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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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