Fan Fiction ❯ The Climatic First Encounter ❯ On the Defense ( Chapter 3 )

On the Defense

 

Shade turns around and stares at his accuser with what could only be described as shock. Murder? He was being accused of murder. It was laughable. One of the greatest thieves in all of Everwood was being accused of murder. Now he was angry. Closing the distance between them, Shade stops just in front of the bounty hunter.

 

“I have been called many things before but a murderer has never been one of them. I insist you tell me as to whom I killed and when I supposedly killed them.”

 

Ramian's features twist into a sneer as he faces the elf down. “I'm not interested in playing this game. Don't give me the innocent act. You know damn well who you killed.”

 

“I can't believe you can look at me and think that. Never mind, all you humans are the same. I will find out on my own and you won't be able to stop me.” Shade had had enough and despite his attacker's winsome face and well-formed body, the elf would sooner seem him face down in a puddle with a knife in his back than talk to him right now. “I would never sleep if I were you because the minute your body succumbs to slumber I will be gone.”

 

Turning his back on Ramian, Shade walks back over to where their mounts were waiting and with the supernatural grace gifted to all elves; he climbs into the saddle, manacles and all.

 

Never being one to take well to threats, the bounty hunter's eyes narrow and flash with anger, and his gaze burning into the center of the elf's turned back. Stalking up to the elf's horse, he reaches out to take the reins and looks up at him, eyes flinty. “The bounty's good dead or alive, and you're worth enough dead,” he says in a quiet, low tone. Barely-held back restraint flickers behind Ramian's eyes, old wounds, old memories resurfacing; a childhood spent among elves and being treated as their inferior bubbles up and seethes around the edges. Even though he couldn't deny that he found the elf attractive, it just made him angrier, both at himself, and at the elf's arrogant attitude. He was no different than any of them had ever been, and Ramian was determined that he wasn't going to let himself be soft on the elf anymore. Pulling the elf's mount closer, Ramian climbs up easily on his own horse, then looks around, meeting the stares of the people gathered for the caravan. “You can mind your own fucking business now,” he snarls at them, and quickly, they avert their eyes and hurry about their business.

 

He turns back to his prisoner, but the elf is only staring at him in a pitying manner, as if the elf considered him to be so much better than a raw-edged human bounty hunter. Probably did. Ramian just sneers in the elf's direction, but there's a tiny part of his brain that tells him that murderers, once caught, wouldn't act like this, wouldn't be so disdainful. He's dealt with murderers before, and none of them treated him with so much contempt, as if he had it all wrong. It put a tiny seed of doubt in his mind, but he pushes it away quickly. It didn't matter, even if the elf wasn't guilty.

 

Ramian looks back to the old man on the mule, staring at him as if daring him to say something. The old man looks between Ramian and the elf, hesitating, but then glances away and heads toward some of the other travelers to get them ready to go. Ramian waits, pointedly ignoring the both the fearful glances of the crowd and the contemptuous glare of the elf, until finally, the caravan moves out.

 

The day's travel passes with maddening slowness. Though the other travelers sing songs or chat with each other to pass the time, they carefully give the bounty hunter and his prisoner a wide berth and Ramian is forced to alternately glare or ignore the elf, which actually seems to amuse him all the more. When the sun begins to sink below the horizon, the caravan scouts find a clearing and the travelers stop to make camp. Ramian can see that his original estimation was off; it'll be more like an extra six or seven days, at this rate. As he pulls the saddles and gear off the horses and pickets them, he wonders if he shouldn't just go it alone. It would be faster and potentially less irritating, but it's the bandits that prowl the route between Freeharbor and Everwood that give him pause. If he were alone and could fade into the woods if he caught sight of their approach, it might be different. But with a prisoner to deal with as an unknown factor, it complicated things, things that Ramian generally likes to keep simple.

 

As firelights are lit around the campsite and the smells of hot cooked meals begin to waft across the breeze, Ramian looks at the package of tough dried meat, hard cheese, and flat bread in his pack. It was fine on the go, to eat in the saddle, but he could really go for some rabbit stew about now.

 

Ramian glances at the elf, who smirks back. With a roll of his eyes, Ramian gets up, grabs a length of rope, his bow, and a quiver full of arrows before hauling the elf up by the arm. Ignoring the elf's protests, he mutters, “Come on. We're going hunting.”

 

Leaving the camp, he pulls the elf into the forest, stepping as quietly as possible through fallen leaves and branches, but since he can't see in the dark, he knows he makes more noise than usual. Beside him, the elf lets out a low chuckle, for his own footfalls were light and soft. Elves could see clear as day even when it was night, so the elf wasn't hindered, something that probably amused him to no end. Ramian scowls, but once they are far enough away from camp; he turns suddenly, pushing the elf back against a tree.

 

Something flashes through the elf's eyes that's not quite fear and more like defiance, but not exactly, as Ramian presses the weight of his body against the elf's, reaching between their bodies to unlock the elf's manacled wrists. The elf shifts, which causes his hips to move against Ramian's legs, and Ramian finds he has to pause and take in a deep breath before he re-closes the manacles around one of the elf's wrists. He uses his feet to spread the elf's legs apart, then, using the length of rope he brought, he ties he elf back against the tree, arms and legs carefully—and uncomfortably, he hopes—spread-eagled.

 

Ramian's good at knots—he was taught by the best—and by the time he's done, he knows there's no way the elf can get free. “Don't miss me too much,” he sneers, then grabs his bow and turns deeper into the forest. It would be too hard to hunt with the elf in tow, but he sure as hell wasn't going to leave him back at camp so some foolish merchant's daughter or Good Samaritan would take pity on him and free him from his bonds. No. Ramian wanted to make sure the elf was good and uncomfortable by the time he got back. He smiles to himself as he pauses to check the ground for animal tracks.

 

Game, unfortunately, turns out to be scarce, and after an hour of hunting, all he has to show for it is a lost arrow and bump on the back of his head where he stepped back into a tree branch in the dark. He scowls, rubbing his head. Screw the fresh stew, then. Trail rations would do. Ramian stalks back to where he left the elf tied up, only to find his rope on the ground and the elf gone.