The Brush Tiger of Derven Ch. 24-25

CHAPTER 24: LOSS

"You're the Princess?"

"It's your fault we're at war!"

"Shut it, Steven, I heard she stabbed King Irron!"

"What?! Stabbed him?"

"Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Is Derven going to help us?"

Mora holds out her hands for them to stop. She takes a deep breath, calming herself as they grow quiet. When she speaks, she speaks softly so that they are forced to pay attention in order to hear her, "Good people of Sceadu, it is true, I am Princess Namora. While it has been an unfortunate chain of events that has led up to this war, believe me in saying that I was not the catalyst but a mere pawn in King Irron's game. I wish for no harm to come to anyone. As I am a...refugee...in your country, I have limited knowledge of what goes on in my homeland. Whether or not Derven will join you I do not know but you have my word that I will fight alongside of you."

"Did you really stab King Irron?"

"No," she smiles, picking up her wine glass and taking another sip, "I didn't stab him. I threw a knife at him. It was only fair, after all."

"Why is that?"

"He tried to kill me first."

The crowd's growing faith in the Princess allows them to chuckle a bit. After a few more murmurs, a woman speaks up, "Can all of the Derven fight like you? I don't think we stand a chance alone."

"Yes, all of the Derven citizens can fight like me but there isn't any reason to worry," Mora raises her voice, "Each and every one of you-both men and women-are completely capable of defending yourselves. You just have to believe, deep down, that you will prevail."

Thinking that she is just trying to flatter them, she sees a few rolled eyes and hands thrown up in disbelief. Carefully, she sets her glass down before she hops off of the stool. As she trots to the stage, she keeps the crowd's attention by feeding their curiosity. Once there, she looks at Rick and points to a stuffed dummy, motioning for him to bring it to her. Mora is forced to raise her voice over the loud crowd, "I will prove it to you. Who is the worst fighter in this bar?"

After some negotiation, someone shoves a man up to the stage. Mora instantly recognizes it as the man whose head she slammed into a table earlier. Still drunk, he climbs up the steps, defensively yelling at the crowd, "Back off now, I'm not that bad!"

Mora curses her luck, hoping that she can be as good of a teacher as Laren was to her. She hands the man a dagger, "What's your name?"

"Bryan," he spits out, taking the dagger.

"Right, Bryan, show us what you've got. Kill that man," she points over to the dummy.

He pulls up his pants a little, swaying confidently. Standing up straight, he faces the dummy; with a great grunt throws the dagger with all of his strength, almost toppling over in the process. It sticks, somewhat crookedly, in the dummy's forehead. Bryan throws up his arms in celebration and the men from his table start shouting praise.

Mora waits, arms crossed over chest, for the group to calm down. When they do, she looks at Bryan, "That was impressive. I'm sure when we come across an army made of linen and straw, you will be a great benefit. Until then, maybe you should remember that a man's head," she raps his knuckles on his forehead, "is made from bone and most likely covered with a metal helmet."

He shrinks a little at her insult. She looks at the dummy, thinking carefully as to what she could do to it to mimic the actual consistency of flesh. Seeing Rick watching her, she walks to him and takes his hand. He looks at her apprehensively, not wanting to replace the dummy but reluctantly he lets her lead him over to the wall. She stands him there, pressing her hands into his chest to push him up against a bare spot.

He can't help himself and grins at her. She rolls her eyes, wandering off to find something else. Finally, she grabs some of the chalk the men use to dry their hands with. Mora drags over a stool so she can trace around Rick's head and shoulders. He speaks softly to her while she is at work, "You could own your own tavern and train men to fight."

She pauses, blushing as she leans her forehead against his, smiling slyly, "I'd rather just be a tavern owner's wife."

Rick leans forward and gives her a quick peck on the lips. She takes her time tracing around his arms and legs, letting her face return to its normal color. When she is done, she lets Rick go. Focusing on the task at hand, she grabs the knife out of the dummy's head and shoves it aside before returning to Bryan.

When he looks at her like she is dumb, she slaps the hilt of the knife back into his hand, pointing to the Rick outline, "That wall is closer to the hardness of bone, make it stick-preferably not in his head."

