightest idea as to how to hold a sword,” I ranted out. What was I doing here? “Dae, if you do not know, I will teach you, people may live today but die tomorrow in war, it is going to be your job to prevent that in the future. Promise me Dae, that you will protect the Fey, you will do everything in your power to save them,” Lenore spoke. I don’t know about anything but as long as I will have to stay here, I will owe them, what’s better than preventing lives from being taken as a token of gratitude? “I promise, Lenore and Nimue, I will be by your side, and I will protect the Fey to my highest ability,” I took my oath.

After that day, everything changed, my lifestyle, the people I was surrounded by, my clothes and literally everything in my other life had been altered. I looked different than everyone else though, while Nimue and Pym got to wear normal clothes like the village, I had to wear black attire, great for camouflaging in the dark. While Pym, Squirrel and Nimue had their own responsibilities, I had to learn the culture of the Fey, the history and how to wield all sorts of different weapons. I learned how to fight….. just like how Lenore said I would.

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Anddd, that's a wrap, these past 2 chapters were how you settled in and where you came from so no more cheesy promises or stuff like that. This is my first series and I'm not sure how it'll go though... so yeah. But I'll continue until it's finished.

#lancelot #fem reader #the weeping monk x reader #the weeping monk #cursed #nimue #lenore #pym #squirrel #merlin

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golden-pickaxe · 2 years

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Wrong Side (Part 1)

Fandom: Cursed

Paring: Weeping Monk x F!Reader

Type: post season 1 (aka I do what I want, this show has been cancelled)

Wordcount: 10.177

Warnings: Violence, eventual Smut (18+), canon typical themes, christians are not talked nicely about

A/N: I actually wanted to post this as just one part, but as it is getting close to 20k words, I thought I would split it up. The second part is almost done, so yea. A few things are, that this story contains OCs, it contains made up lore because the source did not give much, and I based most of the lore on Celtic stuff, thought I am not an expert and it is also not super detailed. Idk where this came from tbh. Mostly because as someone who does longsword and types of short sword fencing (HEMA) in my free-time, every time I see or read bad fighting descriptions I want to cry. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this! Not a fandom I ever thought I would write about, but apparently my brain was searching for a new fixation in these trying times! It is basically a sweet romance with sword fighting, angst and hope, with a happy ending :) because we need happy endings!

Title of the story is from Wrong Side by Abney Park, a quote of which you will also find in this story!

Edit: This story is finished! [Part 2] , [Part 3]

Summary: You and your friends are the last of the Fire folk, making your way south to flee the red paladins that have destroyed your village. One night, a man and a boy stumble upon your camp, who had once stood on the wrong side of history.

Even though the days were still quite warm, the nights had already started to grow bitter cold. The leaves of the forest had started to turn orange, yellow, red and brown, the beautiful turn of the seasons, as fall was slowly creeping over England.

You usually loved the fall, always excited for the many colours and harvest celebrations, the rituals that usually marked this time of year. The fall equinox was just a few days away now, if you read the heavens correctly, but where you usually would be busy with helping bring in the harvest and preparing the feasts and bonfires to end the season, you were now sitting on the cold ground, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, staring into a small, smouldering campfire. It was dark, the sky covered in clouds, to that not even moonlight could reach you, as you kept the first night watch over the camp, over the few remaining friends you still had in this world. They were huddled up in their own cloaks and blankets, finding a bit of restless sleep before you would travel on again.

You chewed on your lower lip, staring into the flames, your fingers idly moving, causing sparks of the fire in front of you to for figures and dancing shapes in the night.

It had been a long and horrible summer. The red paladins had ravaged the land, storming over the Pendragon kingdom from the north, where all this terror had started so long ago. Their kind had killed the fey for over two decades now, but this year was the first time that they bolstered such numbers, raged a war with so much strategy and determination. And surly with more funds from their overlords in Rome. Where years ago a fey village here and there was burned, with even some people surviving to tell the tale, now one after the other fell, so quickly that it was almost impossible to know where they would go next. Even larger strongholds, that had until now withstood the terror the Christians brought with them, had fallen like a house of cards.

You pulled your blanket tighter around your body. You felt so trapped, as if the paladins were closing in on you and your friends with every passing minute. Part of you was just about to give up, to accept that this was the end of your people, as the places where you could hide dwindled every day. You and your friends had initially been on your way to Nemos, after you had heard other fey you had met talk about it, but when you had arrived, all you had found were burned remains of an abandoned camp.

So now, you travelled on a bit aimlessly, planning to go south, towards Cornwall, a place where there were still enough woods, still enough unpopulated land, so that it could maybe be a new starting point. As far as you knew, the paladins had not made their way this far to the south yet, and if you remembered the stories of your mother correctly, it was still mostly inhabited by fey, with many clans of Piskies, Browneys and Spriggans scattered over the forests, fields and cliffsides.

Old stories were of course not much to go by, but it was at least something to give you and your four friends some hope.

A sigh left your lips, your breathing forming a cloud of mist in the cool air. Cold, howling wind was rushing through the trees, pulling at your blanket and biting through your clothes, a constant wall of noise around you, making it even more vital for you to pay attention to your surroundings. But it was hard to make anything out besides the sound of the branches in the wind or see anything beyond the small light of the fire.

You were quite tempted to make the fire burn a bit brighter, not only to see more, but also to feel more of its warmth on your cold skin. But you knew, that just having that small fire in the first place, was risky enough, so you kept it low, only shimmied a bit closer to the flames, stretching out your hands to warm your clam fingers a bit, which were clad in fingerless gloves.

A sudden noise, that managed to reach your ears even through the howling wind and rustling branches, made your head turn to the right, your hands automatically reaching for the longsword lying next to you. It had distinctively sounded like the crack of a branch. A branch that was stepped on.

You got up in a swift move, your still fingers wrapped around the hilt of your sword, the metal reflecting the orange light of the low fire.

