Dreven City: Late Autumn, 1259

Laughter spilled from the open door of a little set of apartments, bought and paid for with Mallory money for the convenience of the young master and his first mistress. Mara was brimming over with happiness today, her laughter infectious enough to bring a chuckle to Elise's lips as the girl spun about their rooms, dancing to a tune of her own creation as a way to express just a little of the joy that was in her heart. Only a few more weeks before Duncan reached his seventeenth birthday; only those few weeks stood between them, and a life together away from this dismal city and its horrible politics. She felt as though she could endure anything in those weeks, looking forward with naive eyes to the freedom that was within their reach.

Elise had finally been brought in on their plans, and much to Mara's shock, had agreed with them, seeing that she had no way to convince either that it was foolhardy or wrong. Instead, the older woman had begun to make proper arrangements, unwatched by the Mallorys or the Del Sols, able to move freely about the city without any danger of being taken up by either faction as an enemy of their scheming. And she had to admit, she was looking forward to being away from Dreven herself. Unlike Mara, Elise had never set foot outside the city, engaging with the innocent scheme as the best kind of adventure, and one in which she'd be able to keep a close eye on her young charge and the man-child who wanted to wed her. None of them had any suspicion that their simple hopes and dreams were just so much smoke on the wind, a terrible plaything for those with hatred in their hearts.

"Well, and what do we have here?"

Mara tripped over her own skirts at the sound of that voice, her face turning pale as she turned to find Stefan standing in the doorway, tall and dark and smirking hatefully. He'd grown harder since she had last seen him, growing into the coldness in his eyes, but she couldn't deny that he was still handsome. No doubt he was still charming, too, when he set his mind to it. But she'd seen the darker side of him now; she wouldn't be charmed again.

"It's considered rude to enter without being invited," she retorted with as much dignity as she could, her eyes seeking Elise out from across the room, silently telling the woman to find Duncan somehow.

But Stefan saw the look, and his smirk intensified. There was a sickening hiss of metal against leather as he drew his sword, the deadly sharp point aimed at Elise's throat as he shook his head. "Ah, ah, ah ....we're all staying right here," he told both women, his voice mild and smooth as spun silk. "Or I may just slip, and cut one of your throats."

The reaction was one he had no doubt counted upon; Elise froze, fear forming in her gaze at the threat to her young mistress, and Mara, too, stilled in shock. She'd never been offered violence before, yet it had been delivered in so companionable a voice, from a smirk she had once enjoyed seeing on that dark face. But it wasn't the threat to herself that shocked her so - it was the threat to Elise, the sudden, acute understanding that a wrong move here would result in the death of the closest thing she had to family left to her. Shaken, she took a step back, watching as Elise did the same, moving away from the doorway, away from the temptation to call for help.

Stefan's smirk faded to a dark smile. His sword lowered, but he did not sheath it, the threat still there, still present, as he looked from one to the other. "Good girl," he nodded, one long stride bringing him closer to Mara than she ever wanted him to be. "Now, keeping behaving yourself, and dear Elise over there will keep breathing. You, woman -" His tone changed as he spoke to Elise, harsher, superior, clearly believing himself her better. "You will sit there in silence, or your little mistress here will suffer the consequences."

There was barely a moment's pause before Elise answered, her own voice shaking with distress and fear. "Y-yes, my lord." In a rustle of skirts, she sat herself down by the wall, her concerned gaze never once leaving the tableau created by the sight of Stefan Del Sol standing over her young mistress, a naked blade in his hand.

"Ah, Mara." As soon as Elise was sat, Stefan turned his attention back to the golden-haired girl in front of him, admiration still in his eyes for the beauty she was still growing into. "Mara, Mara, Mara ....what am I to do with you? You spurn my friendship, my love; you turn your talents to the use of the Mallory's whelp of a boy. Oh, I know he's had you, and more often than his father thinks. I've seen him come and go from here, and you from the Manor. I've seen you both leave the city and return the next day, flushed with love. It sickens me!"

The sudden rise of his temper brought a cry of alarm from Mara's lips as his hand shot out, grasping her about her waist, dragging her too close for her own comfort. Yet she did not dare fight him, not with Elise's life hanging over her head. Leaning back over the steel band of his arm, she turned her face away, one hand pressed against his chest to ward him off without strength. Where was Duncan' She needed him here now; she couldn't defend herself, not against Stefan, certainly not in this mood of his. But Stefan wasn't done yet.