Bryan takes the knife, drawing out his preparation as before. He pulls his arm back and heaves it as hard as he can. With a loud pang, the knife bounces off of the wall. The whole tavern erupts in laughter. Seeing his shoulders slump in disappointment, Mora drags over a crate with dozens of daggers. Before she can give him any instruction he hastily grabs five out of the box. Now angry, he tries, one after another, to stick them into the wall without a single success. Each failure makes the bar roar louder. Bryan grows redder and redder, now sweating from exertion. He looks at her, furious that she has succeeded in making a fool out of him twice in the same night.

He turns around trying to yell at those laughing at him. He points at Mora and shouts, "Shut it! I bet this woman couldn't even do it if she tried!"

"I could do it blindfolded Bryan, but trying to knock me down isn't going to help you any," she reaches out and touches his shoulder, trying to calm him down. He pulls back, her words having the opposite effect.

"Prove it then!" Leaning over the edge of the stage, he pulls a scarf off of a nearby woman's shoulders. With some effort he scrambles back to his feet, shoving it at Mora. The crowd, now rowdy and unfocused calls for her to try. Looking out over them, she sees Dell, John and Eric egging them on. Though she gives them a scolding look, Dell just shrugs and keeps shouting with the rest of the people.

Mora looks at Rick for help. He walks over to her, smiling. Taking the scarf out of her hands, he replaces it with half a dozen daggers, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder as encouragement, "They aren't going to pay attention to you until you recapture their interest," he says quietly. Walking behind her, he ties the scarf over her eyes. Mora feels herself grow irritated that she is trying to help these people but they are too caught up in the spectacle to pay attention.

"Fine," she huffs to Rick, "Move the dummy back in front of the wall."

Though her feet, she feels his soft footsteps walk away before he drags the dummy across the stage. She can tell where he stops with it through the vibrations in the wood. She turns herself around, ready to throw when she feels Rick's hands on her shoulder, stopping her.

"Listen up!" He shouts to the crowd, instantly quieting them, "While this beautiful, slender, young woman-" the men hoot in agreement but stop when he scowls at them, "while she might not seem like much, I have seen firsthand what she can do. It would be wise for you to mind her, lest you end up like that dummy." He leans in, lips brushing her cheek before he whispers into her ear, "Hold on."

She has no idea what he means until he spins her in a circle several times, catching her off guard. He stops when she starts swaying, unsure of her footing and now completely confused as to which direction she faces. The crowd falls silent; her heart pounds so hard, she can't even hear them breathing. She has no clue what she is facing; tense with alertness, she waits patiently for a sign, hoping that Rick will move away from her or someone will shout out so that she knows which way to turn.

Bryan's arrogant voice gives it to her, "What did I tell you, this stupid-"

As soon as the words leave his mouth Mora turns quickly until he is on her right side, letting loose the first dagger. When she hears a thunk and no one scream, she knows she is pointed in the right direction. Exhaling all of the air from her lungs, she repeats her movement over and over, willing each dagger to find its mark without her guidance. All six are finally gone. The room remains quiet. She feels Rick move on her left; he unties her blindfold. Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the light, she sees that not only did she successfully hit the dummy six times in the chest but her knives tore through him only to stop when they buried the blades into the wall. Satisfied, she secretly thanks Laren for patiently teaching her day after day. She turns to Bryan.

"Now that I've got your full attention, perhaps you'll listen to me. Never face your foe square on, instead you must turn so that your dominant arm is the furthest away from him."

Bryan closes his mouth. He nods with understanding and does as she says.

"Good. Your feet need to be shoulder width apart so that you can balance your body," she slaps a dagger into his hand, "and never, ever give all that you have to one throw."

"Why?" he asks curiously, taking the dagger.

"Because if you do, you won't have enough for the next. Relax and throw hard, but like you are throwing a rock through glass."

Bryan relaxes his shoulders, rolling them backwards. He looks at the silhouette, body turned away. Drawing up his arm, he throws the knife like a ball. It bounces off of the wall. He throws his arms up in anger.

"Are you married?"

"Why, are you offering?" He replies snidely.

Mora steps closer so that no one but Bryan can hear her, "Do you love her?"

"Yes," he's offended by her comment.