“Born in the dawn..” a small voice called out from the shadows beyond the light of the fire, the voice of a small boy. Your heart was beating in your throat, the confirmation that there indeed were people in the woods around you. That a child had spoken was no reason for you to let down your guard, who knew what new tactics the red paladins had thought up now. Using a child as bait was not beyond them.

“To pass in the twilight.” You answered nevertheless, your foot kicking on of your friends that was lying closest to you in the ribs, Calder instantly waking up. “Who are you?” you then added, shooting Calder a quick, intense look, as soon as the man had opened his eyes.

“I’m Squirrel!” the voice said, and stepping out of the shadows of the trees and into the light of the fire was indeed a small boy, bruises on his face.

“Are you alone out here?” you asked, while Calder had gotten up as well, gripping his own sword and waking up the rest of you.

The boy looked uncertain for a moment, shooting a glance back into the shadows.

“No..” he finally said.

“Who is with you?” his behaviour alarmed you immensely, as apparently your gut feeling had been right. He was bait. You immediately raised your sword, your body tensing up, ready for a fight.

“He.. he is one of us!” the boy quickly said, noticing your demeanour. “Please, don’t hurt him! He saved me!”

You frowned at the words of the boy, confused why, if the person was fey like all of you, he hid in the shadows instead of approaching together with the boy. You friends seemed just as confused as you were, as none of them lowered their weapons.

“If you are fey, you have nothing to fear here. Step out, or we will be forced to attack!” Calder spoke up, his reddish eyes trying to spot any movement in the dark forests. You felt increasingly uncomfortable.

Even through the constant howling of the wind, steps now became audible to you, the sounds of a horse, and a person walking closer to the camp. Then, with raised hands, though one hand was holding onto the reigns of a black horse, was a hooded man. Even though you had never seen him before, you had heard enough horror stories to immediately recognise who had just stepped into your camp. It was the one who cried, the weeping monk.

Panic ran through you, blood rushing through your ears. You took a step back, though the grip around your sword grew even tighter.

“I knew this was a trap!” you brought out between gritted teeth, and your friends around you looks as if they were ready to attack. “The boy is bait!”

“No, please wait!” the child cried out, jumping in front of the monk, raising a small hunting knife defensively.

You stopped yourself, as you had already taken a few steps towards them, shooting one short look at your companions. You had absolutely no idea what was going on, why this fey boy was defending your most dangerous enemy like that, and why.. why he had called him ‘one of us’. You mustered the monk more closely now, and noticed that he had no sword around his hip, was unarmed. His face was covered in dried blood, almost covering the weird tears on his face, that made the man so recognisable. Seeing those tears sent a shiver down your spine, a shiver you could not quite place.

“Explain.” You said, earning a confused look from Calder.

“He-.. he saved me from the paladin torturer! And he killed those guys in the golden masks! We just escaped the red paladin camp yesterday, and have been riding ever since!” the boy stumbled over his words, still protectively standing in front of the tall monk behind him.

“And what did you mean, when you said he was ‘one of us’? As far as I know, none of us here is a murdering Christian!” your words were biting, accompanied by unfiltered hatred. You had seen too many of your brothers and sisters killed to have any kindness in your heart for this bastard. The monk clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping to the ground. He almost looked ashamed, if you didn’t know better.

“He is fey! I saw it!” the boy exclaimed, looking around himself. You could almost see the gears running in his mind. “Look!” he then suddenly said, bending down and picking up a leaf from the ground. Without hesitating, he pressed it against one of the raised hands on the monk, who immediately flinched back, as if the boy had not pressed a leaf, but hot coal against his skin.

But it had been too late, you all had seen it. You all had witnessed his skin turning green, mimicking the colour and texture of the leaf it had touched.

“How.. how could you?” the small voice from one of your friends, Leofyn, broke the tense silence, laced with pain and disbelief. “Your own people..”

Your mind was racing as you stared in the man’s face, suddenly realising what the shiver down your spine had meant.

“Ash folk.” Another one of your friends, Edwyn spoke up, wording what you had just realised. “The face markings.. weeping monk, what a joke.” He shook his head in disgust.

You closed your eyes for a moment, frustration flooding your mind. You lowered your weapon before opening your eyes again.

“If he is Ash folk, we can’t hurt him.” You spoke up. Calder gritted his teeth, before spitting on the floor, although he knew better than to argue. He knew it as well as you all did.

Squirrel looked shocked and confused, his eyes darting from one of you to the next, before relief overcame his features when he noticed all you reluctantly lowering your weapons.

“Wh- why?” he asked carefully. The monk behind him looked just as confused.

“We are Fire folk. Our clans.. back, before the Ash folk were murdered, our clans had a pact, a friendship dating back for centuries. We can’t hurt them, no matter how much we would like to.” Edwyn explained, wiping a hand over his face. “After the massacre of the Ash folk up in Scotland, our clan moved south, until the paladins reached us here too. We’ve not been this far south in a few hundred years.”

“I am certain that this monster won’t abide by our ancient treaty! I bet my life, he has already killed more of our clan than he can count!” the last one of your friends, Morrigan, raised her axe again. “He may be born fey, but he is fey no longer!”

“Do you really want to anger the gods, Morrigan!” Leofyn sounded scared.

“What do you want?” you interrupted, as Morrigan opened her mouth to probably say something blasphemous. Your eyes studied the child and the monk, who still had his hands raised defensively.

“We.. we..” the boy started, but with his eyes darting over to Morrigan’s threatening, tall figure, he seemed to stressed and confused to articulate himself.

“We were trying to find refuge, to flee the paladins.” The monk spoke up for the first time, and all of you instantly raised your weapons again. His voice was smooth and low, reminding you of smoke and ash in your lunges. “For the boy.” The monk then added.

“And you? What do you want?” Calder asked, his voice biting.

