(no subject)

[maderr]

Robin bit until the man screamed like a little girl, and held on until they went for a gut punch.

Bastards.

He waited a few minutes, until they were grunting and gasping and panting from dragging - yes dragging, because he was not going to go quietly and stoicly into this, no fucking way. The Holy Father could suck his right nut, the Mother could suck his left. Once the village men carrying him relaxed their guard again - for they were too worn from fighting him to keep it up - he latched onto the farmer to his right and bit down hard on his calf.

They dropped him like...well, like a young man who was shortly going to dead so what did a few bruises and broken bones really matter?

Robin endured quietly as he was lifted up and given a rough shaking. And they thought that would accomplish what? Where they trying to shake sense into him or the trouble out of him? Probably the second, because he was pretty sure none of them had the first. They wouldn't recognize sense if it punched them in the face and bit whatever bit of flesh it could reach.

Bastards.

He'd worked his ass off for them, from the moment he realized his mother hadn't gone to market - she'd just gone. And what did he get for working sun up to sun down from the age of seven?

Sacrificed. To a god he hadn't known they'd worshipped. Hadn't given the village enough credit. No wonder they'd always seemed so placid. A good cover for all the naughty things they'd been up to.

Weren't virgin sacrifices supposed to be girls? Crying and wailing in long white dresses? He'd listened at the school windows, at church, to whatever open window he could find at night, to learn all the stories the villagers had to tell. Every story sacrifice was some poor, sniveling girl who went ignobly to her death. Every now and then you got one that was brave about it, but that just meant they suffered a lot more.

Funny how all that listening and he'd missed the part where they worshipped Sirkin.

No wonder mom had high-tailed it. Would have been nice if she'd taken him along. But he wasn't surprised she hadn't. Even at seven he'd known she was awfully pretty. Young, pretty women didn't need kids.

But that was okay, because apparently young abandoned men were perfect sacrifices.

Bastards.

Robin started swinging punches again, bored with all the shaking. Several more bruises and an ankle he was pretty sure wouldn't be good for walking anytime soon put an end to the latest debate. He never was much good at conversation.

By the time they got him the rest of the way up the hill, through the black temple he really wished he'd noticed sooner and onto the stone altar...he was too damned tired to put up more of a fight.

Didn't really matter any way. Who was going to miss him?

Well, maybe ol' lady Muller. But he doubted it.

Robin ignored them as they chanted prayers and whispered that he should be honored to be chosen as the sacrifice. If he'd had the energy, he would have pointed out that generally a sacrifice, at least according to the stories he'd heard, meant giving up something of value.

His value? Less than that of dead whore. He was pretty sure a sacrifice should involve someone being sad to see him go. He twisted his head - kinda hard to do really, when everything from his neck down was tied pretty good to the stone slab beneath him - and looked at the men steadily working to make sure he didn't figure out how to break loose. There’d been a brief debate on whether he should be naked or not.”

True to the rest of the whole damn lousy night, Robin wound up naked. Whatever happened to long, flowing white gowns?

Maybe naked was better.

Then again, the stone was really fucking cold and it was early fall. Not a good mix. On the upside, maybe he’d freeze to death before the demon devoured him. Or whatever it was the demon wanted to do.

He thought about saying something. Struggling some more came to mind too. But in the end he lay still, and let them finish, and watched them go, then listened to them go...then listened to the silence.

"Could've at least told me goodbye," he muttered, and told himself his voice was hoarse from shouting and fighting and the taste of nasty farmers and shopkeepers. Not from tears.

Because even his mother had at least told him goodbye.




"That looks uncomfortable."

Robin tensed, then slowly opened his eyes. Turned his head despite the pain caused by the ropes that chaffed with his every movement. His vision wasn't so great anymore, not after hours of...strain. Because he hadn't been crying. Boys didn't cry. Blinking a few times cleared his vision enough he could sort of mostly see the stranger who had entered the temple.

Black clothes, covered with travel dust. They hung like maybe they were a bit wet. A wide-brimmed hat hid his face from view, but the voice that continued to speak was deep, almost warm despite the amusement filling it. "Really uncomfortable. A bit awkward, yeah? Why are you tied up like that? Aren’t you freezing?"