She looks him over for a moment, pondering. Her arm raises and she points at the outline on the wall, her voice so quiet that she knows Bryan can barely hear her, "Last night, that man there snuck into your house when you were out with your friends."

"What? You're being stupid," he rolls his eyes at her, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"It was very dark," she continues, ignoring him while looking deep into his eyes, "and he went to your bedroom. It was so dark in fact, that your wife did not know it wasn't you," she moves closer, her voice dropping lower, "he grabbed a hold and took what he wanted from her and she gave it willingly..." Mora reaches up and turns Bryan's face towards the outline, "And now there he stands, laughing at you. But it doesn't matter, because you are strong and angry and he is weak like glass. I want you to take this dagger and throw it into his heart."

After offering up one more dagger she backs off carefully. Not knowing what she said to him, the crowd waits with anticipation.

Bryan inhales deeply; he looks furious. His arm rises above his head, "Like a stone through glass," he mumbles. He swings hard and lets go of the knife. With a loud thunk, it sticks into the wall. The tavern hoots and hollers; he looks at Mora.

She smiles and pats him on the shoulder, whispering quietly, "Just remember, every Alumenian is a man who would sneak into your house when you are gone."

James, Lucas and Daniel rush on to the stage. They drag over several more dummies after removing the weapons racks from the wall. Lining each dummy against wood, it only takes them a few minutes to get situated. Townspeople pile on stage, all greeting Sari as she hands out the daggers to them. The rest of the night, until the wee hours of dawn, Mora helps Rick teach everyone, sharing the helpful secrets that Laren has taught her over the years.

Slowly the crowd thins out as people grow tired and sore from the training. Finally, when the last person leaves, Todd can barely stand up straight. Rick tells him to go; Daniel, James, and Mora clear out all of the beer mugs while Rick and Sari put the weapons away.

As Rick walks their friends to the door, Mora slumps over in a chair, exhausted. She hears the locks snap shut, her eyes beginning to drift close until she feels his lips on hers, "Not yet, Namora," he coaxes.

Gathering her up into his arms like he did the first night she spent with him, he carries her up the stairs. Feeling so at ease with her head rested on his chest, she has to try hard to keep herself awake, wanting to spend every moment with him that she can before the war brings the unknown. She has just drifted off only to wake up again when he sets her on the couch.

The tub, with steaming water, is hard to see by the dying embers in the fireplace; the screen is nowhere to be seen. She is now wide awake with anticipation. Rick kneels before her, unlacing her boots; he rubs her bare feet, leaving no part of them untouched. She reaches out to him, running her fingers through his hair when he unlaces her vest, untangling it from her body. Though she is nervous when he pulls off her ruffled shirt, she doesn't shy away. He slips his hands beneath her undershirt, sliding them all the way up her sides until he pulls it over her head. Her skin prickles from the cold air touching her uncovered body.

Rick wraps his hand around her waist, lifting her up until she stands above him; his lips press against her stomach while his fingers drag her pants down to the floor. Letting his hands and lips wander her whole body, he savors each inch of her bare skin. Now completely exposed to him, she feels vulnerable but in a different way-in a voluntary way, as if she is completely offering herself to him to do with as he pleases.

Rick lifts her up, strong arms wrapping around her as he carries her to the tub and places her in it; the warm water envelopes her body like a blanket. He locks onto her gaze when he sits down to remove his own boots; he pulls his shirt off before he stands. Her eyes look over the familiar lines of his chest, wandering down the outline of his stomach muscles before he strips his pants off. She is glad the room is dark because her cheeks burn bright red when he stands exposed in front of her. Fully nude, he walks to the tub and slides in behind her. He leans in to kiss her neck from behind, letting his hands lather up a bar of soap before they meander over her chest and down her stomach. Wet and soapy, both of them explore each other's bodies while washing off.

Finally pushed to the limits of desire, Mora gets out first. She dries off in front of him, no longer embarrassed about his eyes seeing her exposed body. Letting the towel fall to the ground, she leans over the edge of the tub, giving him a soft kiss. Slowly, she walks over to the bed knowing that his eyes are following her naked figure. From there, she is barely able to see him climb out of the tub and quickly wipe dry in the almost extinguished firelight.