“Nothing. I just want to see the boy safe.” The monk said, and you could sense no deceit in his words or expression.

Morrigan laughed.

“Yes, sure. And I am the queen of England.” She shook her head, her short black hair slightly falling into her face. “So, you wouldn’t mind if we killed you right here, right now?”

“Morrigan!” Leofyn exclaimed, but to the surprise of everyone, the monk just nodded.

“It would be what I deserve. I know that.”

His words surprised you, you had not expected him to say that. You were not sure what you had expected, though it certainly was not him being so willing to throw his life away like that. And recognising that this would be what he deserved after all he had done.

“You want to die..” it came out of your mouth, before you could stop yourself, and it was not a question. The monk just looked at you in silence, not confirming, but also not denying your suspicion.

“Whatever he wants, or does not want..” Edwyn spoke up again. “As Y/N said, we cannot harm him. But we can take the boy with us. Though, you must know, we are just as lost as you are, Squirrel.”

“I will only come with you, if Lancelot can come too!” the boy seemed serious, his face a grimace.

Lancelot.. you frowned hearing his name. It made the whole thing more real to you, that the phantom haunting so many fey dreams now had a name.

Edwyn pursed his lips. It was obvious that he was not ready to just let this boy leave again with the murderous monk, not wanting to leave a fey child behind. He stepped towards the child, kneeling down before him, to be face to face. His hazel eyes mustered the young fey intently, before he spoke up again.

“I think that I am correct, when I say that you have seen great terror, my boy. Terror and pain and death. We all have. So, you must understand why your request is impossible. Even if he is fey, we cannot take him with us, he who has murdered more of our kind than any other of the paladins.” His voice was soft, his words slow, to make sure that the boy understood him and his reasoning.

Squirrel opened his mouth, but closed it again, turning for a moment to look at the tall man behind him.

“I know.” He finally said. “But.. but he can change! Why else would he have saved me? Why else would he have killed the Christian knights?”

Edwyn frowned at the words of the child, but then looked up at the weeping monk too.

“That is a good question. Why did you kill them?”

“What does it matter?” Morrigan asked, before the monk could even open his mouth. “He is a murderer, of course he is going to kill his own people! He is ready to wipe out his own kind, why would he stop at his brothers?”

“Silence, Morrigan!” Calder let out a frustrated sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose. “We.. we should consider this.”

The black-haired man chewed his lower lips for a moment, before he knelt down, rummaging through the bag at his feet, which he had used as a pillow when he slept. A moment later he pulled out a rope, stepping over to the child and the monk.

Squirrel positioned himself defensively in front of the tall man behind him once more, his eyes staring daggers at Calder, who raised his hands for a moment.

“I will not harm him, I will just bind his hands.” He started, before looking from the boy to the monk. “And then he can sit down with us, and explain his motivations. Then we will decide.”

There was a long moment of silence, while the boy thought it over. It was weird that the monk said nothing for himself, just stood there, unmoving.

“Alright.” the boy finally spoke up again.

The monk clenched his jaw again, not looking happy at all, but he still stretched his arms out, to let Calder bind them together. Leofyn in the meantime took the reigns of the monk’s horse, leading it to where your own horses were standing, trying the animal to the same tree.

Calder led the monk closer to the fire, pushing his shoulders so he sat down, the boy taking a seat right next to him. The rest of you sat down as well, apart from Morrigan who was still standing, her axe still in her hands.

“So, tell us then. Why did you decide to save the boy and kill your brothers? What caused this change of mind?” you asked, and you felt the monk’s piercing eyes on you. He held eye contact for a moment longer, before looking down at his bound hands in defeat. It was obvious that he would rather not talk about it, would probably prefer to leave the boy with you and ride away on his own, but he knew that there was no other way out of this situation now.

“I.. there was a fey knight, that.. that I captured.” He started, closing his eyes for a moment. “He had seen what you had seen, seen my hand mimic the leaves. He recognised what I am, but he didn’t tell anyone about it, did not expose me. When I asked him why, he just said that all fey were brothers, even.. even the lost ones.” The monk was silent for a moment, but you all felt that he was not done. Squirrel watched him intently as he spoke. “This knight, he said many things. Things that seemed to ring true, things that made me.. question. Question, like I had never before, I..” he let out a shaking breath. “I realised that he was right.”

“And where is this knight now?” Morrigan asked, tilting her head. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know.” The monk answered. “They called him the green knight.”

Morrigan huffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“His name is Gwain! He is our greatest warrior, and he saved many fey, bringing them to Nemos! He made me a knight too!” Squirrel suddenly spoke up, causing Morrigan to look over to him, her stance less defensive now.

“Gwain? I know him.” She then said, even if a bit reluctantly. “I met him a few years back, on his travels. He needed some of his weapons sharpened. He is a good man.”

“So finally talking to someone from you own kind made you realise that we are also just people.” You said, raising an eyebrow. The monk returned his attention to you.

He shook his head.

“It was more than that. I had.. doubts before, doubts I thought were my failure. His words just.. made it all make sense.”

“How did you end up like this?” you asked. “How did you end up as the right hand in our destruction.”

Your choice of words were harsh, you knew that, but you also knew that now was not the time to sweeten your words, that now was the time to ask the tough questions.

“Father Carden.. he spared me, when they burned my home. I was just a boy, and he.. he knew about my ability to sense other fey.” He started. His eyes went towards the fire, and it was obvious that he was not really looking at the flames, but past them, seeing images of his early life that he would rather like to forget. There was a pained expression on his face. “Father Carden told me that I was damned, devil born. That he would lead me to the road of salvation. He taught me to read, gave me scriptures to learn by heart, taught me how to fight. He made me hate the fey with burning passion, while keeping my own origins a secret. He told me that my suffering would cleanse me of the sin of being born fey.” He pursed his lips.

