FicWad

.........

Considering that we had no idea as to where to start searching for our elusive vampire, one shouldn't find it strange that we haven't found it. Samuel, however, has decided that reason isn't on his list of desirable attributes today.

"But where else could we search?" he asks for the fourth time. Not that I've been counting. He is also on his twenty-third round of the room, pacing a triangle from table to door to bed.

As for me, this is the eleventh time I've rolled my eyes so hard its hurt my head. "Well, how about the whole damned forest around us, and the mountains up in the north, and the swamp area to the east? The lair doesn't have to be that close to town-in fact, it's probably a fair distance so that people like you and I don't find it!"

That silences him for a moment, but I have faith that he will start berating himself again soon. To forestall his whining, I start serving dinner. Patience, the innkeeper's daughter who served us yesterday, is with her family watching over her brother.

Watching that ought to have been attended to before the child was attacked. I am not much impressed by a family who knows of a vampire's existence, yet still cannot teach their youngest to stay indoors at night!

"Are you buttering the bread or stabbing it?" Samuel asks, a faint smile gracing his face. I blink and look down at the now-mutilated slice. "Let me."

"I am fully capable-"

"When you are not otherwise occupied," Samuel interrupts, and takes the knife from my hand. A movement of his hip and I've fallen into the chair, mentally cursing myself for having introduced the notion of physical manipulation into our argument the other day, because now I cannot rightly complain of such treatment.

However, I can still complain about his other behavior. "Do you have any concept of etiquette?"

"Etiquette?" he echoes. I scowl at him when I see that he is laughing, and not even trying to hide it.

"You, Samuel, are a knight. I am your chronicler, which is a fancy word for 'servant who happens to take notes.' You are supposed to act lordly; I am supposed to serve you." He starts to argue, but as I often do in such situations, I only speak with more force. "Now be a good a little knight and give me that knife!"

I reach for it, fast enough that had he not somehow foreseen what I planned to do I'd've gotten it, but Samuel tosses the knife aside and grabs my wrist with his other hand. There's butter on the floor now. I begin to twist away reflexively, but he catches my chin with his free hand and forces me to look him in the eye.

"I've never cared for etiquette," Samuel says quietly, and his face is stern. "I don't care what anyone or anything says about this situation, or any other situation you and I might ourselves in. Merrin, you are my friend, and I will not treat you like some servant even if you want me to. We are equals in this."

This is not what I expected from a boy who spent the night bawling over the men he'd justly killed. This is not what I expect at all from Samuel, who has never shown himself to be forceful around me. Persistent, yes; severe, no. I try to tug my arm away, gritting my teeth and preparing an argument in my head, but Samuel is having none of it.

He lets go of my chin but leans in close to keep his gaze locked with mine. "We are friends, Merrin." Then he steps back, letting me go entirely. His expression is solemn, even sad. "Aren't we?"

It's a good question, and I find that I don't have an answer. I stare into Samuel's eyes, trying to read something there that will get me out of this. My own mind is empty; no assistance forthcoming. Are we friends?

Samuel apparently thinks so, and treats my hesitation as rejection. Rather than demand anything more of me, he only smiles and lets the distance between us become physical as well as emotional, retrieving the knife to butter more bread.

I was prepared for an argument about appearances. Samuel is concerned about the reality of our tenuous relationship. If it were not for my own recognition and grudging appreciation of the irony, I would have to reassess the quality of our respective educations.

.........

I lie, unable to sleep, far later than moonrise. I know this because the moon has again shown through the shutters and into my eyes.

Despite our fight earlier, or perhaps because of it, Samuel insisted that I take the bed. I insisted that I take the cot. He said that if he didn't take the cot, no one was going to take the cot. I attempted to solve the disagreement by settling myself on the cot and preparing for sleep. Samuel picked me up bodily and, although I thrashed and caused quite a ruckus, threw me onto the bed.

Well, rather than attempt re-taking the cot, which Samuel was then occupying, I rolled over onto the floor and prepared for a sleepless night. By this time, Samuel was as irritated as I usually am and stomped over to wrestle me back onto the bed.

I think this is less about etiquette now than it is about winning, as Samuel is now lying half over me in order to keep me from taking a post less comfortable-in theory-than his own.