Figures his only chance of rescue would be a damned idiot. "I'm a sacrifice," Robin answered. “Near as I can tell, naked, freezing and uncomfortable is the standard.”

The stranger shook his head, hat flopping. "I dunno. If I were a sacrifice, I’d push for comfortable chairs, a nice glass of wine…maybe a few dancers to pass the time…”

Robin decided he was dreaming. No way was this conversation, if you could call it that, real. He'd finally lost it. Which was something of a relief, really. If he'd lost his mind, maybe he'd miss the part of the sacrifice where he died a painful death.

Well, it was probably painful. No one had assured him otherwise. Of course, they hadn't bothered to tell him he was a sacrifice until they started dragging him off. “No one asked. It was sort of a last minute thing.”

“Not very nice of them.”

Robin tried to shrug.

“People are so rude these days.” The stranger approached the altar, climbing the short steps and coming to stand next to him as though it was little more than a market stall. “They could have at least left you your clothes. Aren’t you freezing?”

“You sort of go numb after a bit,” Robin said.

The stranger pushed back his floppy hat and frowned down at him.

Robin blinked. The man was a mess – dirty and sweaty, strands of hair sticking to his forehead and the sides of his neck, badly in need of a shave – but he was good looking for all that. Not pretty like the bard that had passed through the village a couple of months ago, but handsome like a lord would be. Someone you always noticed…at least when he wasn’t filthy from travel and hiding behind a floppy hat. A kind of ugly floppy hat, really.

“I really never got the naked,” the stranger said at last.

“I don’t much like it myself,” Robin said. Then the man’s words struck him. “Attend a lot of sacrifices, do you? Any recommendations on which village I should be victim for next time? I don’t much like this one.”

The man shrugged. “Don’t attend’em, really. But I travel a lot this time of year, picking up things here and there. You’re not the first I’ve seen.” He grinned suddenly. “You want I should cut you loose now? Or would you like to chat a bit more?”

“Oh, by all means lets talk.” Robin glared at him scathingly. “If you’re here just to make fun of me, I’d rather just be left to freeze to death or get eaten, whichever comes first.”

Chuckling, the stranger drew a knife from his knee-high boot and sliced through the ropes as easily as butter. The leather of his gloves was warm and smooth as he helped Robin sit up. Gingerly he examined the abrasions left from the ropes.

Robin felt hot wherever the stranger touched, and he swore some the pain eased off a bit. It didn’t vanish entirely, but it faded to the level of a long day’s work. Tolerable. “Who are you?” he asked, torn between the urge to jump off the altar and flee and stay put – for he was in no hurry to run around naked.

Why’d they take his clothes anyway? Wasn’t like they’d do more than burn them. Bastards.

“No one special, just a wanderer. Most folks just call me Tyne.”

“Tyne,” Robin repeated, tasting the name. For some reason, he thought it should sound familiar. But nothing came to mind. “Well, thanks for untying me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden urge to not be naked.”

Tyne chuckled again, then shrugged off a beat up, old leather bag. Plunking it down on the altar, he rifled though it a moment and came up with a pair of trousers and a shirt that had faded to gray. “Imagine these are a tad big, but they’re better than nothing.”

Robin didn’t accept them. “What do you want?”

“Want?” Tyne asked.

“Cutting me loose is one thing. People don’t hand over clothes to strangers, especially strangers that are supposed to be dead or dying.”

Tyne shrugged. “If you want to traipse about naked, it won’t bother me at all. But it seems to me running away is a lot easier when one doesn’t have to worry about what a stray branch or critter might get at.”

“You still ain’t told me what you want.”

Another shrug. “Nothing. I just don’t see the sense in leaving you here.” He tossed the clothes at Tyne. “Get dressed. We don’t have all night..”

“Who says I’m going with you?” Tyne said. Muttering a few choice curses about the exact parentage of various deities he got dressed. Wasn’t going to protest three times, not when it meant he could be not naked. His mother abandoned a child, not an idiot.

“You want to stay?”