“Oh, gods.” Leofyn clasped her hands in front of her mouth, a shocked expression in her green eyes.

There was silence around the fire for a moment, no one quite wanting to imagine what kind of suffering the monks had made him suffer through. His face told them enough.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I believe him.” Morrigan was surprisingly the first one to speak up. “The Ash folk were known for their ability to sense other fey, and I certainly don’t think it was beyond them to steal a child, and brainwash it to believe the hogwash they tell it.”

Everyone looked up at her a bit shocked, but she had a grim expression on her face.

“Nevertheless..” she then added, axe still in her hands. “I am not convinced that a simple conversation with a knight, however noble Gwain was, could truly change him. Not yet at least. And killing a few of his brothers is not enough for me.”

“Morrigan is right, I’m afraid.” Calder nodded. “Years of teaching are not easily undone. He probably does not even remember much from our own culture, his own culture.”

“So, what do you suppose we do now?” Leofyn got up, walking over to the horses to run her hands through the mane of her mare, to calm herself down a bit.

“He is kin, one way of the other. Probably the last of the Ash folk.” You said slowly, your eyes staring into the flames again. You didn’t want to face the monk right now, and also none of your friends. “And he is a good fighter, from what we have heard about him. Having him on our side could increase our chances of survival, as much as I hate to admit it. We could teach him our ways, remind him of what he has forgotten.”

“The choice is his.” Edwyn looked over to the monk, who just stared at you in surprise. “As much as I would hate it, he can take the boy and leave. Or the two can stay, on our conditions. And we teach him what we know. If he wants that.”

“I do.” The monk said, so silently it was hard to hear his words over the howling of the wind. This time he looked surprised by his own admission.

There was a long moment of silence, with only the boy smiling up at the monk, who seemed as if he was not sure how to handle this expression.

You and your friends all shared a look. It was difficult to make a big decision like this, as there was no established leader in your group, no one to take charge. Ever since you had fled the destruction of your village a few weeks ago, you had just decided things together. It had been fine, you and your childhood friends on the run, but now you needed someone to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Everyone knew that the one to make the decision, would also be the one who had to take the responsibility for whatever the outcome was.

“You can come with us, then.” Calder said, throwing a quick glance in your direction. You nodded. “And learn our ways.”

“But do not think you are just fine to move freely as you like, not yet!” Morrigan glared at him. “Your hands will remain bound, for now, and we will tie you to a tree at night. These are the conditions for now, until you have proven yourself to be trustworthy.”

Calder nodded at her words, before looking back at the monk.

“You have to understand that we can’t just trust your word. Not after what we’ve been through.”

The monk kept silent for a while, before he simply nodded.

-----

The night felt endless, and it was obvious that after what had happened, none of you really managed to find any rest. When you went over to Morrigan, for her to take over the watch, she was still wide awake, a grim expression on her face.

You also had a hard time falling asleep, images of the slaughter of the Ash folk haunting your mind, images from when you had found had heard the screams, and found the remains of their village hours later, their bodies and homes burned.

The name Lancelot did not sound familiar, but you wondered if you had known him back then, when you had been a child. He seemed around your age, and you and your friends had often played with the Ash folk children in the forest and at the loch that bordered both of your homes.

Those weeping eyes, you had forgotten them. They looked so different now on the face of the enemy, half hidden underneath a hood, instead of your friends’ laughing faces. You groaned, turning onto your back, as your mind was running, trying to remember a child that had a similar face as the man you had met tonight.

At dawn, all of you got up quietly, packed up the camp and stomped our the remainders of the small fire. The only one who had seemed to have found any sleep was Squirrel, the child probably exhausted from what he had gone through these past days. He blinked at you through hooded eyes, when Edwyn woke him up.

Leofyn handed out a bit of food to everyone, a small piece of slightly stale bread and a small apple, which had to be enough until you found a river to fish in, or spotted game to hunt. With two more mouths to feed now, you were afraid that the small rations you had would not last for very long.

Everyone climbed on horseback, Squirrel, despite his protests at first, riding with Edwyn, and you slowly made your way further south, the sun rising to your left. The wind had gladly died down a bit, but the morning was still quite cold.

“Do you understand what ‘Born in the Dawn, to pass in the Twilight’ means?” you asked after the group of you had ridden for an hour or two, your horse walking beside the dark animal of the monk. The sooner you would start with teaching him your ways, the better, you thought.

There was a moment of silence between you, and for a moment you thought that he would not answer at all, until he finally spoke up.

“No.”

It saddened you, that he wasn’t even aware of the most basic things of your people, the simplest sentence every child could recite.

“We believe that we were the first, to walk the earth. The very first spirits to be created. This is what we mean, when we say ‘born in the dawn’. We were born in the dawn of the world.” You started, mustering him. His eyes were on the road, his face half hidden behind his large hood. “’To pass in the twilight’ denotes our connection to the hidden.”

“What is the hidden?” you heard the monk ask, his low voice somewhat shy. He still didn’t look at you.

“Spirits of nature. The Sky folk say that they are direct decedent from the hidden, which is why they have such a strong connection to them. But all fey are somewhat connected to them, some more and some less. This is what gives us our magic.” You raised your hand, producing a dancing flame between your fingers, catching Lancelot’s eye.

“How do you know, if you have a connection?” he asked with a frown, looking down at his bound hands. “And do you see the hidden as your gods?”

You were glad that he asked questions, that he seemed to be interested of his own accord. You would have hated to have to lecture him, not knowing if he took in anything you said.

“To answer your second question first, no. The hidden are not gods. As I said, they are spirits of nature, to which we fey have a connection to. See them more as.. ancestors, watching over us, and supporting us. We have to go into ourselves, to feel them. It can take time, but it is always possible. We also have our gods, many gods. Good ones, bad ones.. and everything in between. But that is a topic for another day.” You smiled carefully.

