by Pfantazm

Author's Note: If you think what follows make little sense, this will help. Part 2 of KotR is written from Madoc's point of view, not Thom's as is usually the case. We're also backing up a touch on the timeline. The story starts while Thom & Madoc are still in the city. Little things that may have seemed to be missing from the first story (like the other half of Thom's fantasy, which, let's face it, is what you really want to read) are in here. Part 3 will be from Lennox's point of view, and Part 4 from Sir Bastian's. After that, I dunno. Maybe I'll do it from the point of view of some tree. We'll see.

If you're out on a date, and you make it past third base, and you want to slide into home (nudge nudge), don't get tagged out. Play safe: wear a glove or you'll catch your death of umpires. The metaphor kinda goes phut right about there, but you understand.

Higgledy piggledy
Madoc of Fieldgate is
Deeply in love with his
New partner Thom.

Want to send e-mail here?
Super-splendiferous!
Write me: pfantazm-at-
hotmail-dot-com.

	his brothers-in-arms, surround him on all sides. Peleas, the swordmaster, glares. Rodolf, his close friend, turns his back. King Dunstan and Sir Rhys look down from their dais. The executioner's expression cannot be identified, for he wears a mask. Thom, his love, who has his hands tied behind his back, can only plead with his eyes. All the hands push him away. Madoc struggles to make it to the gallows, but there are too many people in the courtyard in the way. They all block his path and push him back. "Please," he cries, "let me help him! Let me by!" Faces snarl. Boots trip him. Thom's neck is placed in the noose. Elbows press. The guards manage to force Madoc out of the doors to Dragon's Keep. A man Madoc does not recognize says, "You're lucky we don't do the same to you after what you've done. You deserve it." The gates slam shut. Madoc beats his fists against the doors, trying to break back in. "No! You can't!" he screams. He kicks at the doors, then throws his weight against them. Even through all the noise, he can hear the stool kicked out from under his love's feet. "Thom!!" "Madoc? Are you alright?" Someone was pounding at the door. "Yes, hold on," Sir Madoc called out. His body was tangled up in the sheets. He freed himself, then draped the blanket over his shoulders. He paced carefully to the door of the barely-moonlit room and opened it partway. It was Rodolf. "Are you sure you're alright? I heard yelling." Had he been calling out in his sleep? "I'm fine really. It was just a nightmare. I don't think I've said anything before...." "You've been having these a lot?" Madoc frowned and nodded. "Can I come in, Madoc, before I catch a chill?" "Wha?" Madoc looked at Rodolf clearly. He had his sword in his hand, but wore nothing. "Oh, of course. Sorry." Madoc opened the door all the way and Rodolf stepped inside. Madoc shut the door. Madoc lit his candle. Rodolf had sat down on the bed, not bothering to cover himself. Rodolf's sword leaned against the footboard, out of harm's way, but not out of reach. "My granny used to say that the only way to make a nightmare stop was to tell someone about it," Rodolf said. Madoc looked away, not meeting his friend's eyes, unsure of what to say. "Are you worried about your mission? It's a tough one...." "No, it's not that." Madoc looked at his fellow knight. "Personal?" Rodolf's gaze never wavered. When Madoc didn't answer, he said, "If you want, I'll listen." Madoc considered the man in front of him, a fellow High Guardsman, he was ancient for his profession at 37. Black, curly hair framed a weathered face, and more covered his chest. He was a very strong man, but his muscles weren't defined. He was in excellent shape. One thick leg lay on the bed, a foot tucked beneath the thigh of the other. With his legs spread open like that Madoc could see his soft cock surrounded by thick, black hairs-- `Stop that,' Madoc thought. `This is Rodolf. How can you even think of him that way?' He looked away. "Really, it's nothing. Just a bad dream," he said quickly. "If you're sure," said Rodolf. "You know I worry about you." Madoc still could not meet Rodolf's eye. "There's no reason to." "I think there is. There's a sadness about you, Madoc, and in the years I've known you, I haven't been able to figure out what it is." Rodolf put his hand on Madoc's arm. "You know you can--" Madoc flinched, jerking his arm back. "I'll be fine. I just need to deal with it myself." "Alright." Rodolf rose and collected his sword. "I'll be around tomorrow if you want to talk. Get some sleep." Madoc nodded and Rodolf let himself out. He spent some minutes trying