“Yeah, I was rather looking forward to seeing what they’d do when they realized their first try didn’t work. Bet you they’d use chain instead of rope.”

Tyne snorted but said nothing. Shouldering his pack, he turned and walked down the main aisle toward the temple entrance. Robin hesitated a moment, then shrugged and followed. Anything had to be better than being tied to a slab of rock in a moldy old temple, waiting for some pissy old god of darkness to devour him.

He found himself almost running to keep up with Tyne’s pace. The man walked through the dark woods like it was a clear field at midday. Robin looked up, catching shreds of moonlight between the leaves. Which meant he wasn’t watching his feet – not that he could see them anyway – and with a curse got up close and personal with the forest floor.

Which really didn’t smell or taste all that great. Though the taste of dirt did remind him he hadn’t eaten since the midday meal, which was a reminder he really hadn’t needed.

Gloved hands hauled him to his feet, and Tyne didn’t seem offended when Robin jerked away. “I know you’re tired,” he said calmly. “But I want to clear the forest before we stop.”

Robin frowned unseen in the dark. Something about the entire situation was bugging him. Namely, that Tyne had not only rescued him but seemed to have planned their escape route.

Like he knew. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Just a wanderer,” Tyne answered, exactly as he had before. He reached out to grasp Robin’s wrist. “Now come. It’s almost an hour past midnight; the villagers will be going to the temple to make sure all went accordingly.”

A dozen wisecracks rose in Robin’s mind, but they all died on his tongue as it suddenly hit that he was tired. And hungry. And cold. And eager to escape the village that was no longer home. Wisecracks just seemed to difficult. He tugged his wrist free but followed obediently, this time making sure to keep better track of where he put his feet.

It was a good thing he was used to being barefoot through most of the year.

His thoughts grew fuzzier as they walked and more than once his head jerked in a way that he knew he’d been trying to nod off. While walking, even. Pitching a fit with the villagers and being tied to stone must be more wearing than he thought.

He barely noticed when they left the forest behind, nor the warm, gloved hand that took possession of his arm. At last Tyne halted, and swung off his pack and cape. The last thing Robin remembered was being pushed down onto that black cape, a soft voice whispering for him to sleep.

*~*~*~*

When he woke, the sun seared his eyes. He closed them again, cursing fluidly, then turned onto his side and opened them again.

That was moderately better. He sat up and took in his surrounding, bits and pieces of the previous night coming floating back to him.

The villagers. The temple. If he never saw black marble again he could die a happy man. Not that he wanted to be dying anytime soon. Oh, no. He didn’t dodge being devoured to die now.

Where was his just a wanderer rescuer?

“You’re finally awake.”

Robin jumped, jerking around and nearly knocking himself off balance in the process, to see Tyne walking toward him holding a water skin.

“Was starting to think you’d sleep the whole day,” Tyne said, approaching the small camp he’d made the previous night, checking on the pot of water which was not quite boiling yet. “Feel any better?”

“I’m not dead,” Robin replied. “Can’t beat that, really.”

Tyne smiled. “I suppose not.” As the water began to boil, he dropped in a handful of small, dark red leaves and then removed the pot from the heat. A few minutes later, he handed Robin a cup of dark tea. "Drink this. You'll feel better."

"I'd rather have food," Robin said, but took the tea. He gave it a cautious sip. "This tastes like the stuff I muck out of stables."

Comments

[twilight-angel.livejournal.com]

What a great way to start a day (instead of studying Statistics, as I should be doing...). I love the snarky, smartass Robin. I giggled way too much over this line though: A kind of ugly floppy hat, really. Just because who notices something like that when they're about to be sacrificed? Anyway, more would be lovely, and look up! It's almost the weekend! :)

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Oh, I don't know. If I were about to be sacrificed, I'd notice every last little thing just so I could be more pissed off XD

It is almost that, thankfully. Though it looks like I may be spending it here >_>

[melayneseahawk.livejournal.com]

Typo:

?Who says I?m going with you?? Tyne said.

Shouldn't it be Robin?

Good, otherwise, though.

[maderr.livejournal.com]

Heh, yes thank you.

^_^