"What has he got that I don't?" he demanded, shaking the delicate girl in his grasp. "A good family' I have that. Money' I have a greater fortune that he will ever have. Connections" Ha! My connections are already taking shape, I have more influence in this city than he will ever have. So what is it, little Mara" What made you spread your legs for a half-tamed boy who will drop you the moment his marriage is finalized?"

"He won't drop me!" she cried out, stung by the accusation, knowing it to be a lie deep in her bones. "He loves me!"

"I love you!" Stefan's voice had risen to a roar, the shake of his arm about her hurting as she trembled in his grasp. "I've wanted you for years, long before he ever knew you existed! He's taken so much from me - I will not let him have you, too!"

Mara stared at him, her former friend, aghast at the accusations and implications of his words. She had known that the Mallorys and Del Sols held a blood feud close to their hearts, something that stretched back so far no one could recall the incident that had begun the bloodshed, but she could see here and now that Stefan's hate was darker, deeper, far more personal than it should be. "Why do you hate him so much?" she asked, unable to prevent herself, anxious to know the truth before Stefan did something more permanent than simply frighten the two women under his power.

The dark man - for he was a man now, of age these two summers past - stilled, and she gasped at the weight of loathing in his eyes, feeling the tightening of his arm around her as though he would crush the life from her in his jealousy and thirst for revenge. "Why do I hate him?" He laughed, and the sound was cold, vile to the ears, a slithering, slimy sound that sent a cold shudder down her spine. "Why?" He thrust her away from him, hard enough to send her sprawling onto the floor with a muted cry of pain, standing over her with that naked blade, glaring into the distance at his own petty hatred.

"Everything that was mine, he has taken from me. His loving mother - she should have been mine. She was promised to my father before she loved Eric Mallory; she broke that promise to wed a man she thought she loved. The favor of the Triad - that should be mine. I am their loyal servant, yet they want his loyalty more than my own. The praise and favor of our peers - I have done more in my time than he ever has, and yet they love him more than I. My own sister loves him better than me." His dark eyes lowered to look upon the golden-haired girl at his feet. "And you. The only friend I had who was my own, whom no one knew of but me, whom I loved long before she even knew she was lovely to look upon - he took you from me. I will not stand by any more!"

He refused to give up, even as they beat him, struggling to free himself, flailing at his attackers with fists and feet, until all his strength was beaten out of him. Only then did he sink to the ground, curling into a ball to protect himself as best he could as he was kicked brutally and repeatedly. What did they want from him' They had his purse and his dagger. There was little else on his person that was of any value. Even so, he refused to cry out or to plead for mercy. He'd taken a beating plenty of times before and knew it would eventually end one way or another, but never quite like this. The world seemed to spin for a moment, as if the sky was falling. He coughed and tasted blood, knowing it was his own, but not knowing how far gone he was.

Only when Duncan stopped struggling, stopped moving, did the beating let up; only when the golden-haired watcher broke down in terrifyingly submissive sobs did the dark face at her shoulder acknowledge that the attack was over. Rough hands dragged the young man from where he had fallen, pulling him painfully through the street to leave him slumped in the courtyard of the house to which he had been going in the first place, dazed and unaware of the detail of his surroundings. It seemed to take an age, but eventually gentler hands found him, a softer voice called to him, and he was carefully manhandled inside, laid down and stripped of his bloodied clothes. For a long time, the only sound in the room was that of unsuppressed tears as loving hands wiped away blood and dirt from the face and form she loved so well, whispering through her tears for him to please wake up. To please forgive her.

Duncan was only vaguely aware that he'd been dragged away from the alley and dumped somewhere. It didn't seem far. He heard himself groan, but the sound was muffled, as if he was drowning - deep under water. Like Deirdre. If he died, would she be there to meet him' And then, for a while, there was nothing but darkness. He didn't know how long. It was as though he'd fallen into a deep well of darkness. There was peace in the darkness, quiet, no pain. He almost wished he could stay there forever, but then he heard a voice calling to him, soft and sweet and familiar, summoning him back from the darkness. He felt gentle hands touching him, and he heard himself groan again. Gentle as her touch was, his body felt like it was on fire, the tiniest of movements agonizingly painful. He tried to open his eyes as consciousness slowly returned, recognizing the sound of her weeping and knowing it had to be his beloved. He tried to call her, but he couldn't find his voice to say her name.