to forget the image of Rodolf's behind as he left before going back to sleep. Madoc heard shouting. He was passing the archery butts on his way to see if any more information had arrived, when he saw three of the liveried Palace Guards arguing with one other man. Madoc went over to investigate. As he approached, he identified the outnumbered guard as a knight-errant, whose name escaped him. Just as Madoc came up behind him, the Palace Guard in the middle said, "I'll show you what we think of people like you." He raised his fist to punch the knight. Madoc hooked his arm. "You must have a very good reason for wanting to hit one of your brother guards." All three guards looked surprised to see someone behind them. The knight still looked ready for a fight. "He was giving me the eye, Sir Madoc," said the combative guard. His two companions blanched and started at the name. Madoc's reputation was known even if his face wasn't familiar. Madoc arched an eyebrow. "And what are your names?" "Callum," said the stricken guard. "I am Kester," said the third. "And I am Bryn," said the attacker as he wrenched his arm from Madoc's grip. "This one was looking me over the way a normal man looks over a wench. He's disturbed." This was hitting a little too close to Madoc's heart. "What of you two? What were your roles in this?" "I didn't see anything," Callum said. "Bryn just jumped at him." Kester said, "He was standing in the corner. He hasn't even got a bow with him." "I came here looking for my bow. I thought I'd left it here," the tense knight said. Madoc sized up the three guards. They were all around twenty, full of piss and vinegar. Callum looked embarrassed to be there, Kester was sticking by his friend, and Bryn seemed ready to spill blood. The knight's wandering eye may have been real or imagined, but either way it seemed to be an excuse. "It really doesn't matter what the reason is. There are too few of us for Guards to be fighting each other. If you have a problem with one of your brethren, you deal with it calmly or stay away. You do not come to blows. Do you understand?" Callum and Kester nodded. "Why are you taking his side? He's sick! He should be locked away!" Madoc became incensed. "I am not taking his side, Bryn, but your demeanor is inexcusable. I will speak with him in a moment, but you must realize that even if you are right, that does not give you free rein to beat up on people, especially not your comrades. If you feel like some combat, Sir Peleas can keep you quite busy. If I hear of you causing trouble again, I will report you to your superior. Clear?" Bryn looked up at Madoc, who towered over him. "Clear." He collected his bow and quiver and stalked off. His mates followed, Callum apologizing as he passed. "Thank you, Sir Madoc," said the knight. "I am Sir Trustan. That Bryn looked like trouble." "They were right, though, weren't they?" Trustan was left without words. He was a few inches shorter than Madoc. His light brown hair fell forward onto his brow. His dark eyes seemed to search Madoc's face for some explanation the bigger man would accept. "I-- I was...." "It's fine. I'm not angry or upset. Just be more discreet. Most of the men here won't accept it, and there's no point inviting trouble." Madoc noticed his hand had strayed to Trustan's shoulder. He pulled it away. Trustan's handsome face smiled. "I'll remember. I don't suppose you...?" His eyes finished the offer without words. Madoc faltered. What could he say without lying or telling more than he wanted to? "I don't think I could." Trustan nodded, obviously disappointed. "I have to get to the pigeonhouse. Will you fare well alone?" "I think I will. Thank you again." Madoc tried to hide his blushing face and retreated hastily. It had been bad enough the past twelve days without Thom around. Madoc missed him terribly, but he had to stay away. He couldn't countenance the idea of his brethren ostracizing him because he was in love with a man. There would be retribution, just as there was in his dream of last night, and just as there was on the archery field just now. Rather than provoke talk among his fellow guard, Madoc decided the only safe thing to do would be to avoid Thom as much as possible, but even this didn't seem to be working. He'd gawked at Rodolf, of all people, and he'd all but made a pass at Trustan, egging him toward a proposition. He felt he wasn't in control of himself any longer. He'd told Thom the lie that he'd been making preparations for their mission. This wasn't completely untrue: he was, at that moment, about to check whether any word had arrived from the outposts. There just wasn't so much to do that he couldn't