“Father Carden told me that I had to fight the fey, to feel the grace of god.” Lancelot said, and your smile dropped.

“Well, he was wrong.” You said with a slat voice, causing the man to turn his head towards you. “You didn’t feel his grace, because their god is not real.”

The monk squinted his eyes at you.

“How do you know I never felt his grace?”

“Well, have you?” you challengingly raised an eyebrow, mustering his face.

Lancelot stared at you for a whole with pursed lips, before averting his gaze. You huffed, a smile forming on your lips again.

“As I said.” You clicked your tongue, a command for your horse to speed up a bit, so you were able to catch up with Leofyn riding in front of you.

You felt Lancelot’s eyes like daggers in your back, but you also knew that you had helped him take the first step back to who he was supposed to be. It would take time, you knew, and it would not be easy to undo all the years, all the damage the church had done to him. But you believed that it was possible.

------

The days went by, the weather ever changing. It grew colder and the leaves started to fall from the trees, providing less cover from both the elements, and possible prying eyes. You travelled most of the day through the forests, trying to avoid roads and open plains, always going south and only stopping for one or two hours at the time, to hunt and eat. When it grew dark, you made camp to sleep, getting back on horseback as soon as it dawned.

It was not always possible to find shelter from the rain, and being damp and cold was your everyday reality by now.

Morrigan had started to train the young boy, who had finally admitted that his real name was Percival and not Squirrel, after the boy had begged all of you to make him the knight he ought to be. You guessed, as Morrigan indeed knew the knight who had knighted the boy, that she felt that it was her responsibility to teach him what she knew.

Morrigan was a good fighter, one of the best you had ever met. She had been the blacksmith of your home, had taken over the profession from her mother, and her grandmother before that. When you had been teenagers, she had forged her first swords, blunt once, so you could practice together safely. Which of course did not mean that you did not suffer many bruises, and two broken fingers over the years from these blunt swords.

You and Edwyn took turns, telling Lancelot about your culture and history, challenging the believes that the Christians had beaten into him. The evenings the man spent in contemplation, and where you had spotted him praying to the Christian god in the first few nights that he was with your group, you were relieved when he had stopped, instead leaning against the tree he was usually bound to at night, staring up into the orange leaves above him.

You were sitting at the campfire, after everyone had just finished their meagre meals, as so often staring into the flames and making them dance with your magic, noticing how Lancelot’s blue eyes watched as well, from his spot on the opposite side of the fire. You were not sure if it was a good idea, making him see what you so casually could do, when you were not entirely sure if he had already stopped to think of you as devils and demons. Before you could entertain the thought further, Calder sat down next to you.

“The nights are getting colder. We need to find a place to stay, if we want to survive the winter.” He said in a low voice, so that only you could hear him. Calder had established himself more and more as the leader of your group, and you supposed it was not different back when you were children. He was just a year older than the rest of you, but when you had played pretend in the forests as children, everyone had always looked at him to be told what to do, or where to go.

He of course never made decisions all by himself, never had. Just as back in the day when you were children, he asked each of you what you thought about things, sought out your council, never blindly guiding you somewhere you didn’t want to go. He most often came to speak to you, though, which made sense, as you two had grown up together, and were almost like siblings. Your families had been close friends, and you saw each other as family.

“I know. I don’t think we will reach Cornwall before Samhain, not with the pace we have now.” You sighed, resting your arms on your knees.

“If we hurry, we might reach it a week or two after, but frankly, I don’t want to risk it, not with the boy. Morrigan and I want to scout out tomorrow, to see if we can find some caves or something similar, to make a more permanent camp for the time being. To wait out the winter and travel on come spring.” He sighed. “Though I am not sure what is more dangerous: you all remaining here, where you could be attacked, or you keep moving further south, risking us not finding you again.” He pursed his lips.

“Neither sounds appealing, if I am honest. But with all of us, you would be slowed down.” You nodded at the many saddle bags next to the horses, containing everything you had managed to save of salvage from the red paladins.

“You are a very skilled fighter, and Edwyn is also not half bad. I’d rather know where you are, than go looking for you.” Calder said after a few moments of silence and you nodded.

“We should still move a bit, away from the camp here and find a more secluded spot. Maybe travel and hour or two together in the morning before we part ways.” You suggested, and now it was Calder who nodded.

“Good idea.” He said before getting up. He walked over to Morrigan, who was with the horses, to discuss the plan for the next day.

“What were you talking about?” a voice caused you to turn your head to the other side, where Percival was sitting. You had not noticed him approaching you, let alone sitting down right next to you. The boy was as silent as a mouse, if he wanted to be.

“Calder and Morrigan will ride out tomorrow, to look for a place to spend the winter.” You explained to him. “We will go with them for a bit, and then make camp, so they will find us again.”

“Sitting in one place for so long, won’t that be dangerous?” the boy tilted his head at you. You nodded.

“Yes, but it also means that the others can find us again when we return.” You crossed your legs, turning a bit more towards the boy. “But with a knight like you and a fighter like me, we can best anything that would dare to attack us.” You grinned.

“You are a fighter?” the boy’s eyes grew big.

“Oh yes!” you put your hand onto the sword at your side. “My parents were both fey knights, protectors of our village. They taught me from a young age. Morrigan and I used to practice a lot together, and I think you already got a taste of her skill, no?”

Percival seemed both impressed and relieved that he was at least in good hands, when you had to stay put. He smiled, before his expression got serious again.

“Was Morrigan named after The Morrigan, because she is a warrior, or did she just become like that because she was named after the war god?” he asked looking over at the tall woman.

“I’ve asked myself the same thing, you know.” You had to grin. “You should go to bed now.” You than added, glad that the boy just nodded and went over to where a few blankets were waiting for him.