Samuel isn't asleep, though it's been a good hour since my last attempt to heave him over the side of the bed and escape. I never realized before that he is just a bit broader than I am, giving him an advantage weight-wise. I stare sightlessly at the ceiling and move just enough to test how tense his muscles are.

I feel as if I'm caught in a large, warm trap. I don't see how either of us is going to get any sleep tonight.

"Merrin," Samuel whispers. I turn my head to the side and treat his downcast expression to a cold glare.

"What? Is my breathing bothering you? Keeping you from your well-earned rest?" I can't help the acidic tinge to my words, and don't care to try. "You could always find some rope and tie me up like a dog, if it would make you feel any better."

If the moon weren't shining directly on our faces, I might've missed his sudden blush. Perhaps he is capable of understanding just how ridiculous this situation is, and how it's all of it his fault. "No, I... Merrin, do you hate me?"

Of all the stupid... "For the gods' sake, Samuel, if I hated you I wouldn't give a damn about how you treated me because I would've already killed you!"

He sits up, perhaps finally ready to listen. There is, of course, only one way to find out.

I continue, "The reason I'm concerned with etiquette is that it does us no good to have your reputation harmed, you idiot. You can't go around acting as if everyone's just as good as everyone else. You've been knighted. You are a lord, even if you've no land, and you must act like one."

"I'm not a lord," he says, and nearly laughs as he says it. The urge to drive his skull into the headboard is growing with each moment.

"Being a knight is how common people become lords, Samuel! You are a hero; you're supposed to become a figure of legend." And I am pleading with said figure to understand what every other person in the world knows. If I wasn't my duty to shape a hero from such raw clay, I might be worried. "You are going to be great because I won't let you be any less. You will not be a disappointment!" After all, my father can only handle one, I'm sure.

Comprehension dawns in his eyes. "But I can't treat you-"

"You can and you will," I state flatly. He pulls away from me entirely, and takes with him all of the blankets. I shiver in the sudden cold. "At least in the presence of other people."

Compromising. Sometimes it seems that all I do is make compromises for this boy. Does he truly think he can bend the world any which way he pleases?

Samuel holds out for a moment, but senses that I've gone as far as my nature allows. "In the presence of people who care about etiquette, agreed. But I won't be rude to you."

"You don't have to be rude," I mutter, trying to yank some of the blankets back over me. I noticed his little contribution to our contract, but I'm willing to let it stand for now. "You must only act with the understanding that I am supposed to be serving you and you are supposed to be a lord."

At this, we shake hands formally and seal the compact, and Samuel lies back on the bed. I sigh, congratulating myself on a bit of tricky negotiation, and sit up to go back to the cot. Samuel grabs my arm, startling an oath from my lips.

"What are you doing?" he demands, half-sitting up in the moonlight. I open my mouth to answer but am interrupted by a shrill scream.

Wonderful. At least another argument has been forestalled; Samuel is up and running. And, seeing as I'm awake and far more aware at night than in the mornings, I'm not far behind, bow and arrow and knife in hand. I can only hope Samuel remembered to grab his sword.

People are about and shouting in the halls as we run past. Samuel nearly tears the door off its hinges and I fly out after him, scanning the street quickly and then running around to the side of the inn, two steps behind Samuel.

We find Patience backed against the wall, across from the stable. She swings a large, thick branch with one hand and keeps her eyes covered with the other, as if she's simultaneously threatening and hiding from the wraith that is darting toward her, even as Samuel lets out a shout. The wraith turns and I get an impression of skeletal thinness, deep black eyes, and an overall fogginess of perception before it flees, disappearing before our very eyes.

"Are you hurt?" Samuel asks gently. Patience stops swinging, though she doesn't let go of the branch. Her other hand falls from her eyes and she manages a tremulous smile.

"Patience!" The people from the inn and surrounding houses are running up now. I sit back as Samuel swears to the more demanding townspeople that he will find the vampire and avenge this outrage. Distracted as I am by Samuel's use of the word "outrage," I try to remember something-something about the vampire? Something strange in its appearance...

Patience is pulled back into the inn and the townspeople begin to disperse, apparently remembering that it's still night and the vampire is out there, somewhere. Samuel shakes my arm, startling me out of my reflections on the creature-was it something about the shoes? The cloak?