He follows her without hesitation, finding her lips with his in the darkness without even getting into the bed. His hands wander over her chest and up her arms; he grips her tight around the wrists and pins her down. He easily swings his body on to the bed and slides his legs between hers. When he presses his body down she presses hers up, each trying to get closer. He lets go of her wrists, sliding his fingers down her arms before he cradles her face in his hands. Pulling away from her mouth, his voice is thick like honey, "I love you, Namora."

"I love you, Varickan," she replies breathlessly before pulling him back down to her.

They feed the flames of each other's fires: hands tracing paths, stealing each other's breath, tasting each other's skin. Slick with the sweat of restraint with their bodies entwined, no longer able to stave off their desires, Rick rubs himself against her wetness, tensing as he prepares to confirm their love for one another by claiming her as his own. He starts to push into her maidenhood, his skin burning with desire, his body trembling with need when he is halted by a quick a knock at the door.

Both of them freeze, listening to the darkness, unsure if they heard anything. When they are about to ignore it, three taps come again.

"Rick?" The urgent voice is Todd's.

The longing in Mora's touch tells him to ignore it. Though he wants to, Rick reluctantly untangles his body from hers. He slips on a pair of pants before his soft footsteps carry him across the room. The door creaks when Rick pulls it open to greet Todd. Unable to hear what they are saying, she pulls the blanket over herself while she sits up. Mora gets a sinking feeling in her stomach that something is wrong. In the darkness she can hear the door click shut and Rick's footsteps coming towards her; the swiftness of them confirm her suspicions.

She sees his outline at the bed next to her; he hands her something. When she takes it, she discovers it is a pair of pants and a shirt.

His voice calm despite the message he delivers, "Something is wrong with your father; Captain Franklin is downstairs."

She has to untangle herself from the covers. Getting dressed hastily, her hands start to shake so bad she doesn't bother trying to put on a vest over her loose ruffled shirt. Though the floor is cold against her bare feet, she leaves her shoes behind and rushes out of the room, Rick close behind her. Mora bounds down the stairs two at a time.

The tavern is almost entirely dark with one lone torch by the door. It provides enough light for her to see Franklin. His body is tense, much like the day she was captured.

"Princess Namora," he drops to a knee stiffly.

"What's wrong with the King?" She says breathlessly when she reaches him.

He stands up, grabbing her shoulders like a friend, "King Irron sent an assassin...your father killed him but..."

"But what!" she shouts, voice cracking.

"...but he's wounded bad. Advisor Laren doesn't think he will last any more than a few hours."

She covers her mouth with her hand as the tears well up in her eyes. She can't breathe, she can't think. Her body goes numb and she feels like she will pass out. Franklin keeps his grip on her shoulders, guiding her into a chair. As the tears roll down her cheeks, she begins to tremble uncontrollably.

Letting go, Franklin speaks softly to her, "You need to go to him, Princess; he asked me to get you."

She can barely lift her arm to point at her collar, "I can't." Burying her face in her hands, her whole body shakes with her sobs.

Rick kneels down in front of her. Gently, he pulls her hands away from her face, letting them fall into her lap. His fingers wipe the tears away from her cheeks before holding them in his hands. "Breathe, Mora," he coos. His hands slide behind her neck, pulling her to him while he leans in to kiss her tenderly.

She hears the tiniest of clicks. When Rick pulls away from her, he holds the collar in his hands with the key still in the lock.

Mora looks at the collar with disbelief. Tears still flow down her face. She feels panic well up inside of her, afraid of losing her father and losing Rick at the same time. Just when she started to feel happy, her world begins to fall apart again.

"But the Queen said-" she is silenced by Rick's fingers on her lips.

He smiles reassuringly at her, "I will deal with the Queen. You must go to your father."

She wraps her arms around him, holding him tight. Before she has a chance to think about it anymore, she lets go and sprints up the stairs. Her quivering hands barely allow her to lace up her boots. Her mind racing, she forgets the vest and flies out of the room. When she runs back downstairs, Rick waits for her with a cloak.

Though his face is blank she knows that he shares her worries. He swings the cloak over her shoulders, tying it securely. Mora can't find words to thank him. Looking into his eyes only makes her fears deepen so she throws her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight, "I want you," is all she can whisper.