You were not sure how far from civilisation you already were, how far from the roads, and most importantly, how far from the next red paladin patrol. You were still not southern enough, to escape their influence, and had stumbled over more than a few remains of fey wandering the forests, alarming you that the monks were indeed patrolling this area. They seemed to be everywhere, even in the most remote areas, jumping out of the bushes wherever one went.

But on the other hand, now with their sniffing dog gone, maybe they would not find you so easily.

You felt a bit bad, comparing the poor man to a dog in your mind, but that was exactly how he had been used by the Christians. To sniff out his own kind and hunt them down. Thinking about it made you both want to rip his throat out, and wrap him into your arms, to tell him that it was all over now. Which was a really weird mix of feelings, you had to admit that.

-------

The next morning you got up before dawn, stomped out the fire and got on horseback, riding south. Percival was asleep in Edwyn’s arms, having fallen asleep almost as soon as he had been seated in the saddle. When the sun finally edged over the horizon, Calder and Morrigan said their goodbyes, kicking their horses’ sides and galloping on further, while the rest of you made camp, hidden in a small grove between thick bushes, and a small waterfall.

The horses went grazing, munching away on what little begetation was still green, while Leofyn and Edwyn started to pull the bags off their backs, to set up camp. You scouted the surroundings, to make sure that there was not already someone close by, and that you were far enough from roads or settlements. You also made your way a bit more upstream, filling everyone’s waterskins in the small creek, after you had made sure the water was more or less clean. You put the waterskins back into the large bag you were carrying them in, before returning to the camp.

When you arrived, you found Percival awake, in the centre of the camp, a stick in his hand, moving it like a sword, while Lancelot gave him instructions, sitting with his back against some rocks next to the waterfall, his bound hands in his lap. He was still wearing his hood, and you had to admit that you had never seen him without it. You wondered why he never took it off.

“No, stretch your arms out, or else they can be pushed down easily.” Lancelot said, as the boy held his stick in a lower, defensive guard.

“Like this.” You came up behind the boy, correcting his position carefully by guiding his arms. You rounded him, pulling your own sword from your sheath, and demonstrated the correct grip and stance. “And from here you can do many things, while the position of the blade covers you. You can thrust like this, or cut, or strike.” You demonstrated a few movements. “Personally, I prefer to thrust.”

“Why?” Percival asked, trying to copy what you had just shown him.

“It is quick and deadly, especially if your opponent is unarmoured.” You made a few elegant routines with your sword, swinging it through the air in practiced moves, before taking the same guard as before. “If he tries to strike you, you parry, move your sword and thrust. If done right, it can be very effective, especially against unexperienced or tired opponents.”

“What else can you do?” the boy stared up at you with big eyes, causing you to laugh.

“Oh, many things! When we find a place to stay for the winter, Morrigan and I will show you all of them. Then, come spring, you will be a lot closer to being a true knight.” You winked, sheathing your sword again. You pulled out one of the waterskins from the bag around your shoulders, throwing it at Percival, before throwing another one at Lancelot, who caught it with his bound hands. There was an odd expression on his face that you could not really place, so you quickly turned towards Leofyn and Edwyn, who were close to the horses.

You felt quite bad for the two of them, as they had initially intended to join their lives, right at the time when the paladins had destroyed your village. They had been together since they were teenagers, and finally wanted to start a family of their own.

“I hope they are safe.” Leofyn said, as you handed her the remaining waterskins. She shook her head slightly. “The thought of losing them.. no, I could not bear it.”

“They will be alright. Morrigan is a berserker, nothing will cut her down, you know that.” You smiled, putting a hand on your friend’s shoulder.

“Oh, I know, I know. You are right.” A sad smile was on her lips, and she petted your hand a few times, before sitting down next to Edwyn, resting her head against his shoulder. You nodded, before turning away again, wanting to give them some privacy.

So back to the kid and the monk it was, then, you thought.

With a sigh you wandered over to them, sitting down with your back to the rocks as well, though in a safe distance from Lancelot. Both of you kept watching Percival, as he spun around, trying his best to follow the instructions the two of you had given him. You hoped that he would tire himself out quickly, so that the rest of you could have a moment of tranquillity to yourselves.

“Tell me about.. our home.” Lancelot’s voice broke the silence between you, and you head turned towards him. His blue eyes mustered you, his expression one full of sadness. You looked down at your hands for a moment, trying to recollect what you remembered. Your grandmother had never gotten over having to move south, so she always recollected stories and talked about people, so you never quite forgot the few years you spent in Scotland.

“Be aware, I was quite young myself, when this happened.” You started with a sigh. “Well, our villages were located north, in the glens of Scotland. There was a forest between us, and a lock. There was a lot of trade between the Ash and the Fire folk, and we children met up often, paying in the forests or in the water, were up to all kinds of shenanigans. I wonder if we knew each other back then.” You finally looked up, studying his face, to see if any of this sounded familiar.

“I remember a lake. I remember the fishermen being angry because we scared away the fish.” Lancelot frowned. You had to grin.

“Yes! Yes, they would try and hush us away! But we would just steal their ale and run.” You had to laugh, and Lancelot grinned as well.

“Yes, I.. I remember that.” He looked quite surprised by that.

“We celebrated our ceremonies together, the Ash and the Fire folk. We met on one of the hills, where our temple was. We celebrated Samhain, which we would celebrate in a few weeks, actually, the beginning of winter. We celebrated Imbolc, the beginning of spring, Beltane, the beginning of summer and Lughnasadh, the beginning of the harvest season. Do you remember?” your voice was full of excitement. It was the first time that the man seemed to remember his past, remember what came before the monks and the Christians, and you wanted to latch onto that. Most of what you and Edwyn had told him until now were general stories about the gods and old heroes, but you realised that starting with simple things, like things you did as children, were maybe better to jock his memory.

Lancelot pursed his lips, his frown deepening as he stared onto the leaf covered ground. He picked up one of the leaves, his skin starting to turn red and orange, his blue eyes watching the change.