spend more time with his love. Having to lie hurt him deeply, but he didn't see what else he could do. He had to remain proper. He had to. He climbed the stairs into the Northeast Tower. He rapped loudly on the trapdoor to the belfry before opening it. On the top of the tower was the pigeonhouse, as it was called. Here it could be seen that the sky promised rain. Crude wooden cages wrapped tightly with thin strips of metal competed for space in the open-air windows exposed to the coming storm. Coos and the nervous flapping of wings filled Madoc's ear. Jerome the Falconer spent much of his time here in the mornings looking after the carrier pigeons that sent messages between outposts and Dragon's Keep. "What word?" asked Sir Madoc. "Nothing yet, but I have more to check here from Greyholt. It holds promise." Madoc was well acquainted with Jerome's much-scarred countenance. "Lessons learned when I was very young and foolish," he called them. His unkempt moustache and beard had gaps where scar tissue resided, and his eyes were decorated with crimson stripes when closed. While Jerome fished out the message, Madoc surveyed the city. From this vantage, all of Aragon-town could be seen. Horse- and human-drawn carts rumbled through main roads, smiths and craftsmen labored in their shops, townswomen perused the markets. Madoc could be enthralled watching it for hours. "Aha!" Madoc turned away from the view. "Might this be of use to you?" The knight read the slip of parchment: Krayd rumoured neare Armead-to-Spenderton road. Farmers cart attackt. "Perfect! At last we have a lead. Thank you, Jerome." The falconer smiled. "I'll be sure to check once more at dawn tomorrow before you're off." "With luck, this should be enough. Good day to you, Jerome." Madoc clambered down the tower steps and let the trapdoor fall above him. Madoc watched out the window overlooking the courtyard below. He was glad he'd gotten his training in earlier that morning. It was coming down in buckets now. Thom was practicing against Peleas. He smiled when Thom began his charge, winced when he lost his advantage and frowned when he hit the mud. The Guardsman hoped his love would be able to defend himself when the time came. He wanted to go down and help, but he also worried that there would be talk. The brotherhood and acceptance he got from the other guards were very dear to him. It was too important to risk. Madoc continued to watch as Thom changed swords and roused Dorian. If he couldn't aid his partner directly just then, he could observe from a distance and help later. Madoc watched the matches he had with their human target. Thom had no trouble ignoring any distractions Dorian threw at him, but actual feints, decoy moves made with the sword, fooled him every time. A page came running out to speak to the pair of them, and Thom left. Perhaps Peleas could explain why Thom was having such trouble. Madoc went down the stairs and out through the main double doors into the courtyard, closing them behind him to keep out the damp. He pulled his collar higher on his neck, to the same end. Sir Madoc skirted the pairs of sparring guards and waited while Sir Peleas finished his lesson with one of the city patrolmen. He stood there when Madoc attracted his attention like being in the rain was a natural thing. Where Madoc was hunched down in an instinctive and futile attempt to stay dry, Sir Peleas stood straight in his soaking clothes, not even shivering. Once the patrolman was beaten and instructed on how to improve, Madoc asked after Thom. "He's not accustomed to wearing a sword," he began. "I'm sure you know that. To be any good he needs a lot of work. One thing he won't do is look a man in the eye. He looks down, or to the side. He seems personable enough, but there's also this shiftiness to him. "I'd be careful around him. I think he has something to hide." Madoc opened his mouth to defend his partner, but he realized he did have something to hide; they both did. The High Guardsman faltered. "I know you, Madoc, and I'm sure that Thom was a great help to you chasing down the Dark Rogue, but not everyone's motives are as pure as yours. Be careful. I'd hate to lose one of my best students." Madoc grinned. "Thank you, Sir Peleas. Now is that the only fault Thom has?" Peleas shook his head. "Fine. Don't listen to an old man," he jested. "There's that and his inexperience, but of course, there's nothing to be done about that but keep him practicing. If the man is sincere and spars regularly, he should be able to hold his own against most foes. He has the strategy down for certain." "Thank you. It's good to hear. I'll make sure we spar while we're on the