"Tired?" Samuel asks, and leads me back to the inn as well. I make a half-hearted attempt to shake his arm off while stifling a yawn.

"Not at all," I finally answer, and he laughs. I would take offense, but it's good to hear him laugh again. It stuns me that it's only been a few days since we left the village, and a few less since we encountered those bandits. I feel as though Samuel has been depressed for a week or more.

In our room once again, I head for the cot but am grabbed by the wrist for my trouble and slung around, the end result being that I land in the bed almost headfirst. Samuel gives me a warning look and I decide not to fight right now. Lying down again, I'm suddenly swamped by exhaustion.

I hardly even notice when he climbs into bed beside me and takes the blankets for himself.

.........

Morning arrives and Samuel very nearly leaps out of bed, awake and cheerful and chattering about breakfast. I burrow into the mattress.

"Good morning!" Samuel is chirping like a godsbedamned bird. He opens the shutters, pulls the blankets away, and I flinch at the smear of the light assaulting my eyes. With a snarl I pull a pillow over my head and refuse to acknowledge the dawning of a new day. And it is quite literally dawn; the sun hasn't even risen all the way yet!

"Get up, Merrin! We've a vampire to find!"

"Do enjoy yourself," I mumble into the pillow. Samuel must have heard me, however, as he goes off on a speech about how he is not going alone and how I said I would make certain he everything he does is right and proper. I finally sit up to throw a pillow at him and fall back down. But Samuel would not be Samuel if he gave up.

It's another half an hour before I finally count myself awake and aware, but it's still too early for anyone sane to be up and about. And no, I don't count farmers as sane.

"Just how are we going to find this lair today when we couldn't yesterday, or the day before?" I ask, sawing a bit of bread loose. Samuel is eating and, in a shocking display of the etiquette he loathes so much, doesn't answer until he has swallowed.

"I suppose we'll have to be lucky," he says. Lucky. The word tastes sour in my mind. It seems we'll spend another day searching the surrounding wilderness and finding nothing.

And my prediction comes true: all day, through the forests and even up to the mountains, walking and walking and walking. Finding nothing. Alistair enjoys the exercise, though. That horse is far too energetic.

We stop for lunch back at the inn and, due to Samuel's lack of acting ability whenever he is meant to be a proper knight, eat it in our room. Patience brings up our food and showers Samuel with gratitude and news of her brother. The doctor from the next town just rode in and he reportedly says that little Jacob will be fine with rest and lots of liquids.

"Why such gratitude?" I ask suddenly. "You were holding that thing off fairly well on your own, with your stick. Did it just happen to be lying around out there?"

Patience smiles, dimpling. "I always take something with me when I check the stables at night," she explains. "Rarely do I have to, but Father's leg has been troubling him and Mother was sitting with Jacob." Her smile dims, thinking about her brother. "I hardly thought the vampire would be around again so soon."

She excuses herself and leaves us to eat, with Samuel going on and on about the next place we could check. I ignore him. Our chances of finding a vampire's lair blind, with no hint whatsoever to its location, are infinitesimally small.

There is a knock at the door, and Patience peeks back in. "I'm sorry; I forgot to bring these up yesterday."

She refreshes our flowers, smiling shyly before running off again. I stare at the flowers, a memory trying to solidify in my mind-

"Are you going to sit there forever?" Samuel demands. I blink and look up at him to find that he is prepared to leave. "Let's go, Merrin!"

With a muttered curse I get up and gather my stuff. He still believes in luck. What a crock.

.........

Night again; no luck again. I have an awful lot of blisters, though for finding absolutely nothing, and tell Samuel as much.

"Well, you think of a better way to find the lair," he says, a trifle sulkily. I think he's beginning to lose his optimism.

"We ought to get everyone in town to start searching and stop relying on us solely," I reply acidly. Samuel only shakes his head.

"You know as well as I that they won't do it."

The sad thing is that he's right. The townspeople aren't concerned about the risk incurred to our necks, but they won't risk their own. Sometimes I truly despise people.

I start to light the lantern, but the window is open. The wind rushes in to douse the flame.

"I'll close them," Samuel offers, and moves to pull the shutters together. I strike another match, feeling the bite of the wind and wondering if a storm is closing in on us. Before the wick is lit, Samuel makes a soft, strangled noise, and I've dropped the match before I've noticed I heard the sound.