“I remember.. I remember a hill. With tall stones.” He started.

“The temple.” You said, nodding enthusiastically.

“I remember holding my mother’s hand.. she told me that there would be a feast after, and that I had to behave.” One of the corners of his mouth raised slightly, as he turned the leaf between his fingers. “I remember being very bored.” He then added, looking up at you.

You had to laugh at his words, and a real smile also formed on his face. You realised that this was the first time you had seen the man smile. It was a beautiful smile, from a beautiful man.

“This’ our time, the night’s our day.” You started, mustering his face intently.

“We’ll dance this fading life away.” He ended the rhyme, part of a song sung during the Samhain festivities, again looking very surprised by himself. Then, his smile grew sad, and he looked down at the ground again, his hood covering his face. “To think.. that I destroyed so many of us.” He said silently, shaking his head. “Thinking that I was doing the right thing.”

“Isn’t that something the Christians always talk about? Atone for your sins, or something like that?” you said, not knowing if that was even correct. You did not know much about their religion, only that they worshipped a guy, killed in the most painful way possible, and whatever the paladins yelled when they were slaughtering your kind. But Lancelot nodded.

“I thought that killing fey would wash the sin away.” His voice was pained.

“Being born fey is not a sin.” You sin, your eyes mustering his slumped form. You hated the whole concept of ‘sin’, it was something that did originally not exist in your culture.

“I know that.. now.” He let his head drop against the stones behind him. “But it won’t bring any of them back.”

You could not argue with that.

“It won’t bring them back, no. And it won’t undo the horrors you have created. Assessing how much of that was your fault is not a simple black and white matter, and frankly, I don’t think trying to figure it out would be particularly useful.” You sighed, pulling your legs to your chest. “What is important now for you is to change. To renounce the lies you were fed and to find back to what you are. Who you are.”

There was silence between you for a moment, both of you simply watching Percival, who was still practicing with his stick, completely oblivious to your conversation.

“Your magic.. what can it do?” Lancelot suddenly spoke up again, and you had to look over to him once more.

“Many things. Some people can do more than others. Why?” you frowned a bit. He had told you about the ash storm the Wolf-Blood-Witch had conjured up a few days ago, and considering that he was Ash folk and the rest of you were Fire folk, he wondered if you too would be capable of such things.

“Can it heal?” he asked instead, catching you a bit off guard, his expression undecipherable.

“Leofyn can heal with magic. She also used to be the healer of our village.” You said, nodding towards your friend. “Are you injured? Is that why you keep your hood up?” you had not forgotten the blood on his face, that he had since washed off. It had only been two weeks since he and the boy had joined you, and if he had been seriously injured, his wounds would not have healed yet.

Lancelot took a deep breath, staring at the ground.

“Yes. But that is not why I’m asking.” His words confused you, but before you could ask anything else, he had raised his hand, and pulled his hood from his head.

His hair was greasy and dishevelled, a look all of you shared after such a long time on the run. It was long, and tied up to a knot in his neck. But there, right on the crown of is scalp, you saw something that made your breath hitch in your throat.

You had seen it on the heads of the paladins too, but for some reason it had not occurred to you that he would bear the same mark. A bald spot, with a cross deeply cut into his flesh. For some reason it did not look like an old scar, even though you were certain that it must’ve been there fore years. You didn’t even want to think about why it looked so fresh.

“Can she heal this?” Lancelot asked, facing you, and you could see the pain in his eyes. “I don’t want to have this mark on my boy any longer.”

You could not supress the utter pity that was written across your face. You nodded quickly and got up, hurrying over to Leofyn, who was silently talking with Edwyn. When they saw you approach, both of the looked up to you.

“Leo, he needs your help.” Was all you could say, as you stretched our your trembling hand, and pulled the other woman to her feet. She nodded, and followed you, her eyes growing wide as she too spotted the cross on the young man’s head.

“By all the gods!” she exclaimed, taking a step back. Percival, a frown on his face, lowered his stick in confusion.

Leofyn took a deep breath, her expression turning from shocked to determined. She knelt down in front of the monk, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic.

“Lower your head. Yes, like that. This will hurt.” She simply said, before putting her hands onto the cross, her eyes closing and her lips starting to move.

You had seen her like this often, had seen her heal with her magic many times before, but Percival, who stared at her with an open mouth, had definitely not. Leofyn started to glow from the inside, as if there was a fire burning right in her core. One could see the shadows of her bones through her skin, as she emanated a warm, orange light. A pained groan left Lancelot’s lips.

Percival dropped his stick, wanting to run over to him, but you reacted quickly, managing to grab his shoulders to pull him back. You keeled down beside him, your arms still wrapped around him.

“She is healing him. But fire burns.” Was all you said, as both of you watched Leofyn glow even brighter, and Lancelot’s breathing turn into a hiss.

And then, just like that, it was over. The glowing subsided, and Leofyn pulled her hands back, a smile on her face. The cross was gone, not even leaving a scar. The hair would soon grow back, given some time. Leofyn looked exhausted, healing a wound to thoroughly had drained her.

“It is alright.” Leofyn’s voice was soft, and Lancelot looked up at her, his face red and his breath still ragged.

“Thank you.” Lancelot finally found his voice again, but Leofyn just smiled.

“Welcome home.” She simply said.

The woman sighed, before she got up, leaning on Edwyn who had also come over. He half carried her back to where they were sitting, letting her lean against him, wrapped up in his arms.

------

The sun was high in the sky, and Edwyn had taken Percival to hunt for rabbits, the bounty of their efforts being enough to feed all of them for two days. The boy had also found a few berries and a pear tree, enabling you to stock up on as much fruit as your horses could carry.

Lancelot had fallen asleep, after the wound on his head had been healed, and you were glad that he could finally find some rest. You had noticed that, at least every time you had held watch at night, he had been wide awake.