road. And I will see you next time we're called to Dragon's Keep." They said their goodbyes, and Madoc turned to head back inside. Someone called out his name. "Ho! Sir Madoc! As you can see, I've taken your counsel!" It was Bryn. "Would you care to practice with me?" Sir Rhys had said that he'd wanted to speak with him, but didn't say when. "I would." Madoc pulled a practice sword from a nearby bin and swung it once or twice to gauge its balance. He looked into Bryn's eyes. There he saw fire and anticipation, an eagerness to beat his opponent. Madoc already knew that the guard was impetuous and quick-tempered. He could use this to his advantage. No sooner than Madoc had assumed a defense posture did Bryn charge. The angry guard's ferocity drove the knight back a few paces. Madoc spent all his concentration on blocking the younger man's thrusts. If Bryn practiced his swordsmanship every time he got upset.... At long last Madoc turned one of his parries into an offensive strike. The knight pressed onward, driving his foe back, trying to make him work harder than he himself did. Their steps squelched in the rain-soaked ground in between the clacks of the blades colliding. Despite all of the effort he wasted, Bryn seemed to be just as fresh as when he started. His vigor seemed to know no bounds. By now the pair were drawing quite a crowd of spectators. Bryn lashed out once more. The tip of his practice blade whooshed by Madoc's face. He leaned backwards out of his path only just in time. The face was one of two areas on the body where sparring duelers were prohibited from striking. The wooden swords could still do serious damage. Madoc put the breech down to Bryn's flaring temper, and did not worry about it further, but he kept a more watchful eye. He did notice that Sir Peleas was now part of the audience and the lapse would not go unpunished. The knight watched the guard's eyes as he battled. He was filled with far too much emotion to hide his intentions. Madoc slipped through the younger man's defenses, raking his mock steel across his arm. Had the duel been real, the wound would have been serious, but Bryn forged on as if nothing had happened. He merely seemed twice as enraged. Through the coursing rain they fought. Bryn's fury lent him strength, laying blow after blow against Madoc without ever managing to touch him. The knight was starting to fatigue though, and the rain was chilling him. He could not last forever. Bryn slashed against Madoc's sword and stepped in, forcing them together. "I watched you and that pansy together after you told me to leave. You and your kind have no place here," he growled into Madoc's face. No one else heard. The knight broke out of the stalemate, throwing the younger man off of him. Bryn responded by taking another swipe at his face. Now the knight's anger was stoked. This kid was not sparring; he meant to do him harm. The gauntlet had been thrown down. Madoc attacked aggressively now, not bothering to measure his effort. He slashed effectively at his enemy, catching him on the sword hand, driving him ever backward. Bryn stumbled, tripping over his own feet, sliding on his feet across the mud as he blocked the knight's thrusts desperately. Some of their astonished audience dodged out of the way, but none of them made a move to stop the rampaging knight. Finally Bryn's back crashed into the wall of the courtyard. Madoc brought his sword down again and again while Bryn levelled his blade in front of his body to protect himself. With his free hand Madoc punched Bryn in the stomach, just enough to knock the wind out of him. He pressed Bryn's sword hand and pinned him there. The younger guard's weapon dropped to the earth. With the point of his sword, he drew a slow, mud-red line across the exposed flesh of the guard's neck, demonstrating quite clearly that the fight was over. "You're on report," Madoc shouted. "I will see to it that you are suspended at the least. You needlessly endangered the safety of a fellow guard, and that is inexcusable." Madoc saw that Bryn was still shaking in frustration and fear. He released his grip on the man and left him there. He strode away from Bryn. His brother guardsmen were muttering among themselves and shuffling about. Rain pelted the ground and his body. He heard nothing and saw nothing, but he felt Bryn rise behind him. Madoc wheeled around, laying a wicked roundhouse on the guard's jaw as he lunged to attack the knight. Bryn was spun around by the force of the blow. He fell to the ground and stayed there. He spat out blood and a tooth. The knight re-entered the castle unmolested.

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