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.