You had wrapped yourself up in your cloak and blanket, the ground and the rock behind you cold, despite the sunshine. The sound of the waterfall was intensely calming, and you felt yourself almost dozing off too, when suddenly you could hear an unnatural rustling of the leaves. Your eyes flew wide open, and you were on your feet a moment later, your cloak falling onto the ground behind you, and your sword in your hand.

Edwyn and Leofyn startled, when they saw you jump up, but seeing our expressions they too got up and drew their weapons. Edwyn threw his hunting bow and quiver over to a frightened looking Percival. You moved a finger in front of your mouth, a sign for the others to keep quiet, before you slowly moved away from the rocks and the creek, and towards where the bushes and foliage around you opened up, so you could look into the forest.

You held your breath, when from between the trees you spotted a group of red paladins, two on horseback, riding through the forest, one in the front, looking at the ground, apparently searching for tracks. They were already quite close, and in a minute or so they would probably pass your hiding spot. It was hard to make out how many of them were there, but you guessed around a dozen or so.

You looked back at the others, nodding once, and gesturing the number of paladins you estimated to the others, before stepping a bit back to get more cover. Percival picked up the bow and the arrows, before shaking Lancelot’s leg to wake him up.

The steps of the paladins grew louder, and you tried your best to keep your breathing even, raising your sword. As soon as you spotted just an inch of red fabric, your struck with your blade, hitting the monk right in the neck and cutting him open. Shouting immediately followed, as you kicked the gurling man in the stomach, so his body fell back and onto one of his brothers.

The horses got spooked, and started to kick, and you used it as a distraction to round the group, your sword in front of you, to guard you from any attacks, in exactly the manner you had taught Percival just hours before.

Edwyn jumped out of the bushes behind the group, thrusting his short sword in the back of one of them, and using his small shield to block an attack. You also parried the attack of a monk charging at you, using his momentum to your advantage by simply side-stepping, letting his sword glide down yours and cutting him right in the shoulder when he moved past you.

You managed to get your sword up just in time to parry another strike, letting go of the hilt with one hand, to grab your own blade and quickly turning your sword, to pommel the paladin right in the face. A loud crack confirmed that you had just broken his jaw.

You turned around to attack another of them, who stormed towards you with his sword raised, but suddenly an arrow pierced him right through the neck, and he fell down in front of your feet. Behind him you could see Percival, looking amazed and afeard at the same time, bow in hand.

You only had a moment to nod at him, before you engaged another red paladin, this one quicker and obviously more experienced. He was able to counter some of your attacks, until you managed to parry, and hinder his stroke by setting aside his blade, and thrusting right into his chest. Sweat was running down your face and you felt a cut that had not seemed so deep on your arm to start to throb. Your left hand also felt slippery, the sword having cut through your fingerless gloves and into your hand. When you had gripped it earlier. You didn’t have time to wipe off your hands on your clothes.

You struck the sword of a paladin to the side, wanting to go in with a thrust, when a sword cut through his neck from behind, cleanly decapitating the man, who limply fell to the ground now. In front of you was Lancelot, who had apparently picked up one of the other monks’ swords, and had cut his hands free. He nodded at you, before he turned, cutting through another man in red with elegance you had never seen before. The stories of his skill had definitely been true, although your thought his twists and turns were a bit excessive.

It was over as sudden as it had began, and from one moment to the next, there was silence around you. The last man-blood was dead on the ground, their blood seeping into the earth and the water of the creek.

You wiped your sweat off your face, only to remember that your hand was still bleeding, and you were just smearing it all over you. Edwyn also seemed to be lightly wounded, but he spit on the corpse of one of the monks, before sheathing his sword.

Lancelot was looking around himself, and down at his dead brothers, looking a bit as if he was having an existential crisis, that you really did not have the patience to deal with right now.

“We have to move.” Was all your said. “That blook will be seen by someone eventually.” You nodded at the creek.

“I agree. We should go north-west. It will bring us away from the stream, but not too far so that we won’t be found.” Edwyn nodded, starting to pack up whatever you had taken off the horses, and making sure the rabbits and the foraged food were safely packed up.

You went over to the water, washing your face and hand, before wrapping a piece of cloth around your palm, and arm.

“I will make some markings.” Leofyn said, more to herself than anyone else. “Come Squirrel, help me with it.” She pulled Percival with her, as she started to gather twigs and other flora, to create fey symbols out of them, for the others to find, to tell them where you went.

You knelt at the at the creek for a moment longer, before you got up and started to pull the arrows out of the paladins’ bodies. You also searched them for anything useful. Gladly their horses had not gone far, and you managed to find some food, some ale, and some parchment with maps and instructions, which you promptly burned in your hand.

Freed of their saddles and bags, you sent the horses off, to run into a different direction than where the paladins had come from.

When you returned to the others, handing over your findings to Edwyn, you noticed that Lancelot had watched you.

“Want to say something?” you asked, maybe a bit more challenging than you had intended to. But your heartbeat was still fast, blood still rushing through your ears.

“No.” he frowned, his face confused, as he stretched out his hand, the pommel of the sword he was holding pointing in your direction. But you just shook your head.

“No, keep it. I think you have proven yourself today to be trustworthy, and you are a lot more useful with a sword in your hand than tied up, should we be attacked again.” You were not sure if it was a wise decision, but it was the first thing that came to mind. He also seemed to be surprised at your words.

Lancelot nodded, before walking over to one of the many bodies on the ground, removing a sheath and a belt from one of them, to secure the sword on his waist.

A few minutes later, everyone was ready, and the markings had been placed where your camp had been just moments ago.

‘Riding north-west’ the markings said.

“So that is what those symbols mean.” Lancelot said, as you got onto your horses, and a smirk appeared on your face.

“So much culture, hm? Let’s make sure it’s not forgotten, eh?” with that, you started to ride.

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