I turn around, suddenly very cold. Samuel is leaning half out the window, staring out into the night.

"Samuel," I say, and receive no answer. I walk over just in time to see two very pale, very thin, and very long-nailed hands settle themselves on Samuel's shoulders. I only thought I was cold before; now I can feel a shuddering in my bones.

"Samuel!" I shriek, reaching out to grab him and pull him back into the room. From outside I hear something scream in reply. The shriek is like an eagle, diving to attack. The vampire is too strong and Samuel doesn't resist it at all. My attempts prove wasted and futile.

"Let him go!" I yell, pounding on the creature's hands. It snarls and Samuel groans. The vampire is moving closer and I have an urge to cover my face. The weight of its stare is a physical thing and I know, with a sudden certainty, that I mustn't look it in the eyes. I smash my elbow into the shutter on my left and tear off a small plank of wood. It's just strong enough that I can stab the sharper end into the vampire's hand.

The creature screams in a tortured way and lets Samuel go. I pull him back inside and try to close the shutters, but Samuel utters a similarly pained scream and grapples with me.

"Samuel!" He's fighting with panicky strength and while I may be a match for him in actual sparring, he is again using his weight to wrestle me down. "Samuel! Stop!"

We land on the floor and I start to squirm away from him, but he rears up and bites my neck. Hard. I scream at the wrenching pain and punch him in the temple. He slumps over me and an unearthly silence fills the room. Samuel lies silent and still.

I gently push him off me and stand up. Without thinking, I look to the shutters and meet the vampire's gaze, eye to eye. There is a strange pull in my mind, and before I know what is happening I'm at the window, leaning out, unable to pull back.

I feel lips on my throat over the wound that Samuel inflicted and start to draw away, but then the sensation is less painful and even-pleasant?

My eyes close and I moan, overwhelmed by the feeling. Then something grabs my waist and I'm pulled back sharply. I scream, not only because sharp teeth catch on the wound and tear it further, but because I can't bear the loss of that sensation, that pure pleasure. I struggle, hear Samuel shrieking my name and then he drops me. The move is sudden and jarring, but I would've jumped up immediately had not the window shut in the same instance. For a crazed moment I tense to spring at Samuel, filled with a hatred so intense I can't describe it. But he turns and, meeting his gaze, reason returns to me.

"Merrin-"

Samuel falls to his knees next to me and pulls me into his arms, apologizing and nearly crying. I bury my head in his shoulder, letting his voice drown out the sound of the vampire scratching its nails along the side of the inn, crooning both of our names.

"Samuel." He draws in a breath, holding it, and I remind him, "We're alive. Now stop apologizing."

The door slams open then and we jump apart, each reaching for whatever's closest to hand for a weapon, but the innkeeper is the one standing at the door. From outside the window, I hear a sound like a rush of wind, and the vampire is silent if not gone.

"Are you-are you both-" He stutters, staring at my neck. I can feel the blood slipping down it and into my shirt collar.

"We're fine," Samuel says, softly but strongly. He lets his sword down as I drop a bit of wood from the shutters. "Please, bring up some hot water, soap, and clean cloth."

The innkeeper stares at us a moment longer before running to do as Samuel asked. I reach up to touch the wound, to assess the severity, and shiver at the sudden rush of pleasure. Even then, I feel ill. It felt so good...

Samuel sees me shiver and moves closer. "Merrin, I'm sorry," he says again. "Please, I didn't-"

"Shut it, Samuel," I say tiredly. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

I look at him and see that just saying it is not going to be good enough, so I follow with a shrug and the best smile I can dredge up. Samuel smiles back, after a moment, and seems content to let it lie.

But I'd have to be a simpleton not to notice the guilt that's still in his eyes, and something else. Something I can't understand.

What is he hiding from me?

I look away and see something caught in the shutter that makes me stop cold. I almost run to it, causing Samuel to shy like a nervous horse and follow at my heels, perhaps ready to wrestle me away from the window.

But I'm not planning to open the shutters. Instead, I reach out to touch the scrap of cloth caught in the broken wood. Samuel sees it just as I do.

There's a violet caught on the ripped hem of the vampire's cloak.

.........