"....be easy with him, my lady. So long as he drinks that, he'll be fine." That voice could only belong to Elise, gentle and instructive, fading from hearing as the rustle of skirts heralded the closing of the door.

There was a moment of quiet, filled with soft sniffles, and Mara finally brought her voice to bear, tentative and shaken, wracked with guilt. "Duncan ..." She had to stop, to bring herself back under control as his eyes began to flutter, her hand stilling as she wiped a cool cloth over his cheek. "Sweetheart, I'm here. Don't try to move too fast."

It was another moment before his vision cleared, before the swirling face of his beloved came into view. He felt something cool and soothing against his cheek, in stark contrast to the agony raging like a fever throughout his body. "Mara?" he stammered, his voice weak and raspy. Fingers of one hand twitched, wanting to touch her, but he couldn't make his hand obey, heavy as if it was held down by some weight. He didn't need to ask what had happened. He remembered the thieves that had ambushed him, but how had he ended up here"

"Shh ..." Laying the cloth to one side, she drew her hand gently over his, stroking her thumb over his knuckles. Her green eyes were tearful as she looked over him, her pale face showing the ravages of tears cried in abundance so very recently. But she was smiling for him as he stirred himself. "Yes, it's me, sweetheart. You're in my apartments." She leaned away for a moment, coming back into view with a glass of something viscous and sweet-smelling. "Elise sent a boy to one of the healers. I don't know what?s in this, but it should heal the worst of your bruises and splits, and take the pain away."

"How..." he stammered, wondering how he'd come to be there. He wasn't too far from her house when he'd been ambushed. Someone must have heard the racket, found him, and brought him there. Her neighbors must know who he was by now, or at least, know he was courting her. "Thieves," he gave her a one-word explanation, too weak to say much more.

She nodded, turning her eyes away to hide the guilt and shame that rose up in response to his weak explanation, his perception of what had happened out there. "Can you sit up?" she asked him softly. "You need to drink this, it will help."

It wasn't the first time she'd nursed his hurts, but even his father's worst beating had never been quite like this. Still, he refused to let her know how badly he was hurting, his pride getting the best of him, not wanting her to think him weak. He bit his lip so hard, he tasted blood as he pushed himself up onto a elbow. He didn't ask what the mixture was, trusting her implicitly. The coin he'd lost was of little consequence, though he grieved the loss of the dagger.

To her credit, Mara didn't offer to help him sit, understanding how bruised his pride already was for having taken a beating so publicly. Instead she leaned close, tilting the sweet mixture to his lips to let him drink. "That's it, all of it," she murmured gently, slowly coming out of her own misery to tend to him with proper care. "We sent word to the manor that you're staying here. You don't have to go back, not tonight." Her gaze held his, half hoping he would see the longing plea in her eyes. Please stay.

He wasn't about to argue, doubting he'd be able to make it home even if he wanted to, and given the choice between staying there with her or returning home to a lonely room, he would always choose her. He made no reply, all his strength and attention focused on drinking the potion she held to his lips. It was almost sickening in its sweetness, but to his credit, he drained the glass before laying heavily back onto the pillows.

It was a heady healer's mixture, most of the ingredients kept a secret, a family brew that was not shared with others. But it did the trick, coursing through Duncan's weakened body, knitting the smaller splits in his skin back together again, smoothing away the bruises. The pain eased away, only returning if he moved too fast or twisted the wrong way. It was not as good as a Vivomancer's work, but it would do. When the glass was drained, Mara set it down away from them, easing Duncan back down onto the pillows. "Better?"

His only reply was a sigh, as he felt the potion course through his body, warm and soothing. He felt suddenly sleepy, a need to sleep so overwhelmingly strong he couldn't fight it. He struggled to stay awake, but his eyelids grew too heavy and after a moment, his eyes fluttered closed and surrendered himself to blissful darkness.

((We're getting close to the end of the backstory, heartbreaking though it is. Many, many thanks to Duncan's player for indulging me!))